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  Emmie slings her arm around my shoulder. “You bet, sweet cheeks.”

  We stride on over to the glossy white building where there’s an outdoor patio brimming with people. The windows are tinted so you can’t quite see in, and as we head inside, the scent of grilled burgers and fries light up our senses. Next to the smell of cookies baking, there is nothing more delicious than the scent of something fresh off the grill.

  A bevy of shirtless, quite muscular men wearing red aprons and jeans run around looking hot to trot with any and every one of the female customers, and I can hear Emmie purring like a kitten at the sight of them. The shirtless bonanza is the standard dress code for the establishment, which boasts of its all beefcake waitstaff that are ready and willing to serve up hungry women. Sweet Cheeks is for women what Hooters is for men. It promises a fine dining experience with enough eye candy to satisfy any estrogen-based sweet tooth. The song “It’s Raining Men” is on blast, and I have a feeling they play it on a loop.

  A blond hottie with a tray of entrees passes us with a greedy grin.

  If I’m lucky, the hot chick in the corner will be giving me the exact tip I’m craving. Her number.

  Does anyone eat the pork fest? I don’t even know why it’s on the menu.

  One of the waiters, built like a brick wall, glances at my bestie. Check out those knockers.

  I make it a point to scowl at him as he glides on by.

  “How exactly is this place connected to Rissa McNeil?” I ask, secretly hoping there’s been a serious error on Emmie’s part. I wouldn’t put it past her to take a testosterone-inspired detour on our way to catch a killer.

  “She’s the brains to their brawn. She’s the operating manager of this particular location.”

  “It’s nice to see we’ve got upper management in common,” I quip.

  “And hot men,” Emmie is quick to add. “Don’t forget about that sparkly new vampire fate just threw in your way.”

  “He’s in my way, all right.” My entire body tenses just thinking about Jasper, and not in any good way.

  A tall, blond slice of beefcake with a nametag that screams MARK in all caps comes up, grinning from ear to ear as if we were the topless ones around here.

  “Table for two?”

  Emmie’s tongue is already wagging. “Let’s make it three in the event you feel the need to join us.”

  He barks out a hearty laugh. “Three it is.” He leads us through the brightly lit establishment with its framed photos of muscle men from eras gone by. A large sign hangs against the back wall that reads Mouthwatering Beefcake at Your Service.

  Lovely.

  We’re seated and gifted two glossy menus in the shape of the male physique.

  Emmie leans in. “I bet this Rissa chick feels like a queen bossing all these hot men around.”

  “I bet she feels like a shrew. You and I both know men don’t like being told what to do.”

  “Not the men I date. I think they rather appreciate it when a woman barks out orders.”

  “That’s because the men you date have a hankering to be mistreated.” It’s true. “In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if a blast from your past—”

  Emmie hops out of her seat. “Oh my sweet, sassy stars. Grayson! Is that you?”

  A beefy wall of muscles stomps over, bearing little more than a big toothy grin. He’s got a capful of black hair and bright, expressive eyes.

  “Well, if it isn’t Emmie Rose Crosby.” He pulls her into a quick embrace. “Where’ve you been hiding those sweet kisses from me?” How I miss the things that mouth was capable of.

  I openly frown his way. I’m just one dirty thought away from accidentally on purpose flinging my shoe at him.

  Emmie pumps out a guttural laugh. “Oh hon, I’m not hiding. I’m front and center at the Country Cottage Inn right where you left me.” She looks my way. “Grayson’s family was the one that held the big picnic last June—the one that ended with a beer brawl?”

  “Ah, yes.” The arrests were a first for the Cottage Inn and the entire clan has since been banned from the premises, but I don’t dare say a word. “How very nice to see you again.” I think.

  He gives Emmie a crooked grin. “Not as good as it is to see this girl. What can I get for you? My treat—the both of you.”

  I’m quick to protest, but Emmie is equally as quick to thank him and we order up two specials of the day.

  “We need some help, Grayson.” She leans his way, and I manically shake my head at her. “We’re knee-deep in a murder investigation and we need to speak with your boss, Rissa.”

  I gasp so loud, a ten-table radius turns my way—hopeful that my waiter had just lost his Levi’s, I’m sure.

  Emmie’s eyes grow wild as she clamps her hand over her mouth.

  I shake my head up at the wall of muscles.

  “We’re not investigating anything,” I say. “We’re here to pass along our condolences to Rissa. Her stepsister was brutally murdered last weekend.”

  He winces. “I know. She’s been very open about it, and we all feel terrible. In fact, we’re pooling our tips for the week in an effort to help pay for the funeral.”

  My mouth falls open. “That’s very kind of you.”

  Here I was relegating them to a bunch of horny devils when they’ve been nothing but angels with really good abs and pecs all along.

  “I’ll get your order in and then see if I can find Rissa for you.” He takes off and Emmie falls back in her seat, her own cheeks hot with shame.

  “Sorry, Bizzy. I guess those big brown eyes of his hypnotized the truth right out of me.”

  “Emmie, you weren’t looking at his eyes. For one thing, they were blue. And secondly, they were due north from where your own eyes were feasting—otherwise known as ground zero.”

  “Fine. You caught me. But ground zero has a certain appeal.”

  A shadow darkens our table and we look up to find Rissa with her hair swept up into a knot, her turquoise eyes just as stunning as the night of the murder.

  “Can I help you?” She blinks at the two of us as if she were trying to place us.

  I offer a pained smile her way. “We met last Saturday night. I’m Bizzy, the manager at the Country Cottage Inn.”

  “Oh goodness, yes.” She falls into the seat between us. “I’ve been meaning to send a basket of our stud muffins over to the staff. Our honeyed cornbread is to die for.” She makes a face. “That certainly didn’t come out right.” A breath hitches in her throat as she looks to me. “Have they caught the killer?”

  “Oh no.” I shake my head. “We don’t know anything about the investigation. We were just in the area, and Emmie here was visiting one of her exes.”

  “Grayson.” Emmie nods furtively as if this were gospel. “He and I spent a few heated weeks together last summer.”

  Her mouth falls open. “You’re not the cutie from the cove who stomped on his heart, are you?”

  Emmie belts out a throaty laugh. “I may have stomped on something, but it wasn’t his heart. We were just foolin’ around.”

  “I don’t know. I think Grayson had a different perspective.” She looks my way. “Just like whoever killed Kaitlynn had a warped version of whatever they think she did to deserve that. In no way did my sweet stepsister deserve what happened to her.”

  I lean in as if she’s about to spill the juiciest bit of gossip. “Did she have any disagreements with anyone that you know of?”

  Her eyes slit to nothing. “Yeah. Me. But in hindsight, it was pretty silly. Kate and a friend were in the process of starting a skin care and cosmetics line—all-natural ingredients, locally sourced and organic. She borrowed the money for the start-up from my mother, and we had a disagreement over it. I just found out about it last Saturday.”

  Money? There’s a motive for murder for sure, and you don’t need to be a detective to figure that one out.

  “And, of course, now it’s all on Jeannie, Jeanette Branch—that’s her busi
ness partner—to pay my mother back with interest. It’s just a mess.”

  Emmie leans in, genuinely interested. “What’s the name of the company? I’d love to try out some of her products.”

  Rissa wrinkles her nose. “Natural Beauty is the name of the line.”

  “And where can we find Jeannie?” I couldn’t resist the urge to ask. It’s as if some innate part of me is hungry to claw my way to the truth. “I mean, where can we find the shop?”

  Rissa sags in her seat. “That’s the thing. There is no shop. It was an internet start-up. Right now, all of their inventory is stored in boxes in Jeannie’s garage. She lives just past the orchard in Cider Cove.”

  “The orchard behind the inn? I’m familiar with that tract of houses,” I say. “My brother lives there. It’s really nice.”

  “It is. Jeannie has a magnificent trust fund, which is why I was so shocked that Kaitlynn had to borrow any money at all from my mother. But I guess Jeannie was insistent that they each come in with the same amount of money.”

  “I guess it makes sense. How is your family handling this?”

  “Her father is a wreck. Kaitlynn’s mother has been a no-show for the last decade of her life. Her friends are understandably grieved.” Not that I’m bawling over this one. Some people get exactly what’s coming to them.

  She manufactures a smile my way, and every last part of me freezes.

  Grayson comes back with our lunch specials, and Rissa rises to her feet.

  “Comp their meals,” she tells him.

  “I’m one step ahead of you.” He tweaks his brows at Emmie before he takes off.

  Rissa leans in. “You ladies come by anytime you like. And if you hear anything about the case at all, please let me know.” She digs a card out of her apron and slides it my way. “I’d appreciate it.”

  She takes off, and I’m about to tuck the card away when I spot a familiar dark-haired man looking my way with a pair of ingloriously light gray peepers.

  “I’ll be back,” I say as I whisk over to the bar where patrons are free to sit and enjoy their meal. “Well, look who’s here to take in the view.” I smear it with as much sarcasm as possible at Jasper Wilder, homicide detective extraordinaire. “See anything you like?” I glance to a muscle man with a signature red apron as he struts on by.

  “Funny,” Jasper flatlines. I am enjoying the view. This one. He bears those steely eyes into mine as if it were compulsory. “I’m more interested in what you’re doing here.” His chin dips a notch, and suddenly it feels as if I’m about to be admonished.

  “I happened to have a hankering for a fresh batch of stud muffins.” I flash a quick smile his way. “I’m guessing you got the same urge?”

  His lids hang low with the implication, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s glowering at me. “I was hoping to speak to Rissa McNeil in an informal setting, but I can see you beat me to it. Care to elaborate on what the two of you might have been talking about?”

  I do a quick sweep of the vicinity to make sure Rissa is not around, and happen to note the fact that all the women in here seem to be ogling the one man wearing a suit—the obnoxious detective by my side with the body of a linebacker.

  Jasper is a head-turner, I’ll give him that.

  “No,” I say it in the same flat demeanor he just dished it out with, and his head ticks back a notch.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean no in the traditional sense. It’s an option just like yes, and I choose no.”

  He’s right back to glowering at me.

  Difficult and feisty, he muses. She’s as frustrating as she is cute. Usually not my type. But those eyes. Maybe it’s time to start redefining what my type might be. I bet I can get her to go to dinner with me and spill it all.

  “Dream on,” I say, but I don’t wait for a response, or even bother reveling in the clear look of shock on his face. Instead, I make my way back to Emmie.

  Grayson swings by to see how we like the food, and I thank him before politely asking for a couple of to-go boxes.

  Emmie leans in once he leaves. “It went that well, huh?”

  Before I can answer, there’s a hot detective, with an ego that can rival any stud muffin in this place, taking a seat at our table.

  “Bizzy”—he starts—“you said Kaitlynn was your friend. You do realize that any evidence you withhold from me is an obstacle to bringing her killer to justice.”

  Emmie tips her head his way. “Is this about Jeanette… Jeannie Branch?”

  “Jeannie Branch?” Jasper’s lightning gray eyes hook to mine. “You know about her?”

  “Natural Beauty Cosmetics.” Emmie is quick to nod into her admission.

  “Would you stop?” I offer her a sharp kick from under the table, and Jasper jerks as if I kicked him instead.

  “Geez.” He scoots back, letting me know I missed my target and hit a far more appropriate one. Good. That means my instincts are sharp. “So you got her to open up about Jeannie and Natural Beauty. Anything else you’d like to fill me in on?” He directs the question to Emmie because he knows she’s his only hope.

  “Not yet.” Emmie shrugs my way.

  “Not ever,” I say, picking up our boxes and nodding for Em to follow me to the door. And sure enough, Jasper Wilder is right alongside me.

  We hit the fresh air as the beginning of a storm lingers up above.

  “I’ll see you back at the inn.” Jasper glowers at the two of us. “Stay away from Jeannie Branch, Bizzy. You’ve already tampered with one suspect. Leave the next one to me. The last thing I need is the case unraveling. Please,” he implores as his eyes stagnate over mine a moment too long. But those lips.

  He shakes his head as he stalks off in the opposite direction.

  Emmie tosses a hand in the air. “I guess that’s that.”

  “That meant nothing to me. Besides, what’s it to Detective Wilder if the spa at the Country Cottage Inn suddenly has a hankering to carry a clean and natural line of products that are locally sourced and organic? I think Kaitlynn would have liked that.”

  “I think Jeannie will like it even more.” She wraps an arm around my shoulder as we watch Jasper hop into his truck.

  “I think we both know who won’t like it,” I whisper.

  My lips curve with satisfaction at the thought of disobeying his wishes.

  Jasper is right. Kaitlynn was my friend, and I want to see her killer brought to justice.

  That’s exactly why I’m about to dive into the deep end of my investigation.

  Next up—Jeannie Branch.

  Chapter 8

  The scent of the Atlantic in the morning sears my nostrils with its salty brine, but I take it in by the lungful just watching as the frothy water laps the shore.

  It’s early yet, the breakfast rush is still in full force, and I’m helping out in the café indefinitely until I can find a replacement for Kaitlynn. I still can’t get over the fact the poor girl was murdered—and right here at the inn.

  Who could possibly want her dead?

  I can understand why people evict one another out of their lives but not by way of removing them from the planet. It’s unfathomable.

  Fish meows from the benches where the café meets the sand, and I head over as she hops right up beside me.

  I can’t stand to see you so worried. She nuzzles her nose into the crook of my arm until I pick her up. It’s not like you.

  “Yes, well, I’ve never been forced to stare a murder in the face—quite literally. Someone killed the poor girl,” I whisper, trying to make it look as if I were talking gently to my sweet cat. “Someone really wanted her gone. Maybe she knew something?”

  “Who knew something?” a deep voice chides from behind, and I turn to find Sherlock bounding over and Jasper standing there with that obnoxious look on his face.

  There she is. Bizzy Body Baker. Jasper’s grin grows wider by the minute, and my mouth falls open at the audacity.

  Fish hops into my la
p a moment. Oh, he’s abhorrent.

  “You’re telling me, sister,” I hiss under my breath as she uses my shoulder as a springboard and takes off down the sand. I give Sherlock a quick scratch behind the ears. “Good morning, handsome.”

  Good morning, Bizzy. His inner voice is as deep in octave as his bark. Where’s my morning snack? he teases as he cranes his neck past me. Tell her to get back here. I’ve been craving kitten ears for the last two days.

  “Very funny.” I hop to my feet. “Detective Wilder.” I nod as I make my way past him. “Can I get a table for the two of you?”

  “Yes, please. Here on the patio is fine.”

  “But it’s so cold. We don’t mind pets inside as long as they’re leashed.” I hitch my head toward the café, and soon enough they’re seated inside at a table near the window. “Here’s a menu,” I say, pulling one off a nearby table. “And I’ll be back to take your order shortly. Can Sherlock have a slice of bacon?”

  “Yes.” His cheek cinches, and I can’t help but note how alarmingly handsome he looks. “In fact, I’ll make it easy on you. I’ll take the breakfast special.”

  “Perfect. I’ll put your order in right away.” No sooner do I get to the counter than Georgie walks in wearing a purple kaftan with silver threading woven throughout and smelling like—“Oh, dear God. What is that smell?” I tuck my finger under my nose as I make my way around the counter.

  Honestly? As management I should seriously consider giving her the boot for the safety of the other patrons’ olfactory senses. In the least, she needs to sit out on the patio where the sea air has a shot of evicting that odor from her body.

  “Let me guess”—I lift a finger—“my sister has been brewing something special in that cauldron of hers.”

  Georgie cackles as if it were true, and judging by the offensive odor, it might be. She lifts an arm and comes at me like she means it, her entire face brightening with pride. Her long hair cascades over her shoulders, but it’s still a dicey call as to the source of those gray curls under her arms, and I’m not about to study them to see where they’re sprouting from.