CAT SCRATCH CLEAVER

COUNTRY COTTAGE MYSTERIES 8

ADDISON MOORE

BELLAMY BLOOM

CONTENTS

Book Description

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Recipe

Books by Addison Moore and Bellamy Bloom

Acknowledgments

About the Authors

Copyright © 2020 by Addison Moore, Bellamy Bloom

This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

All Rights Reserved.

This eBook is for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase any additional copies for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright © 2020 by Addison Moore, Bellamy Bloom

Created with Vellum

BOOK DESCRIPTION

The Country Cottage Inn is known for its hospitality. Leaving can be murder.

My name is Bizzy Baker, and I can read minds. Not every mind, not every time, but most of the time, and believe me when I say, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

The inn is being featured in a movie, and it seems as if all of Hollywood has descended on Cider Cove. But something sinister is happening. One of the lead actors ends up dead, and to make things worse, someone is terrorizing the guests of the inn. The guests may be on edge, but I’m determined to put an end to the killer’s reign of terror.

Bizzy Baker runs the Country Cottage Inn, has the ability to pry into the darkest recesses of both the human and animal mind, and has just stumbled upon a body. With the help of her kitten, Fish, a mutt named Sherlock Bones, and an ornery yet dangerously good-looking homicide detective, Bizzy is determined to find the killer.

Cider Cove, Maine is the premier destination for fun and relaxation. But when a body turns up, it’s the premier destination for murder.

CHAPTER 1

Eleven Years Earlier

I t’s cold, dark, and by the looks of those purple welts in the sky, it’s going to pour at any moment.

“I don’t get why we had to come all the way out to the shore at midnight.” I pull my sweatshirt on as Hezzy, Roxy, and I huddle in a circle on the sand. “It’s the middle of summer, but it feels like winter. ‘Midnight knows no season,’ my father always says.”

Hezzy scoffs. “New rule. No one brings up their parents, especially not you, Leeny. This is serious. And if you’re not going to take it that way, we can just go back.”

The whites of Roxy’s eyes glint in the night. “Who goes first?” Her voice quivers.

Roxy always pretends she’s brave for Hezzy. I’m so sick of it.

Hezzy looks my way and bleeds a dark smile.

“No way.” The words sputter from me.

“Yes.” Hezzy’s voice is tight as the wind blows her hair into the sky. “We’re all taking turns tonight, so it doesn’t even matter.” A thick silence crops up. “Fine, you big crybaby. I’ll go first.”

“I’ll do it,” I hear myself say. I guess I like to pretend I’m brave for Hezzy, too. And the last thing I want is for her to call me a crybaby for the next two years. Besides, I can lie about what I see. I can make up anything. I can scare the pants off both Hezzy and Roxy from ever wanting to try something like this again. And yet a part of me is curious as to what lies on the other side as well. I wouldn’t be on the sand at this late hour if I weren’t. After all, it was my fascination with the afterlife that got the ball rolling.

“Lie down,” Roxy instructs as she helps me onto one of the beach towels we dragged out with us. “Close your eyes,” she says, and before I do, I see Hezzy placing her own towel over my face.

“Hey.” I push her off. “What are you doing? I’m going to hold my breath, remember?”

Hezzy rolls her eyes. “People don’t die by holding their breath. You’ll pass out at best. Once you pass out, I’ll hold this over you for a few extra seconds. Long enough for you to get a glimpse.” Her lips curve as she looks to Roxy. “And then we’ll wake you right up.”

Roxy nods. “I swear, I will stomp on your chest if I have to. You’re not staying on the other side. You’re just going for a little visit.”

“Fine. But don’t press that thing against me so tight,” I say, flicking the towel in Hezzy’s hand. “It freaks me out.”

“Whatever.”

I close my eyes and hold my breath as Hezzy lands the towel gently over my face. My life blinks before my eyes. Not in the way they say. But I can’t help thinking of my parents, my sister. Thank God this isn’t real. But I can’t shake this dark feeling.

I hold my breath until my lungs feel as if they’re about to burst and I take a quick, hot gasp of air from the towel. I try to push it from my face and it’s pressed down over my nose and mouth even harder.

“Not yet,” I hear one of them say.

“Knock it off,” I mumble as I struggle to free myself from it, but one of them pins down my hands over my head.

I scream. I fight.

My entire body writhes as I try to get out from under their stronghold.

Can’t breathe.

Help me.

I don’t want to die.

My entire life plays out like a movie, quick and in snatches.

Please stop!

My hands break free and they pin them down again. The towel presses so hard over my face it feels like fire.

My mind fades in and out until I succumb to utter darkness.

And then I’m floating, rising above the scene. I see Roxy holding me down. Hezzy with both hands pressed over my face, her body right over mine as she bears all her weight into the effort.

I rise higher into the night.

My poor body, I muse as I soar into the black sky as it turns navy, then purple as the stars brighten all around me. A white light sits up ahead and I’m flying now, soaring.

This is unstoppable.

Inevitable.

It’s really happening now. But I want to go back. I’d give anything to go back.

I didn’t do this. I didn’t want this.

Hezzy and Roxy did this.

And I won’t let them get away with murder.

Present Day

MY NAME IS BIZZY BAKER, and I can read minds. Not every mind, not every time, but it happens, and believe me when I say, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Like now for instance.

Look at that tramp. The older brunette next to me snarls at the scene before us. I see that come hither look she’s giving my husband. And what’s worse? The entire world sees it, too. I know she’s slept with him. How else could she have possibly gotten the job? It’s safe to say the casting couch is very much alive.

My mouth is agape just listening in on her private musings.

I’m standing behind the counter at the Country Cottage Café, the beachfront eatery attached to the Country Cottage Inn, which I’ve been managing for the last four years. The inn itself is set in coastal Maine, right up against a turquoise blue cove from which it derives its name, Cider Cove, my hometown.

It’s a late evening in the middle of a sweltering summer, and the café has been taken over by a local production company filming a movie entitled Cat Scratch Fever, about a young woman who does whatever it takes to climb the corporate ladder, including sleeping her way to the top.

And after inadvertently listening in on this poor woman’s thoughts, I’m beginning to think the same is true of Heather Kent, the lead actress currently belting out her lines.

I adjust the tray of s’mores bars on the counter in front of me.

My best friend, Emmie, who works at the café, actually made them for the cast and crew, but the director thought they would look good in the scene they’re in the middle of shooting.

He said they would add a flair of authenticity. And they certainly add something, with their graham cracker cookie base, layered with chocolate, marshmallow frosting, and graham cracker crumble on top. The cast and crew haven’t been able to keep their hands off them. Lucky for all of us, Emmie made enough to feed all of Maine.

The Country Cottage Café is a cozy, pet friendly diner on most days, but this evening it’s been transformed into a cinematic warzone with dozens of people milling around from the production team, ranging from hair, makeup, sound, cameramen, and about a billion others who are all seemingly important to the crew.

When I was approached by Peter Olsen, the director, a few weeks ago, I thought it would be fun to have a few shots taken inside the café and around the inn. I had no idea we’d have to shut the café down to the guests of the inn for an entire day. Worse yet, our rival café, Bread and Butter from down the street, has been called in to cater the event. And to add insult to injury, they offered to cater to the guests as well. I couldn’t say no and let my guests go hungry, so the Bread and Butter it is.

“Quiet on the set,” Peter calls out before one of his assistants waves the clapperboard in front of the camera and it makes a loud, crisp snap.

Bates Barlow, the male lead of this production, takes a step toward Heather, a buxom blonde with large brown eyes, large lips, and large, well, everything in the right place, if you get my drift.

“I should kill ya, now that I have the chance.” He grips her by the arms and gives her a violent rattle. “I should do it with this cleaver and stab you in the back!” He holds the boxy metal blade above her head in a menacing fashion.

I glance to the left where my fiancé, homicide detective Jasper Wilder, gives me a knowing nod and I can’t help but make a face. Jasper was the one that told me it might not be the best idea to have this circus take place at the inn. I should have listened to him. Instead, I listened to Georgie Conner, a sweet, zany woman old enough to be my grandmother, whom I just so happen to regard as such. Georgie was once my dad’s mother-in-law. He’s been married and divorced so many times I’ve lost count of where and when that matrimonial disaster happened, but for whatever reason, Georgie has stayed in my life, and I’m glad about it, too.

I spot her sitting at a bistro table not far from where Bates Barlow continues to rattle our questionable heroine. Georgie has a mane of wild gray hair—think Einstein, but longer and curlier—sweet baby blue eyes, and a smile that sets off every wrinkle she says she’s earned. She has a penchant for wearing kaftans, long, flowing dresses, in every wild color imaginable, and she’s a big, fun-loving hippy. She’s seated across from an older man who looks to be her equal in every way, with his wiry gray hair and punch-colored Hawaiian shirt dotted with toucans and palm trees.

Georgie essentially begged me to let them shoot here after hearing Peter say the staff could play the part of extras.

And that’s exactly why I’m standing behind the counter, pretending to ring up the brunette before me whose mind I just inadvertently pried into. Evidently, she’s Peter’s wife.

Georgie snorts at something the man in the Hawaiian shirt says to her, and Peter lets out an egregious moan. Suffice it to say, Peter Olsen is severely high-strung.

“And cut!” he shouts, gripping his gray hair at the temples. His face is purple with rage and his eyes bulge as he looks to Georgie. “How many times do I have to tell you? Extras do not have vocal cords!”

A tiny laugh bucks through me, and I do my best to swallow it down.

Something soft and furry curls around my ankles, and I glance down to see my adorable black and white tabby, Fish, threading her way between my feet. I’ve had Fish for over a year now. I found her when she was a kitten just up the street outside of my sister’s soap and candle shop, Lather and Light.

Bizzy, I don’t like these intruders. She twitches her furry little head to the side. You’re in charge around here. Tell them to take their angry vocal cords and leave. She gives my leg a playful swipe as if to get her point across.

Yes, I just read her mind, too. It’s true. I can hear the animal mind as well. And ten times out of ten, I prefer that to the human variety.

Both Fish and Jasper’s red freckled pooch, Sherlock Bones, are behind the counter with me. I’m not sure if Peter Olsen is aware of it, but I don’t think it matters. The camera can’t see them anyway. Besides, there are a zillion people in the kitchen. And now that the cameras aren’t rolling, the entire café has exploded with bodies.

Sherlock gives a light bark. All right, Bizzy. You said if I behaved, I’d get bacon. I was good and quiet. Now let’s get to the bacon.

I’m about to reach down and give him a pat when Bates Barlow comes up to the counter. He’s the current heartthrob around these parts. He’s been in a few commercials and low-budget movies, such as this one, but his fame precedes any of his accolades. He’s pretty much a social media sensation and the self-proclaimed crush of just about every girl and woman on the Eastern Seaboard.

He’s got short, dark, wavy hair, glowing hazel eyes that look perpetually glossy, and perhaps chemically induced, and there’s a general boyishness about his features. I’ve always preferred my men a bit more rugged, thus my initial attraction to Jasper, but I can see the draw.

Speaking of my ruggedly handsome fiancé, I sneak another quick glance to Jasper, who’s currently being verbally accosted by his ex-girlfriend, Camila Ryder. Jasper is tall, with dark hair, electric gray eyes, and a body that’s put together as God intended in exactly the right way with all the right parts.

I take a moment to scowl over at Camila, with her long dark hair and that curve-hugging red dress. As soon as she got a whiff of the movie being filmed at the inn, she quickly signed up to be an extra herself.

I do my best to try to read her mind—although I really don’t have to. I’m pretty sure all she thinks about is Jasper, my Jasper.

That’s the thing about reading minds. It’s not as easy as you would think. I can only hear certain things. And there are certain people I can’t get a read on at all. Once in a while, someone’s mind will clutter up with nothing but white noise, and that’s a sure sign they’re having indecent thoughts at the moment. And if the person whose mind is open for me to hear isn’t standing in front of me, it’s hard to tell if it’s coming from a man or a woman. At that point, it sounds monotone and sort of muted, and I’m not sure why. I’m not sure about a lot of things that involve my telepathic abnormality.

I try my best to zero in on Camila once again, and this time I’m met up with a bunch of white noise. Case in point, she’s having naughty thoughts about my betrothed. And coincidentally, I’m having homicidal thoughts about Camila.

I can’t wait to rid the world of that despicable creature. Some people really are better off dead.

I blink back. As much as I’d like to claim that thought as my own, it didn’t come from me.

I give a quick look around as a chill rides through me. I haven’t the faintest idea who just let that homicidal thought fly.

Fish lets out a hair-raising yowl as she hops to the other side of Sherlock.

Bizzy, I have a bad feeling about all this.

A mean shiver rides through me as I take a quick survey of all the anxious bodies swirling in the vicinity.

I quickly pick up Fish and land a kiss to the tip of her ear before whispering, “I have a bad feeling about this, too.”

It’s happening, and not a force in the universe can stop me, the mystery voice strums again.

I give another quick glance around and wonder what it is not a force in the universe will be able to stop.

CHAPTER 2

Bates Barlow steps in front of me, effectively blocking my view of the malfeasance taking place with Jasper and Camila. Bates is not only the movie star du jour, but he’s part of the reason my man-hungry sister, Macy, forced my hand at accepting the project to begin with. Georgie may have pleaded that we host this movie-induced madness, but Macy demanded in a way only she can.

He nods my way with those glossy hazel eyes. “I’ll just put this here.” The cleaver in his hand clanks against the counter before he snaps up a handful of s’mores bars. “I’m heading out to have a smoke.”

He takes off and the brunette I was in the scene with leans over.

“Can you believe it?” She waves her hand over her nose, a giddy smile flickering on her thin red lips. “I’m betting that smoke is about to give him a serious case of the munchies. He’s as high as a kite.” A hearty chuckle expels from her as she takes up a s’mores bar herself. “Jane Olsen. I’m the director’s wife.” Her smile is quickly replaced with a frown.

“Bizzy Baker. I run the inn. And contrary to what my surname might have you believe, I can’t bake a thing without burning it.” I wink over at her. “But I’m getting married soon and I won’t have to quantify my last name anymore. That is, if I choose to change it.” The jury is still out on that one.

She belts out a laugh.

Jane is tall, on the thin side, with bony features, crow’s feet, and hard lines around her mouth. She looks to be in her late fifties, and has a fabulous figure and muscular arms as if she knows what the inside of a gym looks like.

“Don’t worry, honey.” Her voice drops an octave. “Husbands nowadays don’t give a lick how good wives can be in the kitchen. They’re much more concerned with another room of the house.” Unless, of course, your husband is Peter. She shoots a look to the irate man having a word with the production assistant a few feet away. He’ll pay for making a mockery out of our marriage. “Excuse me.” She takes off just as the production assistant Peter was berating heads this way.

“Everything okay?” I ask the woman before me with an air of apprehension.

Faith Grayson, the production assistant in question, has been my point person for the most part as far as this fiasco is concerned. She’s a sweet woman, just a touch older than me—I’m guessing early to mid-thirties—about five foot five, stocky with dark shoulder-length curls, and a pleasant face.

“Everything is just dandy,” she sings with a touch of sarcasm, and I can’t help but laugh. She cranes her neck past me as she looks to the makeup artist. “Hey, Kiki? Are you almost done with the gaping wound?”

“Gaping wound?” I say to no one in particular as a woman with long red curls bounces over. Her lips are frozen into a grin and she has a ruddy complexion and large brown eyes that look almost cartoonish in nature.

“I’ve got you covered.” The woman holds up a board in her hand with what looks like a flesh wound bulging out of it and I grimace at the sight of it. “It won’t hurt ya,” she says, landing the board onto the counter. “I’ll have to make a few minor adjustments as soon as Heather finishes with wardrobe, but for the most part, this is it.”

I look down at the bumpy peach flesh that’s sliced open with mounds of what looks like blood congealed over its sides.

“Wow, you’re really good,” I say, having a hard time taking my eyes off the realistic trauma.

Faith laughs. “Kiki is one of the best. You can bet we were thrilled when she came on to the project.” She gives a quick glance around. Now where is that witch? She makes a face. “I’d better track down Heather and make sure she’s with wardrobe. If we don’t keep time, Peter might just drop dead from all the stress.” Not that it would be a bad thing. Sometimes good things come in small body bags.

I make a face at the thought as she scurries into the crowd.

“I’m Bizzy,” I say to Kiki, and I’m just about to introduce her to Fish when she gives an exaggerated gasp.

“Oh”—she inches back, looking mildly confused—“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to bother you. I was just—”

“No, no!” A laugh bubbles from me as I cut her off. “That’s my name. Bizzy Baker. I run the inn here. Welcome, by the way.”

“Bizzy?” She leans back to get a better look at me. “Now there’s a cute name.”

“It’s a nickname, actually. My best friend and I are both named Elizabeth, and seeing that we were always together growing up, we’ve just gone through life with the nicknames our families gave us. My parents were calling me Izzy for a while, but my big sister couldn’t pronounce it, so Bizzy it is. And my best friend goes by Emmie.” I glance over to where she sits canoodling with Leo Granger, her newly minted boyfriend.

Emmie and I share the same long dark hair and same denim blue eyes. So much so that we’re often mistaken for sisters.

I’m still not sure how I feel about Emmie being with a noted womanizer. Although I do like Leo. Like me, he has the strange ability to read minds. I glance back to that bloody blob of goo before me then back to Kiki, its creator.

“And I mean it”—I say—“your work is spectacular.”

“Thanks.” She shrugs it off as if it were no big deal. “It’s just rubber and some makeup that I’m about to slather onto the cleaver. Any fifth grader can do it.”

“I highly doubt that.”

She coos over at Fish and gives her tiny head a quick pat. “I just love animals.” Her lips press tight. “And that sweet dog running around has become my best friend.”

“He probably thinks you’re working with bacon,” I say and we share a quick laugh on Sherlock’s behalf. “Are you local?”

She rocks her head back as she nods. “We’re all basically local.” She motions to the slew of bodies buzzing around this inadvertent hive. “I’ve lived in Breckinridge all my life.” Her cheeks begin to heat and her already ruddy complexion turns a bright shade of plum. “I’ve got to get out of this room. It has to be at least a thousand degrees in here.”

“I’m so sorry. We have the air conditioner on, but the doors are wide open for the crew and equipment.”

She glances out those opened doors and shudders. “Don’t ever apologize for anyone. Least of all Peter.” She gives a quick wink as she picks up her bloody project and takes off.

I make my way around the counter to break up Camila’s accost-your-ex-boyfriend party, but I don’t see them standing off to the side anymore. Instead, I spot Jasper talking to Leo and Emmie. Leo and Jasper used to be good friends up until Leo snatched Jasper’s fiancée away. The fiancée in question would be Camila Ryder, the vampy ex that keeps popping up onto the surface of our lives like a stubborn cork.

I’m about to head their way when Georgie and Macy step before me.

My surly sister plucks Fish right out of my arms.

“Come here, you,” she bleats as she gives a caustic look around. “They say pets and small children are chick magnets. I think I’ll check to see if it works the other way around.” Macy dyes her dark hair blonde and wears it in a blunt cut just above her shoulders. Her icy blue eyes are always on the hunt for a male victim to grace her presence with, and this moment is no different. She starts to take off then backtracks. “Oh, and Mom says she’s open for wedding dress shopping this Saturday. They serve mimosas at those kinds of places, right?”

I make a face in lieu of a response and she waves me off.

“I’ll bring my own liquor,” she whispers to Fish just as Bates Barlow comes barreling back in this direction and bypasses us.

Macy fans herself with her fingers in his wake, and I can’t help but avert my eyes.

He’s way overhyped as far as I’m concerned.

Georgie links her arm to mine as her bright pink kaftan brushes up against me.

“So what do you think of Milk of Magnesium, P.I.?” She nods over to the older man in the Hawaiian shirt she was seated with during taping. Normally, the moniker she just gifted him might be an insult, but coming from Georgie, I think it’s a compliment.

“He looks decent. Is he normal?” I shoot her a wry look and she swats me.

“Now what would I want with normal? Darby Atwater is out of his ever-loving mind, and I’ve lost ahold of my good senses because of it. He’s an artist, Bizzy, just like me. In fact, he said he’d come down to Main Street tomorrow and get a look at how my mosaic is coming along.”

Almost a year ago, Mayor Woods invited Georgie to be a part of the Cider Cove beautification project and she’s allowed Georgie to create an expansive mural on the retaining wall that takes up the lower portion of the street. It’s made up almost entirely of sea glass and broken pottery that Georgie herself finds along the coast, right here in Maine.

“Speaking of your mural, how’s it coming along? It looks as if you’re almost finished.”

Georgie’s created a succinct snapshot of life in coastal Maine with pictures of the shoreline and large seagulls soaring above sparkling sandy beaches. She’s even got a gray stone structure that represents the inn, not to mention miniature people and a bright big orange sun.

Georgie grunts, “Mayor Woods wants it wrapped up by September.”

“That’s still a couple of weeks away.” Believe me, I know. My wedding takes place in September, and I’m counting down the days until I become Mrs. Jasper Wilder.” Mrs. Bizzy Baker? Baker Wilder?

“A couple of weeks away?” Georgie squawks. “Oh, it might as well be tomorrow. Where else am I going to find a job that pays by the hour? With the kind of money I’ve made from that beautification project, I could have retired.”

“You still can.” And I don’t want to break it to her, but she essentially is. Prior to the project, she was selling sea glass necklaces at craft boutiques about once or twice a year. If she sold a dozen necklaces, she called it a boon.

“No, I can’t. There’s still a lot of artistic get up and go left in these bones. I’m not ready to hang up my hammer. Besides, I just can’t do it,” she says as Sherlock Bones trots up.

I’ve lost Fish! He lets out a sharp bark. I think someone’s taken that cleaver and they’re about to chop off her tail. Quick! Tell Georgie to fill her pockets with bacon and we’ll go looking for her.

I’m about to translate to Georgie, since outside of Leo and Jasper she’s the only other person who knows about my strange ability to pry into people’s minds, but something she said stops me from doing just that.

“Georgie, why can’t you retire? What happened to all the money you’ve saved from the beautification project?”

She clucks her tongue. “I’m giving it all for the cause. Darby’s opening a night club for the senior sect called Silver Shufflers.”

“Who’s Darby?” So many questions—I’m not sure why I started with that one.

“It’s Mr. Milk of Magnesia, P.I. You really don’t pay attention, do you?” She pulls a piece of bacon out of her pocket and gives it to Sherlock. “Come on, kid. I can tell by that look on your face you’re worried about your furry little girlfriend. Let’s go find her.” She takes off with Sherlock before I properly gag or shake her to keep from giving her retirement fund to the Hawaiian shirt wearing shuffler, or hustler as he’s turning out to be.

I’m about to head on after her when a familiar spiced cologne engulfs me, and I’m pulled into the strong, capable hands of the most handsome man in all of Maine—oh, what the heck. If I’m being honest, the entire universe.

“Let me guess”—I pull Jasper in—“you’re here for Heather Kent?” I bite down over my lip. Just about every male who works at the inn has come around to get a look at the newfound local celebrity.

His lips twist at the thought. “If you changed your name to Heather Kent, then I’d say you’re right.” Jasper’s silver eyes bear into mine. “How are you holding up?”

I gently grip him by the tie. Jasper came right over after work and has been on the sidelines watching, along with the rest of us, ever since.

“Better now,” I say, reaching up and giving the scruff on his cheeks a playful scratch. “You have no idea how much I love it when you wear your suit after hours.”

His left brow arches high into his forehead and it only amplifies his good looks.

“Why’s that?”

“So I can take it off myself.” I wince. “I meant your tie.”

“Just my tie?” He gives my ribs a quick tweak and I jump. “It’s two hundred degrees in this room. If we don’t get out of here soon, I’ll strip for everyone to see.”

“And I’ll be right there behind you. You don’t think we’ll get arrested, do you?” I tease.

“I’m the one wielding the handcuffs in this place. I think you’re safe with me. How about I get you someplace private and you can take off whatever you like to feel better?”

“Very funny.” A thought comes to me. “Hey, maybe we should tell someone to keep an eye on that weapon?” I say, glancing to the counter, but the cleaver that was set there a moment ago is gone. “Never mind. It looks as if someone already took care of it. I hope it turns up before Peter Olsen busts a gasket over it.”

Jasper navigates us out into the sweltering summer night, and I’m not lying when I say I’d swear you could see the heat radiating off the sand even at this late hour.

Jasper and I make a beeline for the shore where the breeze is slightly cooler. His lips find mine and we trade kisses as we talk about our day and the melee that’s taken over the inn. And as soon as we reach the quiet end of the cove, I pull Jasper in closer to get right back to the serious business of kissing my future husband on a moon-washed summer night. I’m about to do just that as I take a step backward and trip over something soft, landing myself flat onto the sand.

“What the heck?” I ask, struggling to sit up on my elbows, only to find someone staring right at me—a woman lying on her stomach. The moon washes the woman’s expressionless face blue, and I startle before I notice something protruding from her back and I let out a sharp scream.

The woman—I recognize her.

It looks as if that cleaver just turned up—embedded in Heather Kent’s back.

Heather won’t have to worry about how the critics will receive her latest film.

Heather Kent is dead.

CHAPTER 3

M y vocal cords do their best to shrill into the night as I crawl away from the body before jumping to my feet. To my left I note a set of footprints heavily impressed into the damp sand, and I quickly pull out my phone to take a picture before the tide comes in and washes them away.

Jasper checks the poor girl for a pulse before offering me a disparaging look. He pulls out his phone and calls it in just as a set of footfalls treads in this direction.

“What the hell is going on?” a male voice booms, and as he draws near, I can make out his dark wavy hair and boyish face. It’s Bates Barlow.

“Step back,” Jasper barks. “This is a crime scene.” He heads over and wraps an arm around my waist. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I glance back to Bates and watch as his eyes round out in horror.

“Is that?” He staggers a few steps forward despite Jasper’s warning. “My God, is this real?”

Before we can answer, Leo runs down, and in less than a few minutes, sirens light up the night with their menacing howls and their seizure of blue and red strobe lights.

A crowd begins to gather, but I make a beeline for Bates before he can slip away.

“Bates,” I pant. “I’m Bizzy Baker. I run the inn. What are you doing down at this end of the cove?”

“I needed some privacy.” Perfect. The witch is dead. Now if I can just get the others off my back, I might actually get my life on track again.

I glance over to Heather as the moon casts a spotlight over that cleaver still lodged in her back.

“Bates, did you see anything or anyone who might be suspicious?” I ask, hoping to prod his mind into a confession.

“No. I wanted to have a smoke. I needed some alone time. Peter was making me nuts. Heather wasn’t helping either. I heard someone scream, and I thought you were being roughed up. The last thing I expected to see was Heather lying there, dead.” Not that I was truly caught off guard, but she doesn’t need to know that.

I frown over at him. Something is very off with this man. My God, he could be the killer.

Fish weaves her way over to me with Sherlock on her tail, just about literally.

No sooner does Fish jump into my arms than Bates ducks into the blooming crowd of onlookers. A few women gasp, and a man belts out an entire string of salty words.

Oh, Bizzy. Fish mewls as she looks to Heather before quickly burying her tiny face in my chest. Please tell me this is all an act, and every last one of these people will be headed back to wherever they came from tonight.

Sherlock barks as if agreeing.

I’m not sure if it’s through the sounds they make or if they’re telepathic themselves, but the animals always seem to understand one another for the most part.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” I whisper. “But I do know it’s real.”

Leo shouts at everyone to create a wide berth and the crowd slowly slogs backward.

I spot the makeup artist, Kiki Woodley, with that wound board of hers clutched to her chest.

“Kiki.” I run over. “Did you see anything? Was anyone upset with Heather?”

She swallows hard. My God, everyone hated the girl, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t the time to share that bit of non-news.

“No.” She closes her eyes. “I don’t know.” A flash goes off and her eyes dart in that direction. “Are people really taking pictures?” Her voice breaks. “Has anyone called her family?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

“Oh goodness, I’d better see if I can figure this out.” She lowers the board and her chest is covered with the rubber goo from the bloody prosthetic she’s been toting around. “Oh goodness,” she repeats in a panic as she turns and heads back toward the café.

I give a shudder just as Georgie and Macy come upon me.

“Oh, thank God.” Georgie takes Fish right out of my arms. “The last thing I want is for something fishy to happen to you.” She cranes her neck past me and gasps. “I gotta get out of here. Juniper Moonbeam is heading this way to meet my new man, and there’s no way I want to expose my baby to this.”

Juniper Moonbeam, or Juni as I call her, was once married to my father. She’s twice as quirky as Georgie but in a whole other direction.

Georgie takes off and Macy lifts a finger in her direction. “Don’t forget about dress shopping!”

“Would you shush?” I pull my sister to the side. “Are you nuts? Someone was just slaughtered. I’m not going shopping for anything tomorrow, let alone shouting it from the rooftop in the middle of a homicide investigation.”

Macy rolls her eyes. “Believe me, nobody cares.” Her lips part as if she were about to say something else, but her attention has been hijacked by something behind me.

I glance that way to find Bates Barlow standing near the waterline to get a better look at Heather and he’s holding his phone out, his arm ticking a notch every few seconds.

“He’s taking pictures of her,” I say.

Macy grunts, “He’s probably going to sell them. That’s what they all do. It’s a part of the Hollywood culture.”

“I certainly hope that’s not what he’s up to.” I focus all of my mental energy his way and yet his thoughts seem to be muddled and snowy.

Ring, caught, end of it.

That’s all I can get. Cryptic words for sure.

Sherlock barks and nods with his nose behind me. She’s back, Bizzy. And she looks determined to find you.

I turn and spot Fish flying this way, quick as lightning.

Bizzy—Fish stops short, out of my reach—I was heading back with Georgie, but I heard arguing. Come quick. I think you’ll want to see this.

Sherlock barks and we follow as Fish leads us back toward the café, but just before we head on in, Fish slows down and the sound of escalating voices drifts through the night.

“You chose a fine time to tell me this,” a decidedly male voice bellows.

“Don’t worry,” a female voice gives an incredulous laugh. “I won’t ruin your reputation or your fun. Go on, get out of here.”

I am getting out of here. As far away as I can, until this whole thing blows over.

Peter Olsen darts past me before pausing to turn my way. He glances to the crowd murmuring at the edge of the cove.

Great. I’ve been seen. I can’t just leave now. He scowls over at me.

“What’s going on?” He nods to the cove.

“You haven’t heard?”

His crystal blue eyes begin to bulge.

It’s not going to look good if I say yes. “Heard what?”

“Someone attacked Heather,” I say. “She’s gone.”

Peter takes a deep breath as if I had thrown a glass of water over his head.

“I’d better see about this.” He stalks off and Fish and Sherlock twitch their heads up at me.

Told you. Fish yowls.

Sherlock groans. She told you nothing. I saw the guy in the kitchen just a little while ago, right before I ran down to find you.

“Sherlock, what was he doing?”

Fish scoffs. What all human men do. He was probably eating a donut.

Sherlock growls. He was washing his hands. And Jasper only eats donuts in the morning—with bacon, because he’s smart.

Washing his hands?

The sound of whimpering and sniffing comes from behind the café and I step into the sand as I make my way around the building, only to find the figure of a woman looking for something in the bushes.

I can only surmise it’s Peter’s wife, Jane Olsen. That conversation sounded intimate. And judging by that tall, thin body and that dark hair glinting in the night, I’m right.

“Can I help you?” I ask as I turn on the flashlight on my phone.

Her hands are already buried in the shrubbery.

“Oh,” she says as she jerks something out of the bushes. “You could have, but you’re too late.” She pulls out a couple of ballet flats and quickly puts them on. I shine my flashlight down over her legs and her feet are covered with sand. It’s late and the sand we’re standing on is bone dry. The only way she could have sugarcoated her feet in that manner is if she got them wet—if she was at the waterline.

Those footsteps in the sand near Heather’s body come to mind.

“What were your shoes doing in the bushes?” A dull laugh bounces from me in a weak attempt to sound as if I was making light conversation, but I fail by a mile.

She slaps them together before putting them on.

“Went for a walk.” She makes a face as she strides past me and takes a look down at the activity near the edge of the cove. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a lawyer to call.”

“A lawyer?” I try to block her path, but she circles around me.

“You know what they say—when the dead come a knockin’, the vultures come a flockin’.” She takes off and she doesn’t pause to examine the scene taking place at the edge of the sandy beach.

No. I have never heard that expression. And by the sound of what Jane Olsen just said, it seems she very much knows about Heather Kent’s untimely demise.

That’s funny. Her husband denied it.

It’s almost as if they can’t keep their stories straight.

Fish looks up at me and whimpers. She did it, didn’t she, Bizzy?

“I have no idea. But it certainly seemed fishy. No offense.” I wrinkle my nose down at my sweet cat.

Sherlock makes a grunting sound as if he were about to sniff out a nefarious creature. I sense something, Bizzy. Something in the café. He trots back and takes a look in the window as Fish and I do our best to scurry after him. He lets out a soft bark. There’s someone in there.

I amble up, and sure enough, he’s right. In an otherwise desolate café, Faith Grayson, the production assistant, is wiping down the front of the counter with what looks to be a paper towel before she stuffs it into her purse and heads out through the entry that leads to the inn.

What was she doing? Sherlock barks.

“Cleaning,” I say. The exact spot where I last saw that cleaver before it made its way into Heather Kent’s back, I’m presuming.

I sincerely doubt Faith Grayson felt the need to tidy up the café. But what I don’t doubt is the fact she was wiping down her fingerprints.

Somebody murdered Heather Kent tonight, and the signs of suspicion point just about everywhere.

CHAPTER 4

T  he morning air is humid and searing, a sure sign that we’re about to coast to the top of the thermometer.

It’s not unusual this time of year for Cider Cove to feel as if someone just tossed the entire lot of us into the dryer and forgot to turn it off. The weather might be unpredictable in other parts of the country, in other parts of Maine for that matter, but it doesn’t take a fortuneteller or a weatherman to let you know what you’ll experience in our end of the world at any given day. And this day happens to land in the middle of a sweltering summer.

As much as I’d like to believe the guests of the inn don’t have a clue as to what transpired last night, I know that’s not the case. No sooner did Jasper and I step into the café than I noticed that the guests were already clustered among themselves, whispering with long faces. Unfortunately, I’ve learned one too many times that word of a homicide travels fast. I should know. We’ve had our fair share of homicides right here at the inn over the last few months. Okay, fine. It’s bordering on a year—a year of dead bodies piling up. I shudder just thinking about it.

I wonder how long it will take for the owner to hear of this and give me my walking papers? The owner is a wealthy earl in England and he has little to nothing to do with the place other than having his accounting firm handle the bills. And I rather like it that way. This inn very much feels like my own. It was me who implemented Critter Corner, a pet daycare facility open to guests and townies alike who want to ensure their pet has their needs met during the day while they’re at work or on vacation.

In fact, I was the one that opened the rooms to pets as well. The internet lists it as the most pet-friendly resort in Maine even though technically it’s not a resort.

“Tell me everything that happened when you went to the station last night,” I say as I pour Jasper a cup of coffee and quickly dish up a handful of s’mores bars for him as well. I let him know about the missing cleaver last night, and he had the forensics team dust the counter for prints, but it was after the fact Faith wiped it down.

The sheriff’s department cleared the café to open today, so there’s that.

Jasper has donned a fresh suit, his hair is still damp from the shower, and he looks heart-stoppingly arresting in just about every way. About five female guests nearly tripped over their feet as they tracked him with their eyes on our way over. I’ll admit, Jasper’s good looks are so caustic they can cause a traffic accident on the road or right here inside the inn.

Sherlock lets out a bark before Jasper has a chance to answer. He just got home two hours ago. I doubt he’ll remember much of anything today.

Jasper lands on a barstool at the counter and takes the coffee I give him.

“I just got home two hours ago,” he moans. “I doubt I’ll remember much of anything today. You wouldn’t have this in a gallon to go, would you?” he says, toasting me with his mug.

A little laugh strums from me. “Sherlock all but said the same thing, sans the coffee. I’m betting he wants bacon instead.”

Sherlock vocalizes a happy little yip, ensuring me I’m right.

Emmie strides by with her apron in place, holding an empty carafe of orange juice as she heads toward the kitchen. She wishes us both a good morning. Her hair is up in a messy bun with wisps falling around her cheeks, softening her face.

“Why does Sherlock look as if he hasn’t had his bacon?”

Jasper looks her way. “Because you’re a mind reader,” he teases as he looks my way.

“That I am,” she chirps as she heads into the kitchen. “I’ve got you covered, Sherlock.”

Thank heavens someone is thinking about me. The adorable pooch curls up into a ball at the base of Jasper’s feet.

Fish is still up front at the reception area greeting guests—or more to the point, napping on the marble counter where it’s nice and cool.

I lean toward Jasper. “So what happened down at the station? Any updates on the case?”

Jasper is the lead homicide detective down in Seaview County. He worked tirelessly last night alongside the coroner, and apparently, didn’t sleep but an hour.

Jasper sighs. “Bizzy, I know you’re interested in this case. And I know better than to think you’re not going to try to question as many people as you can, but this case is still in an infantile state. It needs to be coddled, and I’m asking kindly for you to quell any urges you might have to put on your sleuthing hat.”

“Fine.” I make a face. “And I know you better than to think you’re going to hold back on me—seeing that you’re an expert at quelling desire.” I waggle my brows and manage to squeeze a wry smile from him. “Now, details, please.”

His gray eyes penetrate mine a moment too long.

“Okay, fine.” He takes a quick look around. “Last night, before the murder, Camila was telling me that she knew Heather.”

My mouth falls open. “My God, Camila did it!” I say with a touch too much glee. “Could you please lock her up and throw away the key as an early wedding gift to your soon-to-be bride?”

A dark laugh rumbles through his chest. “You do realize I’d much rather talk about our upcoming wedding. Did you find a dress?”

“You’re trying to change the subject. You were about to arrest Camila, remember?”

“No.” He frowns. “I don’t think she did it. She took off for the restroom just as I took off to find you.”

“And then you didn’t see her again, so she’s a suspect.” Okay, so my sleuthing math may be off a bit, but it doesn’t have to be exact when his ex is concerned. “How about it, big boy?” I say in the sultriest voice I can manage. “A little handcuff action can get you a long way.” I wince. “Wait. That didn’t come out right.”

His lids hood dangerously low. “I think it came out just right.” He leans over the counter and lands a kiss to my lips. “Hold that thought. Hopefully, I won’t be at the station until four in the morning again.” He toasts me with his cup of coffee. “Don’t hold your breath. Stay out of trouble.” He gives a quick wink before he takes off.

“Stay out of trouble,” I mutter just as Emmie delivers Sherlock a strip of bacon.

Tell Emmie she’s my favorite. He tucks himself back under the stool and gets to the task of gobbling it down.

“I think you’re Sherlock’s favorite person right about now.”

Emmie laughs as she hands me a strip of bacon as well.

“That was some night, huh?”

I can’t help but give her a side-glance. “It was. How are things going with you and Leo?”

Her eyes light up as she bites down on her lip—two obvious signs of trouble.

“Spill it,” I say, rocking my hip to hers.

“I think we’re getting pretty serious. I’m ready to take things to the next level.”

I squint over at her. “What next level?” As much as I like Leo, I don’t know how much I like him with my bestie. I can’t help it. Emmie is more like my sister than Macy has ever been. I suck in a quick breath. “You’re going to do the deed?”

She waves me off. “Not that. The deed has been done. Have you met me?”

“Good point. So what’s left?” I’m about to nosh on a s’mores bar before I hit the brakes and suck in another quick breath. “Cinnamon and Gatsby are getting married?” Emmie adopted an adorable redheaded labradoodle cutie a few months back and Leo just adopted a dapper looking golden retriever. “It makes sense. I don’t know why I didn’t see it coming. We can have the wedding right at the gazebo that overlooks the cliff.” That’s the precise spot where Jasper and I will be doing the matrimonial deed ourselves in a little over a month. Of course, Fish and Sherlock will play a part in the wedding day festivities. “Ohh, I just had a thought. We can go shopping for pet clothes together. Fish and Sherlock need to get gussied up for my wedding, too.”

Sherlock gives a riotous roar as if he suddenly morphed into a lion. That’s a hard no, Bizzy. We’ve already played dress up, remember?

Emmie makes a face. “I think he’s still traumatized from that doggy fashion show.” She tosses him another piece of bacon to quell him. “But no, Cinnamon and Gatsby, unlike their owners, are taking things slow. As for Leo and me, I think I’m going to tell him I love him.”

A crowd rushes the counter and Emmie takes off to tend to them.

She loves him? As in the big L word that typically comes before a major commitment? My heart thuds hard inside my chest as if it were looking for an escape route. My God, Emmie is getting in way too deep.

I take a moment to catch my breath.

If Emmie and Leo exchange I love yous, Leo might just be moved to let her in on his telepathic secret.

I look over at my sweet bestie and groan. I’m not entirely sure why I’ve never shared with Emmie the fact I’m transmundane, further classified as telesensual. I wasn’t always able to pry into other people’s thoughts. But when I was about thirteen, Mackenzie Woods, aka Mayor Mackenzie Woods, pushed me into a whiskey barrel full of water during a Halloween party and darn near drowned me. And after that, I’ve been privy to people’s wandering thoughts. I can pretty much control who I hear unless I’m stressed, then it’s open season and it feels as if I’m listening to the whole world at once. If I focus in on someone, I can try to pry into their mind, but typically most people come in clear and easy—unless, of course, they’re having unsavory thoughts, thus the white noise I get now and again.

No sooner does the thought of how I came to have this supernatural quirk drift through my mind than in walks Mayor Woods in a powder blue power suit, her go-to accouterment, and a snarl on her face, her go-to expression.

“Bizzy Baker,” she hisses my name out like a reprimand as she trots on over. “How dare you have another homicide right here in our innocent cove?” She bites the air with her words as she gives a quick look around as if expecting to find a body.

Mackenzie used to be great friends with both Emmie and me right up until high school when she made a sport out of stealing our boyfriends.

And in the mother of all boyfriend ironies, Mackenzie was dating Leo right up until Emmie snatched him away.

I’d say I was sorry, but I’d be lying.

I make a face at her. “Would you like cheese to go with that whine?”

“That’s tired and boring.” She squints over at me. “Just like you.”

Mack is pretty in a Disney villain sort of way, with her full-bodied dark chestnut hair that seems to have a life of its own, those sharp pointy brows, and the perpetual scowl on her blood red lips.

I’d offer her a s’mores bar, but that might mean she’d stay a while.

“What do you want, Mack? You do realize I don’t kill people for a living. I can’t help you with the homicide at the cove.”

“It happened on your watch. While they were filming at your café. Look, I don’t know what you’re up to, or what voodoo princess you’ve upset, but I don’t need this kind of bad press in my town. And here I thought it was a great idea to have the film industry welcomed with open arms. I should have known you were going to find a way to putz this up for me. And I see you went with an old standby. A body.”

I give a few quick blinks in her direction. “If it means anything, production trailers are still parked in the lot. And no one other than you has blamed me, or the inn, for what was a grisly murder on public property.” I give a quick smile as I lob the ball her way.

“Fine.” She takes a deep breath before scowling over at Emmie.

Emmie Crosby. As if having Bizzy to deal with wasn’t enough, I have Em to gouge my emotional eyes out as well. I don’t know what Leo sees in her. I’m the mayor of this damn town. All she does is wait tables.

She slits her gaze my way once again. “I’ll try to speak with what’s left of the production crew. Let me know if you botch things up further and chase them out of town for good.”

“Mackenzie.” I wince at how callous she sounds. “They lost their lead actress. I doubt they’ll be finishing the film.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if you know how the world works.” She takes off just as Fish scampers into the café and heads over to where Sherlock relocated once he spotted the mad Mayor.

They’re coming this way, Bizzy. Fish yowls. And Georgie is with them.

I glance to the entrance.

I suppose I’ll learn who they are in just a few seconds.

Georgie, Faith Grayson, and Kiki Woodley all stride into the café at once and they look like a trio of women on a mission.

“Bizzy!” Georgie snaps her fingers over her head as if she were dancing the calypso, and in that tie-dyed pink and blue kaftan, she looks just about ready to. “These girls were at the front desk asking for you.”

Kiki, the girl with long red curls and enormous brown eyes, gives a nervous laugh.

“I was looking for a short stack,” she says my way.

“You’re in the right place,” I tell her. “We can get that for you right over there.” I nod to the register before looking back at Georgie. “This is Faith Grayson, the production assistant, and Kiki Woodley, the makeup artist. S’mores bars, anyone?” I hold out a tray in their direction and they each thank me as they snatch a few up.

“Ooh!” Georgie’s entire face brightens, and I can tell by that wily look in her eye I won’t like what comes next. “Bizzy is getting hitched in a couple of weeks. Do you do makeup for weddings?”

Kiki laughs. “Well, I tend to lean heavy on special effects.” I haven’t done makeup for a wedding since that horrible night. She closes her eyes a moment.

I narrow my gaze over at her.

She almost made Heather’s death sound as if it happened years ago. But then, people are in shock, and there’s no saying a private thought has to make sense.

“I’ve got it covered, Georgie,” I say. “But thank you for thinking of me.”

Georgie averts her eyes. “Who said I was talking about you? I’m in need of one serious makeover for the big day. And with special effects, I bet she could make me look twenty. How many special effects will twenty bucks get me?”

Kiki takes a breath and holds it. “About ten minutes?”

Georgie belts out a low, gravelly laugh. “You’re on, Toots.”

Faith, the shorter woman with the pale skin and dark scruffy hair that lands around her neck, raises a hand briefly.

“Actually, I was looking to speak with you, Bizzy. Peter wanted to assure you the production team would be around for a bit, filming a few finishing shots.”

Georgie makes a croaking sound. “I guess it’s true what they say. The show must go on. Hey? They’re not going to use any footage from the crime scene, are they?”

Both Faith and Kiki grimace at the thought.

“No.” Faith gives her a careful smile as if she were suddenly speaking to a toddler. “We were basically at the end of our production. If anything, they’ll hire another actress to fill the role. There were only two or three scenes she had to film next and they were death scenes.”

A horrible groan escapes Georgie.

“Life imitating art!” she howls. “It happens all the time. I’m a big believer in it. I recently put a replica of myself in the mosaic I’m working on, and next to my portrait I put a handsome mosaic man in a Hawaiian shirt, and guess what?” She elbows Faith and clucks her tongue. “I caught me a live one last night at the taping.”

Faith lifts her brows. “It sounds as if you made off better than poor Heather.”

Kiki shudders. How can she be so cold-blooded? A person died. Heather was slaughtered, and Faith’s practically making a joke out of it. I can’t wait to get out of my contract with these people. Maybe I’ll move to New York and find another cold-blooded group to work with. It’s about what I deserve at this point.

I nod to Faith. “Thank you for letting me know that you plan on finishing the film. The inn and the grounds around it are yours for as long as you need them. If you need any rooms or if anyone wants to rent a cottage, I can arrange that.”

The inn has several dozen rooms, and, in addition to them, the expansive grounds are dotted with more than several dozen cottages. I happen to live in one and Jasper happens to live right in front of me in another. I guess it’s time to start thinking of where we’ll live once we make it official. So much is going to change. And poor Heather, nothing will ever change for her again.

Faith nods. “You bet I’ll let you know. I’m sure we’re fine, though. Most everyone on the crew is local.”

I lean in. “So what’s the word with the crew anyway? Who do they think could have done something like this?”

Faith and Kiki exchange a glance.

Kiki clears her throat. “There is a rumor that a certain person who was close to her lost his temper.”

Faith looks irritated by the thought. Wow, Kiki, why don’t you just throw Peter under the bus?

“Peter?” I whisper, inadvertently playing off of Faith’s thoughts.

Faith closes her eyes a moment. “I guess it wasn’t a far leap. Anyway, we’re not sure about anything. We’ve decided it’s best the sheriff’s department conduct their own investigation. We both did our interviews with the detective, and it’s up to them to put this puzzle together.”

I examine their faces. They’re both so stoic, it’s almost strange. Why would anyone cover for something like this?

“I see,” I whisper. “Did Peter do anything yesterday that made you both suspicious?” They don’t need to know that speaking to me is just as good as talking to the homicide detective himself.

“Well”—Kiki glances around as if she were expecting him to be lurking nearby—“He was edgier than usual. I heard him arguing with Heather just before the shoot. About what, I don’t know, but Heather said she had enough.”

Interesting.

Faith casts a quick glance to the counter, in the exact spot where I saw her wiping down those prints last night—or at least that’s what I’m guessing she was doing.

“I saw him just as the room drained last night,” Faith whispers. “You would think he would have been the first down there to see what was going on. He went to the kitchen and said he was thirsty.”

Sherlock comes over wagging his tail. I bet that’s when he washed his hands, Bizzy. I saw him do it. I asked him for bacon and got nada in return. He was too busy soaping up his arms.

Soaping up his arms? Sounds like he was getting ready for surgery. Or perhaps just finished butchering his lead actress to death.

“I bet Peter is laying low today,” I say, mostly to myself before perking up and feigning a weak smile for the two of them. “It’s a trying time, I’m sure. Do you think he’s around the inn?”

Faith shakes her head. “Oh no, he’s long gone. I’d say he went home, but home for Peter has been a warzone as of late.”

Kiki lifts a finger. “I know for a fact he likes to hang out at a place called Slick Willy’s. It’s a bar that pretends to be a restaurant. They’ve got a lounge where creative types like to go after work and complain to one another.”

Faith nods. “That’s right. He reads scripts there. He says it’s the only place his wife doesn’t bug him.”

Poor Jane. Faith shakes her head. If anyone would have told me there would be a body yesterday, I would have guessed it would be Peter’s—and with Jane at the other end of the cleaver.

After what I witnessed last night, that wouldn’t have shocked me either.

The register clears up and the two women head down to order their breakfasts.

Georgie leans my way, bobbing her head and snapping her fingers as if her favorite song just filtered through the speakers.

“Would you believe me if I were to tell you I was about to take Juni to lunch at Slick Willy’s this afternoon?”

“No,” I deadpan.

“Well, you should because that’s exactly where we’re heading.”

“That’s funny. It’s exactly where I’m heading, too.”

CHAPTER 5

Slick Willy’s is exactly as classy a joint as its name suggests it would be.

The place itself is located about twenty minutes outside of Cider Cove in a scruffy town called Edison. I’d say there are not a lot of attractive things about Edison in general, but I’m guessing the men ogling all of these interestingly dressed women might disagree.

Georgie, Juni, and I just stepped into the small, boxy building that hosts this catastrophe, and I’m still not sure if it’s a bar, restaurant, pool hall, coffee shop, or discothèque. Clearly, Slick Willy’s is in the middle of an identity crisis because by the looks of the mishmash taking place, it’s all of the above.

It’s dark inside, which makes it feel like midnight despite the fact it’s the middle of the afternoon, black wooden floors, no windows, and crimson walls with lots of framed pictures of beautiful women strewn all over.

Raucous country music bleats from the speakers, and it smells like the hot dogs and pizza that those scantily clad waitresses are hauling around on platters. Not exactly a Michelin five-star restaurant, but judging by the name, I wasn’t expecting it to be.

The establishment itself is expansive inside. There’s a left wing and a right, and from where we’re standing we can see both.

Juni lets out an egregious moan. “Look at all these hot chicks,” she spits it out as if it were the worst news in the world. And knowing Juni’s M.O. usually involves garnering the attention of every man in the room, I can see why she’s not so thrilled.

Juni is a younger version of Georgie. Her mostly caramel-colored hair is doing its best to catch up in the gray department. She’s got less wrinkles by half at least, but she shares the same wily gleam in her sparkling blue eyes, same happy-go-lucky—some might say insane—disposition in life. And much like her mother, Juni has a very specific style when it comes to clothing. She’s less of a kaftan lover and more of a biker chick gone wild.

This afternoon she’s treating us to a pleather number, short skirt, with what looks to be a metal studded bra that she’s chosen to wear on the outside of her tight black T-shirt.

Of course, Georgie has gone with the standard fare, a white kaftan with pastel dots printed all over it. There’s a slight circus appeal to it, and with Georgie in general, that’s par for the course. I’m still stuck in the same pink sundress I wore to work this morning.

“Look at all these women.” Juni wags a polished red fingernail, at least two inches long, at the crowd. “How’s a girl supposed to nab a man when every girl in here has already cast her fishnets?”

“Hey”—I lean to get a better look at the crowd at hand—“you’re right. Half these women really do have fishnets on. And the other half looks as if they’re about to go to prom. It’s still the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, right? I wonder what gives?”

“Bizzy, Bizzy.” Georgie tucks her fists to her hips and rolls her eyes. “Not everyone needs a weekend to have a good time. Some of us like to be in bed by seven. You gotta get your good time in while the getting’s hot.” She claps her hands and rubs them together as if she were relishing what lies ahead. “Now let’s get in there and rumble.” The enthusiasm on her face suddenly wanes. “Aw, shucks. I just remembered Darby is meeting me here for drinks. Leave it to me to ruin a potential hot spot for meeting new men by dragging a date to the scene.”

I look to Juni. “Speaking of dates, don’t you have a boyfriend?”

Juni snorts. “Spike and I like to keep our options open. When you’re my age, seen as much as I’ve seen, been married as much as I have, dated and mated as many prison guards as I’ve been lucky to, you learn to play fast and loose with the rules of love.”

Juni has spent a majority of her life playing fast and loose with a lot of things.

A waitress comes by wearing short shorts that redefine the word short and a sparkling sequin top that’s blue with white stars. I have a feeling a lot of people leave here seeing stars. I’m taking her choice of accouterments as a harbinger of sorts.

“I’m Stacy.” She flashes a winning smile. She seems nice enough, older than me by about ten years, blonde hair that’s partially blue around the front, the same hue as her blouse, and I’m betting that was no accident. Her skin is deeply tanned with a touch of pink on her nose as if she were striving hard to soak in the summer sun and achieving her sunburnt goals. And her pants—well, I’m not sure she’s wearing any. “Just three today?”

“Four,” Georgie grunts while tossing her hands up. It’s obvious she’s still in deep regret over the fact she’s invited her Hawaiian shirt wearing friend from last night.

A thought hits me. Darby, the Hawaiian shirt wearing friend in question, was there at the café. He might have seen something. This is perfect. Not only will I hopefully get a chance to question Peter Olsen this afternoon, but I’ll get to pick Darby’s brain, too. It’s a two-for-one deal an amateur sleuth like me can’t pass up. It looks as if Slick Willy’s is working out for me after all.

Stacy gathers four menus from behind the podium in the foyer and Juni leans her way, leering at the woman’s body with the slight look of judgment.

“Those are some hot pants,” Juni muses. “Where’d you get ’em?”

“Down the street at a place called Hot Mamas. They’re running a two-for-one deal on everything in the store.”

Juni leans back. “Hear that?” she says through the side of her mouth, doing her best impression of a ventriloquist. “It looks like we’re going to do a little hot-to-trot shopping right after lunch.”

“Ooh.” Georgie elbows me. “Remember to keep an eye out for a wedding dress.”

“I highly doubt I’ll be buying my wedding dress from a place called Hot Mamas.”

Georgie twitches her cheek. “You’re right. That’s more of a wedding night kind of a place. I’ll help you pick out a few pieces that will make the good detective howl like a werewolf in front of a full moon.”

Juni gasps. “Count me in on that howling good time. I’m not letting Hot Mamas hold out on me. Lord knows I live to make men howl at the moon. Usually it’s in pain, but I get just as big a kick out of it.”

Stacy’s eyes grow large with fright and I don’t have to be a mind reader to know she’s already thinking of calling security. But since I am a mind reader…

“Hey, Stacy? You wouldn’t happen to know if a man by the name of Peter Olsen is here, would you?”

“Oh?” The woman rocks back on her spiked stilettos. “You’re here for that.” Funny, I wouldn’t have pegged these women for trying to hitch a ride on the Peter Olsen Express. But then, this entire room is the gateway to the casting couch.

A breath hitches in my throat just hearing it.

GAH!

I give a quick look around, and sure enough, it makes perfect sense. An entire bevy of beautiful women are pawing over average, at best, slovenly looking men. This entire place is a hooker hovel for those wanting to trade their bits and pieces for bit parts in bad pieces—movies.

A righteous anger begins to boil in my veins. I just hate the thought of innocent women being taken advantage of, even if they’re not that innocent.

Stacy asks us to follow her and we’re led to the right, through a swarm of bodies as we’re seated near the back at a small table that looks as if it could hardly accommodate two, let alone four, but there are four chairs, so I’m sure it will all work out.

She leans my way, and I’m suddenly engulfed by her sugary perfume.

“He’s right behind you on the Naugahyde sofa going over scripts.”

I glance back and spot the silver fox with a stack of paper on the small table in front of him and a buxom brunette in his lap. Another look-alike brunette sits to his side, pawing over him as if she couldn’t wait to take a ride on the Peter Olsen Express as Stacy so eloquently put it.

“It looks as if he’s got his hands full,” I whisper.

Stacy bats her hand at the thought. “Don’t worry about interrupting. It’s the name of the game. All you have to do is let the girls know you want five minutes alone with him. They’ll beat it and head to the next guy.”

“Next guy, huh?” I take a quick look around, and sure enough, there are enough sleazy looking men with stacks of paper in front of them to qualify as the next guy.

Stacy straightens. “I’ll get you ladies a round of iced tea on the house. Let me know when you’re ready to order.”

Juni lifts a finger. “Make sure my iced tea makes a trip to Long Island by way of the bar.”

“Gotcha!” Stacy laughs as she takes off.

Juni bops her head to the twangy music pulsing through the place. “Hey? I wonder if I can land me a job at a snazzy place like this?”

“I don’t know.” Georgie shakes her head as she gives a quick look around. “I get the feeling this is the kind of place where you need to sleep your way to the top.”

I nod. “You’re intuitive, Georgie. That’s exactly the kind of place this is—sleezy.” Speaking of sleezy. “Hey, would you mind if I asked Darby a few questions once he gets here?”

She hitches a wiry gray brow into her forehead. “Why, that’s a brilliant idea. You distract him while I go troll the bar for hot men.” She shoots me with her fingers. “I always knew you’d grow up to be my best wing woman.”

“I’m glad I’m living up to your expectations.”

Juni fluffs her hair with her fingers. “I’m about to do the same. Mr. Hot Buns at six o’clock is my mark. Wish me lick.”

“You mean luck,” Georgie corrects.

Juni winks. “I mean lick. I won’t be needing any luck.”

I crane my neck to where her attention is pinned. Technically, that would be ten o’clock even from her vantage point, but I’m not going to argue the finer points of a clock face with her when I’ve clearly got a much bigger bone to pick with her licker.

“Juni,” I hiss. “Are you talking about the burly man with his face burnt to a red crisp? The one with a bright orange T-shirt and the fancy government-issued bracelet around his left leg?”

“Yup.” Juni pulls out her lipstick and blindly applies a caustic shade of red, adding a fourth of an inch to her upper lip.

“Juni, the guy probably got that sunburn by working on a chain gang. And newsflash, the sheriff’s department is keeping tabs on him.”

“That’s how I know I’ll be safe.” She gives a quick wink my way. “But don’t you worry, I’m betting a guy like that knows how to raise a little hell.”

“And a felony or two,” I say as she zips off in his direction.

No sooner does a round of iced teas land at our table than Darby, the portly, balding, date of Georgie’s, lands in Juni’s seat and takes a sip of her drink.

“Woo-wee!” He gives a wistful shake of the head. He’s donned yet another Hawaiian shirt, and I’m guessing this is an ongoing theme with him. This time it’s pink with palm trees and hula girls sprinkled about. “Looks like my little mama knows what I like.” He picks up Georgie’s hand and lands a kiss to the back of it. “How’s it going, hot stuff?”

Georgie waggles her brows. “Better now that you’re here,” she says in her sultriest voice, and suddenly I feel both violated and like a third wheel all at the same time. “Darby, this is my friend, Bizzy Baker. She’s in charge of the inn where Cat Scratch Fever is being filmed.”

His face contorts into a rather dramatic look of surprise. I’m guessing bad acting is his specialty.

“Darby Atwater at your service.” He extends a hand my way, and I’m quick to shake it.

“So nice to meet you.” I scoot my chair his way as to not miss a single word that’s about to come out of his mouth.

Well, lookie here. He glances down at my seat. Looks like the spring chicken wants a bite out of Grandpa, too. Can’t say I blame her. He broadens his chest unnecessarily. This shirt has long since been a honey trap. I knew it was overkill for this place, but then I can’t tell if Georgie Pordgie is a sure thing just yet. He shoots a quick look to Georgie, then me. Wait a minute. What if this is one of those two-for-one deals? Maybe I really did hit the jackpot with the old gal?

Georgie takes a sip of her drink before slamming it down onto the table.

“Would you look at that?” She slides it forward with a dramatic flair. “Someone is trying to pass off this bathwater as my libation. I’d better hit the bar and find me a real man to spike my drink. I’ll be back.” She squints over at Darby. “Don’t get too friendly with present company.” She takes off, and he blows out a breath of what seems to be relief.

“It’s almost as if she could read my mind.” He grimaces my way. “Did I just say that out loud?”

“I think it’s the iced tea talking.” I’m willing to give him a pass. “That was some night last night. How are you holding up?”

He squints so hard his eyes disappear for a second as they succumb to mounds of pink flesh.

“My trick knee has been giving me trouble,” he says. “I’ve got a molar that’s darn near abscessed, and I haven’t moved my bowels in three days.” He picks up his drink. “Nothing a couple of these won’t cure.”

“Here’s hoping.” Okay, so he’s an over sharer. That might just work in my favor. “But what about the murder?” I shake my head as I whisper. “Did you know the poor girl? Heather Kent?”

“Not well.” His brows knit together as he pulls his drink in close. “But you could say I was the one who helped land her the role in the film to begin with.”

“What?” I scoot next to him another notch, not wanting to miss a thing.

“That’s right.” A cheesy grin glides across his face. Now that she thinks I’m a gatekeeper, she’s suddenly interested again. He glances to the proximity of our chairs and I promptly scoot right back. He scowls before leaning in. “See that guy behind you?”

I turn and catch another glimpse of Peter Olsen and the brunette Bobbsey Twins nibbling on his ears. It’s an off-putting sight, especially knowing he’s married.

“Hey?” I pretend to be surprised to see him. “Isn’t that the producer?”

“Director,” he corrects.

“You’re so smart. I’m still new to all this,” I say and watch as his ego inflates ten times its natural size. Something tells me Darby here likes to impress the ladies at every turn. “But how did you help Heather?”

Knew it. He chuckles to himself. Ms. Blue Eyes here is hoping I’ll do the same for her.

He leans in so close, I can smell his cheap cologne, coupled with an intense garlic scent coming from his mouth.

“The truth is, I came here looking for a part myself,” he confesses. “All the local writers, producers, directors like to hang out here. Mostly men. But then, men make the world go round. Am I right?”

I give a wry smile that says you’re pushing it, buddy, and he waves it off.

“Anyway”—he’s back to leaning in hard, and I’m about ready to pass out from the smell—“I bought his drinks for a couple weeks straight while he talked to the ladies about roles and whatnot.”

I’m guessing it’s the whatnot that Jane Olsen was so irate about.

“And Heather was one of the girls?”

“That’s right. I bought her drinks, too. She was a regular here. Peter’s Girl they called her.”

“Do you think they were having an affair?”

He frowns over at me. “What, do I look naïve? I may have bought my way into his movies by way of hard liquor, but Heather was required to make a meatier payment, if you know what I mean.”

“About a hundred pounds of flesh.”

“You got that right.” He lifts his drink as if toasting Heather’s effort. “And just between you and me, Peter really did like her.”

“As in he was willing to trade in his wife?” There’s no sense in ignoring the matrimonial elephant in the room.

He shakes his head. “Let’s not get crazy. Jane is his first wife. And rumor has it, they got hitched without a prenup. It’s not easy to get rid of a woman like that without feeling a punch to your wallet.”

“Oh, so he sneaks around.”

He shakes his head. “Peter Olsen doesn’t need to sneak,” he whispers. “She knew what she was signing up for. Jane was the female lead in three of his first films. She knows how the game is played.” She played it well herself.

“I was in a scene with her last night, and she was in a mood. I’m thinking she didn’t like Heather.”

The truth is, she didn’t like Peter, but he’s not the one that’s dead.

Hey? Maybe she found them together and killed the wrong person? That would explain the wet sand on her feet.

“Maybe she didn’t like Heather.” Darby swills the drink in his hand. “But for the most part, she and Heather pretty much gave one another the cold shoulder. Jane and Peter are notorious for having blowouts on set. Jane likes to threaten Peter with divorce now and again. It’s a game they play.”

The exact game I found them embroiled in last night.

“Did Peter have a beef with Heather?”

He cuts a glance in the slimy director’s direction.

“I don’t know. But I do know that after weeks of being lovey-dovey, Heather was icing him out. Rumor had it, now that she landed the role, she was moving on to bigger, younger, fish—Bates Barlow.”

“Bates?” I tip my head, considering this. “He is all the rage among the single ladies.”

“And not so single. In our line of work, it’s considered schmoozing with the right crowd. You can’t really limit yourself to the people who wear a wedding ring.”

Or those who don’t wear one on purpose.

I glance back to Peter and affirm my naked finger suspicions.

“So Heather was rebuffing his advances. And Peter really liked her,” I say, mostly to myself. “I bet a man like Peter isn’t used to being turned down.”

“And so publicly,” Darby adds. “It was a bruise to his ego when she started making out with Bates on set, that’s for sure. He was so mad the first time it happened, I thought he was gonna kill her then and there.”

My mouth falls open. “Darby, do you think Peter killed Heather?”

His gaze flits to the scene behind me. “No.” Maybe, but I won’t say that out loud. Not here. Not anywhere. I know what side my bread is buttered on. I’ve got rent to pay and shirts to buy. If Peter lost his mind last night, it’s none of my business. Let the cops worry about it. He manufactures a smile my way. “But I wouldn’t worry your pretty little head about it, honey. Heather Kent knew who she was playing hardball with.”

Georgie comes back. “No luck at the bar.” She sets down a fruity looking drink before flashing those pearly whites at Darby. “I guess I have you to spike my drink after all.” She leans in and they rub noses and coo like a couple of rabbits looking to multiply and produce an entire herd of Hawaiian shirt, kaftan wearing bunnies.

Peter Olsen walks by with a brunette on each arm and they head off through an unmarked door down the hall.

Something tells me he won’t be coming out anytime soon.

But something else tells me that won’t be the last time I poke around in his business.

Peter Olsen’s ego might be too big for his directorial britches, but is it deadly?

That cleaver lodged in Heather Kent’s back might just prove it was deadly indeed.

CHAPTER 6

What’s better than indulging in all-you-can eat s’mores bars on a boiling afternoon?

That’s my alibi if Jasper gets his suspicions aroused. And if he’s a smart man, his answer to the question regarding s’mores bars will be kissing me. It’s pretty much a win-win for both of us.

Regardless, I’ve arrived at the Seaview Sheriff’s Department with Fish in my tote bag poking her little cute fuzzy head out and Sherlock Bones springing by my side, leashed, and a pretty pink box of Emmie’s s’mores bars in my hot little hands.

I thought of bringing Sherlock along as sort of an afterthought, to be truthful. But I figure Jasper would be so thrilled to see him, that any irritation I might cause would be thrown off by that pooch’s innate cuteness. And, of course, when I asked Sherlock to join me on this adventure, Fish insisted she wasn’t missing out on the investigation. Needless to say, they were both disappointed to learn we were merely going to speak with Camila. Believe me, I’m not too thrilled either.

Sherlock lets out a soft bark. I don’t care for Camila. She likes to shoo me away with her feet.

“I’d like to shoo her away with my feet,” I mutter. “A nice kick to the rear should do it.”

Fish meows with what sounds like glee. Try to make it look like an accident, Bizzy. This place is crawling with people just dying to land some of those shiny bracelets onto someone.

Sherlock growls. Just the way Jasper likes to do. I’ve seen him put the cuffs on you, Bizzy.

Fish yowls and sounds as if she’s laughing. You rather seem to enjoy that little game.

“Okay, you two. I get it,” I say as I make my way toward the homicide department. Clearly, they know too much.

The sheriff’s department is cold and sterile, nothing but white walls and linoleum floors. The faint scent of stale coffee lingers in the air, and there’s something sweet layered just beneath that, probably donuts because, let’s face it, some stereotypes are true.

I make the final turn toward my destination, and sure enough, Camila Ryder sits at her desk with a low-cut blouse on, blowing on her fingernails that seem to be freshly painted a shade of cutthroat red.

Camila took the position here at the homicide division so she could be close to her ex. Neither Jasper nor I was thrilled, considering he’s the ex in question.

Her head hitches my way before she does a double take.

“I thought I sensed a disturbance in the force.” She flips that long dark mane before fanning her nails through the air. “What do you want?” She spots Sherlock and her eyes expand. “Ugh. We have a strict no fleas policy. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to disem-bark.”

Fish lifts half her body out of the tote bag and hisses at the hussy before us with such a caustic fervor Camila glides back in her chair and belts out a scream.

I can’t help but chortle myself into a conniption.

“Relax,” I say as I land the box of s’mores bars onto her desk. “Shove a couple of those in your mouth.” I make a face at her. “That should get your venomous juices flowing.”

Sherlock circles around the desk to get a better look at her. Be careful, Bizzy. She’s got the blood of her enemies on her fingertips.

I nod his way. Duly noted.

“Camila.” I command my voice to sound as sickly sweet as possible. “It was just confirmed to me that they’re going on with the production of Cat Scratch Fever and the director is open to recasting the lead as a brunette.” Not true. I’m betting if Camila did get the part, they’d slap a wig on her for consistency, but the words flew from my lips so I’m going with it.

Her mouth rounds out as she takes in a solid breath.

“No kidding?” She pushes the box of sweet treats back my way. “I see what you’re doing. You’re trying to fatten me up so I won’t get the part.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’re a brunette.” She flashes a momentary grin.

Fish groans. She’s got you there.

“I might be a brunette, but I’m not interested in the part. Anyway, I was just coming here to see Jasper, and when I saw you, the thought came to mind.”

I’m sure a lot of thoughts come to mind. She teases in the wicked way only she can.

Back when she was dating Leo, she got it out of him that he could pry into her depraved mind. And when she saw Leo and me having more than one seeming conversation a few months back, she did the mind reading math.

“Well”—I pull the box of sweet treats back my way—“I’ll tell Peter you’re not interested.”

“Wait a minute.” She pulls the box back in her direction. “I didn’t know you were on a first-name basis with the guy.” She pulls a set of chopsticks out of her desk and quickly plucks a s’mores bar out of the box like a chopsticks wielding pro.

I make a face at how effortlessly she managed to pull that off. I’m guessing this isn’t the first time she’s pulled those sticks out to save her manicure.

Fish lands her front paws over the edge of the tote bag and she looks about as adorable as can be. Tell her you can get her the role for a fee. Fish mewls. A plate full of Fancy Beast cat food. Salmon pâté, none of that turkey dinner. I’m a cat, for goodness’ sakes.

Sherlock lets out a chirp of a bark. See if she can throw in a few of those jerky treats Jasper picks up now and again. I’d like to have them as a regular part of my diet.

“I am on a first-name basis with the director,” I say, giving both Fish and Sherlock a wry look before shifting my gaze back to Camila. “In fact, I just had lunch with him this afternoon.” Sort of. “That’s when he seemed to be taken with the idea of a brunette stealing the part.” And I’m pretty sure that’s no lie.

Camila spikes to her feet. “Well, I’m interested. In fact, I’ll stop by the inn tomorrow and let him know myself. Besides, I have some business to conduct.”

Shoot. It seems I’ve opened up a can of Camila-shaped worms. Of course, I did. I shouldn’t expect anything less with her. She’s a barracuda when it comes to trying to steal my man.

A dull laugh bounces through her.

“Oh, Dizzy Bizzy. I don’t have to be a mind reader to know that your paranoia just went up a notch. You think I’m about to swipe Jasper away from that pretty little ring finger of yours that you have him wrapped around?”

I inadvertently twirl my engagement ring in toward my palm. She’s the last person I want gawking at my ring. It bares a hunk of an emerald cut diamond with smaller diamonds dripping down either side. I’ve already told Jasper I’d like to use it as my wedding ring as well. There’s no way I’m taking this off my finger for long.

She leans hard over her desk, and Sherlock whimpers before chasing his tail in a circle.

“Guess what, Bizzy? You’re right.” She bleeds a dark smile. “I got to thinking the other day. What on earth does Dizzy Baker have that I don’t? I’ve got you beat with both my body and my looks.” She points a finger to herself. “I’m halfway decent in the kitchen, and from what I hear, you’re required to have a fire extinguisher nearby.”

She’s not wrong there. Fish yelps and I twist my lips at her.

Camila scowls my way. “He’s settled with you. Face it, Bizzy, you’re ordinary. And a man like Jasper deserves an extraordinary woman.”

Sherlock gives a sharp bark and it sounds like a warning. Nobody talks to my Bizzy like that and gets away with it. Grab her by the chopsticks and demand that she tells you everything she knows about Heather.

Camila snarls over at Sherlock. “Oh hush, you. Nobody asked you anything. A lot of good you and your paw patrol did yesterday protecting Heather Kent from getting slaughtered.” She bares her fangs my way. “Heather was my friend. In fact, I was the one who suggested the inn a few months back when she said they were scouting a location for the grisly climax.”

“You did?” I blink back, surprised. I’ll let her insults slide this once, but only because I plan on shaking as much about Heather from her that I can.

“That’s right. Heather and I went to the same spa right here in Seaview. She’s been renting a place in town. And we became fast friends.”

“Did she tell you she slept with Peter to get the part? Is that what you did to get your bit part, too?”

She sucks in a quick breath before getting right back to scowling.

“Why aren’t I surprised to see you stoop so low?”

Sherlock whines as he wraps himself around my legs. Play nice, Bizzy. She likes to bite. I’ve seen her do it to Jasper.

Ugh. So not what I needed to hear. And now I can’t seem to stop the visual from invading my brain either.

“Wait a minute.” Camila jerks her head back as if I had struck her for seemingly no reason at all. “You’re not here to see Jasper. If you were, you and your menagerie would have crashed into his office by now. You’re here to snoop on me, aren’t you?” She sucks in a quick breath. “You knew I was friends with Heather Kent. I bet Jasper told you, didn’t he?” She makes wild eyes at me and a certain threat is buried in each one.

“Okay, fine. He told me. So what? It’s for the greater good. You said yourself you were friends with the poor girl. Don’t you want her killer brought to justice? Did you see anything last night that seemed suspicious?”

“Just you trying to poison the room with these god-awful desserts.” She lands the box before me with a thump. “And by the way? I finally answered my own question. I finally figured out what Jasper sees in you that he doesn’t see in me.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

Fish straightens. This I gotta hear.

Camila gives a throaty laugh. “It’s that silly P.I. routine that you’re pulling over on him. Jasper is a crime fighter by nature. He craves justice. And for whatever reason, you figured out that’s what revs his engine. Well, guess what, pussycat?” She growls at both Fish and me when she says it. “Two can play at that crime-solving game. I’m not telling you a thing I know about Heather Kent because I’m going to be the one that solves her murder.” She leans in a bit more until her bosom looks as if it’s about to spring right out of her blouse and sock me in the face. “And then I’m going to murder your wedding.”

Sherlock lets out a far more caustic bark this time.

“Shut up,” she snaps. “That’s right, Bizzy. I’m gunning for your relationship. Jasper felt something for me once, and I’ll make sure he feels it for me again. And this time? I won’t have to resort to calling in government forces to put you in a holding tank for freaks like you. Once he sees my sleuthing prowess, he’ll be practically falling over himself to repair what we once had. I’ll be the whole package. Once you and I are on equal footing, the decision to come back to me will be a no-brainer.”

He’s never going back to you. Sherlock Bones lets out a series of riotous barks. Never in a million years. Not for all the bacon in the world. You’re a crazy mixed-up witch. And not a thing will ever change Jasper’s mind. I’ll bite his ankles off if he even thinks of looking in your direction.

“Whoa,” a deep voice strums from behind, and I turn to find Jasper headed this way. The look of worry on his face quickly morphs into an easy grin. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite fiancée.” He pulls me in and lands an easy kiss to my lips before giving Sherlock a pat to the head. “It’s okay, boy.”

“Sherlock, Fish, and I brought you treats,” I say, picking up the pink box.

“How about we head into my office and enjoy ourselves?” His lids hood low as he steals another kiss from my lips. “If there’s time, we might make our way to dessert, too.”

A laugh bubbles out of me as we head into his office. No sooner does he shut the door than I fill him in on Camila’s latest scheme to reprise their relationship.

“You’re kidding.” He closes his eyes a moment. “I’m sorry you had to hear that. I’m not going anywhere, Bizzy. It’s just you for me, forever.” He dots my lips with a kiss and Fish mewls with delight.

“I think she approves,” I say, glancing down at my sweet cat.

Sherlock barks before curling up beneath the desk.

Jasper nods. “I think he approves, too.”

We get back to the serious task of enjoying a few sweet treats by way of kisses.

But in the back of my mind, I can’t help but think I don’t approve of Camila sticking her nose into my relationship or my investigation.

She has to go, on both fronts.

Camila might have a leg up on Heather Kent, but I’ll get to the bottom of this homicide investigation without whatever knowledge she might be holding back.

I don’t need Camila Ryder.

And thankfully, neither does Jasper.

CHAPTER 7

T  he Country Cottage Inn is bustling this morning with guests checking out as they leave their seaside vacations and head back to real life, while others speed their way to the reception desk with a spring in their step in anticipation of their upcoming stay.

Grady Pennington and Nessa Crosby, my two most faithful employees who work the registration desk with me, are taking care of the guests, while I keep an eye on Peter Olsen and the handful of people from his crew as they scout the entry just outside of the inn for an upcoming scene.

It’s blazing saddles hot out today. If the inn weren’t a part of yet another homicide investigation, if the guests weren’t coming and going at an accelerated clip, I would put on my bikini and hit the sand myself. There’s nothing like summer out on the cove. The sky is powder blue, and the air is perfumed with the flowers in bloom.

Fish and Sherlock trot over with their furry faces pointed up in my direction. They’ve been happily threading their way through the film crew, getting all of the attention they hoped for, and hopefully picking up on a bit of gossip that might help move Heather Kent’s investigation along.

Bizzy—Fish makes a sound that mimics a sneeze—the two women by the refreshment table mentioned the poor girl that died.

Sherlock barks. They said something about a wedding.

I make a beeline in that direction. It’s so hot out, I had the groundskeeper, Jordy Crosby, set it up for the guests and crew alike. Jordy is my bestie’s brother and my ex-husband of less than twenty-four hours, no thanks to some dicey whiskey and an even dicier trip to Vegas.

I spot Jordy near the tall three-tiered fountain set out to the right of the inn. Jordy has dark hair and stunning icy blue eyes. He’s the town’s go-to womanizer, which perfectly explains why Camila Ryder is standing a bit too close, running her claws through his hair and laughing at whatever he’s telling her. But I can see right through Camila’s wily scheme. She’s just using Jordy as an excuse to be at the inn. I bet she’s looking to snag that fictitious part in the movie I told her about at the sheriff’s department. Not only that, but I can practically see her imaginary P.I. cap trying to fit over that inflated ego.

An incredulous huff thumps through my chest.

As if Jasper would ever be foolish enough to fall for her ridiculous sleuthing scheme.

My feet quicken me in the direction of the refreshment table as I spot both Faith Grayson and Kiki Woodley locked in what looks like an earnest conversation.

I pour myself a glass of ice-cold lemonade and resist the urge to dive into one of those s’mores bars that the café set out as a complimentary treat. They look softened by the heat and the chocolate is glistening. I’ll be honest, that only makes me want them more. There’s nothing like a warm chocolate treat no matter what the weather. But instead, I sip my lemonade, casually inching my way closer to the women beside me.

The word reception catches in the air and I decide to run with it.

“Hello, ladies.” I try not to sound too chipper as I step into their midst. Faith has sweat beading down the sides of her face. She’s wearing a denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up and jeans. Kiki looks cooler by contrast in a pale blue shift dress, a pair of sandals, and her curly hair up in a ponytail.

I lean in. “I’m sorry, but were you just talking about a wedding? I’m afraid I’ve got my radar up for anything to do with holy matrimony these days. I’m getting married in just a couple months.”

Fish ducks under the table. Good segue, Bizzy. She mewls. Who knew your upcoming wedding would come in handy like this? You’re always thinking.

Sherlock sniffs and grunts her way. Jasper’s always thinking, too. If it weren’t for him, there wouldn’t be a wedding.

Fish hisses at him. You mean if it weren’t for Bizzy saying yes, there wouldn’t be a wedding.

Faith coos my way. “Congratulations. That’s so great. Actually”—she takes a moment to grimace at Kiki—“the wedding reception we were talking about wasn’t all that great. We were just talking about that infamous reception that was held right here at the inn all those years ago.”

My heart thumps hard as I scan my memory for any hint of an infamous wedding reception.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kiki shudders. “It’s probably rude of us to even bring it up.” She makes wild eyes at Faith. “Bizzy just said she’s getting married soon.”

“No, please.” I put on a pleasant smile, but all I really want to do is shake the dreaded wedding info right out of them. “If it happened here, then I probably already know about it, I’ve just forgotten.” Not on your life would I forget, but I won’t add that.

Faith nods. “About six years ago, there was a bridesmaid who drowned. She had a little too much to drink and they found her body on the shoreline near the rocks the next day.” She shrugs. “Anyway, Heather was a bridesmaid in that same wedding. She had just mentioned it to me a few days ago. I thought it was weird, you know? Her friend died here a little over a half decade ago and so did she.” Faith leans in, her eyes frozen and wide-set. “In just about the same exact spot.”

“Oh, wow.” It feels as if the breath just got knocked out of me. “Actually, I’ve only worked at the inn for the last four years, but I’ve lived in Cider Cove all my life. I think I do remember the story of the girl they found along the shore. You’re right. I remember reading she had been drinking and they think she passed out and fell into the water. It was tragic.” And not once had I ever linked that death directly to the inn. I simply knew it happened in Cider Cove. From my understanding, she was pinned against the rocks on the right end of the beach, very close indeed to where Jasper and I found Heather.

Kiki shakes her head. “It’s just a weird coincidence, that’s all.”

“It is a coincidence,” I say. “Faith, you said they were both in the same wedding? Heather and that poor girl were probably friends.”

She shrugs. “In the least they knew each other. It was on Heather’s mind, for sure. I bet that’s why she went out to the cove at night.”

Kiki nods. “Usually she spends her breaks with Bates.” She rolls her eyes. “They were a very new thing. Inseparable as of late.” She taps her finger to her chin. “Hey? I bet Bates was with her. Well, obviously not when the killer found her.”

Faith sucks in a quick breath. “You don’t really think Bates had anything to do with this, do you?”

Kiki takes in a quick breath herself. “You know they were getting hot and heavy fast. And Heather always had to have her way.”

Faith shakes her head. “Bates always has to have his way. He’s just as big a diva as she was. It’s no wonder they bickered. If they weren’t canoodling, they were having a power struggle over something menial.”

I give a quick glance around for the handsome leading man that has inspired more than a few female fans to stalk the shoot.

Faith waves me off. “Don’t worry, Bizzy. He’s not around to hear any of this. Believe me, he hardly shows when he’s needed on set.”

“Is he staying in one of the trailers here?” I try to act nonchalantly as I ask.

Kiki scratches her cheek. “No, he’s local, too. He’s in Seaview, I think. Or was it Rose Glen?”

“Rose Glen,” Faith affirms. “Sandalwood Heights. Real ritzy area. But he spends most of his time on the beach there. Runs with his dogs each morning. Does the extreme Frisbee thing in the afternoon.”

Kiki leans in. “I hear he’s a real thrill-seeker. An adrenaline junkie of sorts. Heather mentioned he was trying to get her to do all kinds of things she wasn’t comfortable with, like skydiving, mountain climbing, and helicopter skiing.”

“Pfft.” Faith averts her eyes at the thought. “Heather hated anything to do with the great outdoors. Their relationship was doomed from the beginning.”

Kiki ticks her head to the side as if agreeing. “And he has a nasty temper. Heather didn’t like to be told what to do or yelled at because she wasn’t doing it.”

“That’s strange,” I say. “He looks so calm. I guess you can’t really go by what you see.”

Kiki gives a tiny smile my way. “Exactly that.”

“Yes,” Faith agrees, albeit much quieter. And there are things I’m very glad that people don’t know about me. “Excuse me.” She stalks off with a somber expression, and I’m far too curious about that last thought she just had.

I’m about to say something to Kiki, but note Camila intercepting Faith and having a quick word with her. Faith glances back our way before continuing their conversation.

Great. She’s about to give Camila the leg up she neither deserves nor needs and it’s all my fault.

Kiki follows my gaze. “Oh, it’s the new girl,” she says, lackluster. “They’re not even going to show her face in any of the shots, and she’s already requested only top-of-the-line cosmetics be used on her.”

“Camila got a part in the movie?” I marvel, mostly to myself.

“Yup. Apparently, she went right up to Peter and asked to take over Heather’s role. Can you imagine the cookies it takes to do that? Anyway, it worked out for her. He said if she agrees to wear a blonde wig she could finish up the final scenes. Weird, huh? He’s still going through with the cleaver bludgeoning even though his lead actress was killed in exactly that way.”

“That’s more than weird. It’s grisly.”

“That’s Hollywood for you. It’s all about the greenbacks. He’s too locked up financially in this picture to quit now. It’s going to be strange watching them film that scene. It’ll be like reliving that nightmare all over again.”

“I agree.” But with Camila as the victim, I won’t feel all that bad.

Sherlock lets out a soft bark. I won’t miss her, Bizzy. Camila has it coming.

Kiki chuckles as she gives Sherlock a quick pat on the head.

“Aren’t you the cutest,” she says. “And that little cat friend of yours is just as adorable. I just love animals. I wish I could give him a treat.”

Bacon. Sherlock barks and Kiki inches back a notch.

“Bizzy, I’d swear on my life that this dog just said bacon.”

A laugh belts from me. “I think you’re right. In fact, I know he did.”

“You don’t mind if I go get him a piece from the café, do you?”

“Be my guest. But be warned. You’ll never be rid of him.”

“Lucky me.” She laughs as the two of them head off for the bacon bonanza.

Fish hops out from under the table and takes off in that direction herself.

I’d better make sure he doesn’t disappear. We’ve got a killer in our midst, you know.

I do know. But I head off in another direction entirely, toward my nemesis, Camila Ryder.

“Camila,” I hiss her name as she comes upon me with a greedy grin. “What are you doing here? Never mind that. I know exactly what you’re doing here.”

“That’s right. Thanks to you, I’ve snagged the lead role and I’ve garnered a valuable piece of information from Faith.” Not that I’m going to share the fact I’m headed off to the Hiltmore Resort to join Bates Barlow at the spa.

Her eyes enlarge for a moment, and she slaps her fingers over her mouth as if she had just said the words out loud.

“Ladies,” a deep voice strums from behind, and I jump because I happen to know exactly who it belongs to.

“Jasper,” I say, catching my breath. “What are you doing here?”

His brows knit. “I live here.” He’s wearing his sport jacket and dress shirt, a pair of dark pants—his typical arrestingly handsome work attire along with his typical arresting face.

“Hey, big boy.” Camila sheds an easy smile his way. “I’m afraid I won’t be headed into the office this afternoon. It seems a spa emergency just cropped up.”

“That’s funny,” I say. “I was just about to head to the Hiltmore Resort to get a massage myself.”

Jasper leans back as he examines me with new eyes.

“Why don’t I think this is a coincidence?” He cocks his head my way.

But I don’t say a single word.

I’m going to the Hiltmore Resort to get a massage and hopefully a clue—despite the fact Camila will be there doing her best to botch up my case.

CHAPTER 8

T  he Hiltmore Resort is located in Rolling Oaks, a ritzy town where only the truly wealthy can afford to live. It’s situated north of Cider Cove, and to be truthful, the residents of this pretentious town usually look down upon our little community.

In a strange turn of events, not only am I dressed in a bathrobe while standing in the heart of the opulent Hiltmore spa, but so are Camila—and Jasper. The entire place holds the scent of lavender and honeysuckle—and more to the point, rage, the rage being mine.

Yes, Jasper Wilder wasn’t about to let me traipse off to some resort on my own after hearing his wily ex was on her way as well, especially not since we’re both on the hunt for the handsome Bates Barlow. And just to be clear, my rage is in no way directed at Jasper. It’s pointed like a laser at the woman hell-bent on stealing my fiancé.

“So”—I sigh as I extend my arms in my pristine white robe—“here we are. Now what?”

Camila grunts, “How about you go off and get your nails done?” She bats her lashes up at Jasper. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to your big, strong, handsome fiancé.”

“At least you know he’s taken.” I link my arm with Jasper’s and speed him off to our right, nearly bumping into a small crowd as they pass us.

A breath hitches in my throat at the sight of the mob. “That’s him,” I hiss.

Jasper cranes his neck at the group, which consists of five women all ensconcing a man with dark wavy hair and a familiar cheesy grin.

He nods. “That’s him, all right.” Jasper bears those mesmerizing gray eyes of his into mine. “We don’t want to rock the boat, Bizzy. We’ll simply stay in his air space a while. Long enough for me to convince Camila to scat before she ruins the house of cards this investigation is turning out to be, and then we’re leaving, too.”

“You bet,” I say as I turn us around to follow that gaggle of girls Bates Barlow is drowning in. Of course, Camila has already matriculated her way into that twisted sorority and wiggled her way to the nucleus. “Good Lord, that woman works quickly.” I give a slight moan when I see where they’re headed. “It looks as if we’re headed for the sauna. Who in their right mind wants to sit in a hot box in triple digit temperatures when they could be doing the same while at the beach? Darn it. I was really hoping for a nice massage.”

Jasper dips a kiss to the nape of my neck. “If you play your cards right, I can arrange for a private masseuse to be at your place in about an hour. And if you can get us out of here even quicker, I’ll throw in some Chinese food from the Wok ’n Roll.” He lands a searing kiss on my lips.

“Ooh, throw in a few of those, too, and we’ve got a party.”

We’re about to head in the direction of the sign that reads sauna when a series of screams erupt and those beauties that were surrounding Bates run back this way, shrieking as they speed right out of that hot box.

Jasper bolts ahead of me and we enter the sauna, only to find a curious sight that leaves me panicking for an entirely different reason.

A man sits on the wooden bench while an all too familiar woman straddles one of his legs, pulling on his foot.

“Georgie?” I riot out her name like a reprimand and her head turns my way.

“Well, if it isn’t Bizzy and her hunky hero!” Her face looks piqued with color. The humidity in this cloistered room has turned her hair into a wiry silver ball that rises every which way, giving her that freshly electrocuted look that no woman is after. Gone is her favorite accouterment, the ever-present kaftan, and instead, she’s donned a pair of nude-colored parachute panties and some sort of a tube top that matches the pale color of her flesh in such a way you need to squint to assure yourself it’s there. For all practical purposes, she looks naked.

“Come help, Bizzy.” She waves me over in a hurry. “Darby has a foot cramp in both feet. Massage his toes, would you?”

Camila snickers while seated right next to Bates Barlow and they both happened to have ditched their robes. Camila has wrapped herself in a towel—hand towel to be exact—and Bates seems to have even less than that draped over his loins.

“Yes, Bizzy,” Camila chimes in. “Why don’t you massage the man’s feet? I’m sure Jasper would appreciate seeing some of your titillating toe moves.”

“I think Georgie’s got it,” I snip as both Jasper and I take a seat across from them in our robes. Obviously, we’re not as well-versed in the spa department as everyone else here is. An irony, seeing that the inn has a small yet renowned spa that caters to guests. Nothing fancy like this. But being here does make me want to utilize it a bit more.

Jasper holds a hand out to Darby. “Jasper Wilder. I’m Bizzy’s fiancé.”

Darby looks bloated, exhausted, and red as a cherry. “Darby Atwood,” he pants. “I like to come here and hang out with my man.” He nods over to Bates. “We movie types need to stick together.”

“If you say so.” Bates leans his head back against the wall and gives a long blink.

For some reason, it feels as if that’s my cue.

I glance to Jasper a moment.

I’m not sure why, but with him in the room I’m suddenly plagued with performance anxiety.

“That’s very nice,” I say. “I mean, you just had a horrible tragedy happen. It’s nice that the two of you are here trying to get your bearings.” Nice? I’m thinking I should have gone the hand towel route like Camila.

Georgie slams Darby’s foot against the tiled floor a few times as if she were calling court to order with a gavel and the poor man lets out a howl.

“Georgie.” My voice escalates. “I think you’re hurting him.”

“Oh no.” Darby shakes his head, quick to refute the idea. “I’ve asked her to do it on a schedule.”

“Every five minutes,” Georgie shouts from the floor.

“Georgie.” I head over and help her up. “I’m sorry, but I can’t watch while you’re sitting on his leg and tenderizing his feet.” I look to Darby. “I think it’s only fair she enjoys her time here as well.”

“Fair enough.” He pats the spot next to him. “You can massage my arm.” He lands his meaty mitt in her lap, and I frown over at him.

“Don’t mind Bizzy,” Georgie is quick to wave me off. “She’s just jealous. She and the homicide hottie haven’t done the deed yet. It’s been one long, hot, dry season for both of them. And their wedding isn’t for a coon’s age. They’ll both be frothing at the mouth by then. Just you wait and see.” She gets right to digging her fingers into his pale floppy arm, and suddenly I’m moved to wrap it around her neck like a scarf and strangle both of them with it.

Camila gasps with delight. “Is this true?” Her eyes light up like dark jewels, and, I’ll admit, it only adds to her wicked beauty.

“No,” both Jasper and I say at once. Not that it’s any of their business whether or not it’s true.

Okay, so it’s a little true. But we’re still having a pretty decent time. More than decent if you ask me. Indecent by some far more puritanical standards.

“Never mind,” Jasper growls over at Camila. The muscles around his jaw tighten as he looks to Bates. Great. I’ve got a suspect less than four feet away and a room full of people working against me. He winces my way. “No offense.”

“No offense taken,” I whisper.

Even though Jasper knows I can read his mind, he still has the errant runaway thought. I can’t blame him. He’s only human. And so am I—I think.

Camila titters at the two of us and her chest ripples in places I wish my fiancé wouldn’t have to see it ripple. I don’t care what happened between the two of them in the past. I don’t like the fact we’re seated a few mere feet from his mostly naked ex. I don’t care how many suspects she’s about to wrangle next, there’s no way I’m ever falling into this bosom-laden bear trap again.

“Bates Barlow?” His name comes from me a little too chipper. “Is that you?”

“Huh?” He startles to as he opens his eyes in a lazy manner. “That’s me.” He flashes a drugged smile.

“I run the inn where your movie is being filmed.”

He squints over at me. “Oh yeah. Down in Cider Harbor.”

“Cove,” Georgie corrects. “Don’t you get snooty with my hometown, buster. I’m Cider Cove born and raised and I’m not afraid to put up my dukes and defend my people.”

Bates lifts his brows as if he were amused. “No offense, lady, but I saw where your dukes were just a few minutes ago. You’re the last person in this building I’d want to offend. Besides, I think Cider Meadows is pretty decent.”

Darby barks out a laugh. “Isn’t he a hoot? That’s my buddy, always cutting up. He’s a riot on set, too.”

So I’ve heard. A riot with a temper.

Darby leans my way. “Bates is thinking about investing in my new nightclub.”

“Yup.” Georgie nods and that wild, gray cloud sitting over her head wobbles. “It’s set to open in Edison in just a few days.”

“Edison?” I give Jasper a knowing glance.

“What’s the matter, Bizzy?” Camila chides. “Are you too good for a down and out town like Edison?” She sheds a greasy grin to Jasper. “Sounds like your fiancée is a bit snooty herself.”

“Not true,” Jasper is quick to defend me. “She’s just…very familiar with Edison.”

He glances my way a moment because he wishes I wasn’t so familiar. But I can’t help it if most of my suspects seem to congregate in that seedy town. And seedy isn’t a snooty term; it’s a literal term when it comes to Edison.

“Ooh”—Georgie reaches over and swats me across the arm—“you and the hunky homicide detective need to come down to the nightclub for the opening. You know, in the event the killer decides to strike again.”

“Georgie,” I mouth her name and hitch my head in Bates’ direction.

“Oh!” She gives an exaggerated nod and wink. “Not that we have any killers in our midst,” she says loud enough so the people in the back of this hot house can hear it, too.

Jasper sighs. Maybe we should leave.

I shake my head over at him.

Bates leans in and squints in Jasper’s direction.

“Oh, hey. Is that you? Detective Milder?”

“Wilder,” Jasper is quick to correct, and with a bit of a thunderous edge to his voice.

Bates leans forward and nods. “So how’s the case coming? I was pretty close with Heather.” He gives a wistful shake of the head. “I hate to say it, but she was practically asking for it.”

I nearly gasp at the thought. “I’m sorry, but nobody asks to have a cleaver embedded in their back.”

Bizzy, Jasper gives my back a quick rub, once a suspect gets worked up, it’s good to let him vent.

“Right,” I whisper.

Bates shakes his head at me with a confused look on that baby face of his.

“Of course, she didn’t deserve it,” he says. “But she was flaunting her affair with the director right in his wife’s face. In fact, I heard them having it out earlier that day. Jane said something about getting her out of the way for good.”

“Ah-ha!” Georgie spikes a finger in the air. “Jane is the killer. I bet she did it in the conservatory with a candlestick, too.”

Camila glowers at the wild-haired hippie. “If you can’t follow along, you should get back to tenderizing feet.”

“Nobody tells my friend to tenderize anything,” I snap her way.

I’ve got this. Jasper rubs my knee gently, and I do my best to shake Camila off my very last nerve.

He sheds a manufactured smile in Bates’ direction. “I heard about that affair. It certainly sounds as if things may have escalated.” I think we’ve put the suspect at ease.

Jasper flinches his cheek my way, and it’s as if all of time stops. Suddenly, I wish the two of us were very much alone. Jasper Wilder is hotter than a brushfire sitting here in that thick robe, his chest glistening underneath, and the dark scruff on his cheeks only seems to bring out the quicksilver in his eyes.

Bates nods as if he agrees with me. “That’s what I think happened. She used to tell me how much Jane was bothering her.”

I can’t imagine how much Heather was bothering Jane.

“So you and Heather were pretty close?” I’m ready to go for the sleuthing jugular so I can get Jasper into the nearest dark corner and have my way with him.

Bates takes a full breath. “We were hanging around.” In my bedroom. That girl had a body, and she wasn’t afraid to use it.

His mind immediately turns into white static, and I’m glad that my powers have a kill switch when it comes to the raunchier aspects of the mind.

Camila takes a moment to glower my way. No fair. You’re prying into his thoughts.

I give a little shrug her way.

All is fair in love and mind reading. It’s safe to say I will always have a leg up in the telesensual department.

A sleazy smile glides across Bates’ face. “You could say Heather and I were close.” He glances down at his abs. “Let’s just say, she liked what she saw.”

“Speaking of seeing,” I clear my throat, “I think someone mentioned that they saw you and Heather having a heated conversation the night she was killed.”

His eyes flit to the door. That’s it. Two more minutes and I’m out of here. I’m a good actor, but I’m not that good.

Great, Bizzy. Camila rolls her eyes. I don’t need to have the ability to nosey around in other people’s heads to know he’s about to take off. Way to go showing off your rookie moves. I’m sure Jasper is impressed.

She shimmies her shoulder toward Bates, and suddenly it looks as if he’s reconsidering his options.

“Who cares about all that?” Camila leans in and rakes her fingers gently through his hair. “I mean, Heather was a pill. Believe me, I know. We were good friends.”

“A pill?” Bates looks momentarily confused. “Yeah, she was, wasn’t she?”

Camila nods as she playfully scratches his chin. “All couples fight.”

“That they do.” A tiny roar gurgles from him as he scoots her way. “And you know what the best part is? We get to make up right after.” He pecks her cheek with an impromptu kiss, and I glance to Jasper to gauge his reaction, but he just shrugs my way.

Camila giggles like a schoolgirl—a very naughty schoolgirl. “So you and Heather fought a lot?”

Bates spikes his fingers into Camila’s quickly frizzing hair. “Just enough to enjoy it afterwards.”

Georgie grunts as she knocks her knee to mine. “Take notes, Bizzy. She’s pretty good at getting the perps to speak up.”

Perps?

Georgie leans toward Jasper. “Hey, hot stuff, the sheriff’s department should really think of hiring her.”

And now it’s me rolling my eyes.

“Come on.” I take up Jasper’s hand and lead us to the door.

“Hey, wait!” Georgie calls after me. “What’s your hurry? We’re just getting to the good part.” She leans in and cups her mouth. “They’re just starting to make out.”

I glance over to confirm her tongue wagging theory and Camila blows a kiss our way, batting her mile-long lashes at Jasper.

I’d give anything to have a shoe to throw at her. Preferably a heel.

“It was nice seeing you again, Bates,” I say. “I’m sure we’ll run into one another back at the inn.”

“Sure thing,” he says, caressing Camila’s cheek, his eyes never leaving her face.

I don’t hesitate pulling Jasper right out of Camila’s hot den of carnage.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I pull Jasper into the darkened hall and wrap my wrists around his neck.

“Don’t apologize,” he says with a playful smile twitching on his lips. “I think you did pretty good in there.”

My mouth falls open with both delight and surprise. “You do?”

“Yes.” He dots a kiss to my forehead. “And now we’ve established that Heather was tangled up in a physical relationship with both her co-star and her boss.”

I bite down over my lip. “And the fact that she had an argument with both Jane and Bates the day that she died.” That strange conversation I had with Faith and Kiki earlier this afternoon comes to mind. “Did I play my cards right?”

“Yes.” Jasper twitches his brows. “We can pick up takeout on the way home.”

“Good. Because there’s something I think we need to explore.”

A crooked smile rises on his lips as he pulls me in close. “Something tells me, I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this exploration.”

“If you play your cards right, I’ll make sure you do.”

CHAPTER 9

J asper and I pick up takeout from the Wok ’n Roll on the way home from Rolling Oaks and head straight for my cottage. We plow our way through box after box while Fish and Sherlock Bones nosh on their own meals. Lucky for Jasper and me, I happen to have a stash of the Country Cottage Café’s s’mores bars handy, and we waste no time diving into those as well.

My cozy cottage is decorated in shabby chic with frilly curtains and a yellow and white plaid sofa that practically devours your body once you sit on it, it’s just that soft. I’m currently seated with my legs draped over Jasper’s lap while he fills me in on the minutia of the procedure that took place once they carted Heather Kent’s body to the coroner’s office.

I wrinkle my nose at the grisly nature of it all.

“So the cause of death?” I ask. “I mean, I’m fairly certain it was the cleaver, but just in case. Have they probed for anything else?”

He lifts a dark brow my way. “This is why you’re a darn good detective. You know when to ask the hard questions. You never take anything at face value.” He shakes his head. “But it was just the cleaver this time. Her spine was severed, aortal artery was hit, broken ribs which led to the puncturing of both lungs.”

“Sounds messy.” I shudder just thinking about it. “What a terrible way to go.” A visual of her lying on the sand along the dark cove bounces through my mind. “Which brings me to my next point.” I reach over and pluck my laptop off the coffee table and scoot in close to Jasper so we can both see it. “There was a death at the cove about six years ago—just before I began working here. I remember it now because it was so tragic. A bridesmaid drowned in almost the exact same spot where Heather died.” I type in what information I know, and Jasper leans in as the screen populates with the story.

“And you think this is somehow related to Heather Kent’s death?”

“I’m not sure if it has anything to do with her death”—I lift my head as I pause a moment—“but I guess we can’t rule anything out. I heard Faith Grayson, the production assistant, and Kiki Woodley, the makeup artist, talking about it. I guess Heather mentioned the drowning to Faith. It turns out, she was in the wedding party along with the girl who died.”

Jasper grunts, “Are you serious? And both women died within feet of one another?”

I nod. “Separated by over half a decade. It’s a strange coincidence, that’s for sure.”

He shakes his head, his silver eyes pinned to the laptop. “I don’t believe in coincidences. Let’s try this story.” He points to the top article and I click on it.

“Rachel Hatterman,” I say, reading her name off the title. “It looks as if she was drinking, slipped off toward the barren end of the cove, landed in the water, and drowned.”

“Washed up against the boulders,” he finishes. Jasper takes a breath before clicking on one of the images. “And there’s Heather,” he says, pointing to a group shot of the bridesmaids in their pastel yellow gowns as they flank the glowing bride. “There were eight of them. I wish we could track them all down and ask questions about Heather and this poor Rachel girl.”

“We could. Or we could start with the one girl who knew them both best, the bride.”

I give his scruff a little scratch. “Good thinking.”

Fish hops over and lands on the back of the sofa, looking down at the laptop herself.

A bride. She mewls. Is that what you’ll look like, Bizzy?

I squint over at the bride in the picture who looks to be swimming in that avalanche of tulle her dress is comprised of.

I quickly translate Fish’s inquiry to Jasper before answering.

“I think my dress will be a little more understated. As much as I like to eat marshmallows, I don’t want to look like one on my wedding day.”

Sherlock lets out a sharp bark. Why not? Jasper loves marshmallows. I bet he’d be overjoyed to see you walking down the aisle dressed as one.

A laugh belts from me. “I don’t think Jasper would ever want to see me walking down the aisle dressed like a marshmallow,” I say, giving Sherlock a scratch between the ears.

Jasper’s chest rumbles with a silent laugh. “You could walk down the aisle in the nude and I’d be happy.” He waggles his brows. “Very happy.”

“Some of the guests might be happy, too. Most would be terrified.”

His features darken. “On second thought, wear anything—jeans, an apron, a bath towel.” He steals a kiss off my lips. “As long as you show up, I’ll be the happiest guy on the planet.”

I set the laptop back onto the coffee table and wrap my arms around my strong, handsome fiancé.

“You know what I just realized?” I tease. “I’m the happiest girl on the planet.”

He sheds a devilish grin. “I guess that makes us the perfect pair.”

“You know what else makes us so perfect?” I ask, raking my fingers softly through his hair. “The way we do this.” I land my lips to his, and Jasper comes at me with much livelier affection.

Fish lets out a gurgle of a meow. Why is he always suckling off your lips? Why doesn’t he ever lick you properly?

My chest bucks as I attempt to swallow down a laugh.

Sherlock lets out a howl of a bark. I bet if he knew how much Bizzy liked having her face licked with kisses he wouldn’t wait that long to do it. He might just be saving that move for their wedding day.

I don’t translate to Jasper. Instead, I let him shower me with his affection in exactly the way he wants.

He won’t hear a single complaint from me.

THE VERY NEXT afternoon Jasper picks me up from the inn and we drive out to Rose Glen together. It turns out, the bride we looked at in those old pictures last night was fairly easy for him to track down. Her name is Kendra Knight and she’s since divorced and remarried.

“This is it,” he says, parking his truck alongside a pink boxy house surrounded with lavender foxgloves and pink impatiens. “I’ll do the intro.” He tips his chin down and gives me a stern look.

“You do realize you look sexy when you’re trying to terrify me.”

His brows pinch. “I’m not trying to terrify you.”

“Maybe not, but you’re trying to warn me not to cross a line.”

His cheek flinches. “Let’s just say I want to come away from this afternoon with my career intact. It’s not every day I take a civilian along to talk to a potential suspect.”

My mouth falls open as I look to the pink house with new eyes.

“You’re right, Jasper. We might just be meeting up with the killer.”

We head up the crooked brick walk and knock on the door.

Within a minute a woman slightly older than myself answers with her dark hair falling out of a disheveled ponytail. A sleepy toddler sits on her hip, gripping her like a koala bear. She’s shorter than me, has a button nose and a broad forehead, but I can still recognize her from her wedding picture that was plastered over the internet along with that dark article which highlighted Rachel’s death. The inside of the house is dark, curtains drawn, and the scent of something that smells like lasagna baking in the oven lights up our senses.

“Kendra Knight?” Jasper sheds a quick smile as he flashes his badge. “Detective Wilder from the Seaview Sheriff’s Department Homicide Division. This is my assistant.” He nods my way.

The women’s face contorts. “Oh my goodness. What’s wrong? Is it Harold? Has something happened to him?” She clamps a hand over the toddler’s ears and the sweet thing fidgets until she relents.

“No, no,” Jasper is quick to refute the thought. “I’m investigating the death of one of your former bridesmaids. You might have heard about her passing?”

Her demeanor changes on a dime from worried to angry.

“Heather.” She takes a breath. “I can’t believe she was hunted down like some animal.”

Hunted?

I tip my head at her curious words.

“Yes,” Jasper agrees. “It was tragic. What I wanted to know was a little about the relationship Heather and one of your other bridesmaids had. Rachel Hatterman?”

Kendra’s body bucks as she shivers. “Rachel.” She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. “I just hate thinking about that day. It was my wedding day, ironically, but I guess you already know that.” She shifts the toddler a little higher up on her hip. “Suffice it to say, Rachel’s death acted as a bad omen for my marriage. We ended it almost right after it began. My current husband was my divorce lawyer. So I guess you could say all was not lost. Unless you’re Rachel.” She sighs. “She lost everything.”

“Kendra,” I say her name softly and Jasper’s eyes enlarge my way. “How did you know both Rachel and Heather?”

Her lips part a moment. “I knew Heather from work. At the time, we were both waitresses at a place called the Lion’s Den. It’s since closed. And Rachel and I went to college together. We were in the same sorority.” Her head cocks to the side. “Wait a minute. You don’t think the two deaths are related, do you?” She inches back. “I promise you, that’s not what happened. Rachel died because she was taking part in some stupid challenge—who could knock back the most schnapps. All of my bridesmaids were taking part in it. Stupid if you ask me. Heather was the instigator. She was always the instigator, and I mean that in a good way.” She glances to the sky as a look of grief sweeps over her. “I’m sure she’s raising hell in heaven right about now.” A sad chuckle emanates from her.

I glance to Jasper and he gives a slight nod, acknowledging my concern.

“Kendra.” He tries to match my quiet tone. “Did Heather and Rachel know each other prior to being bridesmaids in your wedding?”

“Oh yes.” She doesn’t hesitate as she hoists the now sleeping child higher onto her hip. “Heather and Rachel went to high school together. Rachel mentioned it to me several times. I asked Heather about it, but Heather tried to deny she knew her. Which is weird because Rachel made it sound as if they were close.”

“What high school?” I ask a little too eager and Kendra’s friendly demeanor shifts to something darker.

“Why are you asking me all of these questions?” Her voice is curt and just a touch louder. My God, they probably think I’m behind it. The last thing I need is to be investigated for a homicide. Talk about ruining Harry’s bid for city council. And he’ll have me and my past to thank for it. And don’t think he won’t throw it in my face for the next ten years either. “I gotta go and put my kid down in bed.” She glares over at Jasper. “Don’t bother coming around again. I don’t plan on being so cooperative next time.”

She slams the door in our face, and Jasper quickly leads us back to his truck.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “That went sideways and it was all my fault.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He shakes his head as he starts the engine. “She was ready to blow. At least now we know Heather had a hand in Rachel’s death whether she meant for it to happen or not.”

“And that could mean maybe someone from the past had come to avenge Rachel’s death.”

Jasper nods. “Another suspect.”

“Maybe,” I say. “Wasn’t it weird the way she mentioned that Rachel claimed to be high school friends with Heather, but Heather tried to deny it?”

Jasper’s cheek glides up one side. “Do you know what that means?”

“Heather Kent had something she was trying to hide.”

“But what?”

“What indeed.”

I have a feeling we’re about to find out.

CHAPTER 10

I  scoured the internet for any little morsel that might even indicate Heather Kent had a secret with Rachel Hatterman, but their names never even populated the screen together. It’s as if Heather was right. They weren’t even friends.

It’s the very next day and Mother Nature turns up the volume on the furnace that we call the sun. With the two front doors to the inn wide open, the air conditioning is more or less useless at this point.

Peter Olsen and his crew are busy staging the front of the inn for a scene—one in which Camila Ryder is a part of. I can see her from here sitting in a chair while Kiki Woodley applies copious amounts of makeup to her. Although, I don’t know why. I heard Peter say they would strictly be filming her from behind.

Bodies are buzzing to and fro as Emmie lands a giant platter of her sinfully delicious s’mores bars onto the counter in front of me.

“Sweet treats for any and all,” she shouts, and soon an army of hands lunge in our direction.

I wrinkle my nose at her as she comes around the counter and lands next to me.

“Why does it suddenly feel like a zombie invasion?” I knock my shoulder to hers. “I always knew you’d have a hand in causing the apocalypse.”

She looks to the platter and laughs. “And just like that, they’re gone. I guess they’re a hit. Who said the end of the world wouldn’t be delicious?”

“Have you made anything that isn’t? Why do you think we were so popular in high school?” A thought comes to me. “Hey? You wouldn’t happen to know where I could get an old yearbook, do you?”

She groans, “If you lost your copy, I won’t complain. Speaking of the zombie apocalypse, by the looks of my hair way back when, you’d think I started it around the tenth grade.”

“Not our yearbook.” I’m about to extrapolate on my sudden interest in yesteryear when a shrill scream comes from the grand room behind me and both Emmie and I fly in that direction.

An older woman with dark curly hair stands with her face aghast as she points to the bookshelf.

“What is it?” I zoom over, and once I see the infamous object, a breath hitches in my throat.

Partially sticking out of a book is a wooden handle hiked in the air, the thick metal blade of a cleaver protruding from an old thriller we’ve had on the shelf for years as a part of our lending library.

Emmie takes a full step back. “I think I’d better call Leo.”

“I’ll call Jasper.” And I do just that.

The guests voluntarily evacuate the grand room, and soon there’s a rumble among them about a killer on the loose.

“Great,” I mutter. “Emmie, keep the guests out of the area, would you?”

“No problem,” she says as I head back into the foyer, only to meet with Jordy wielding a cleaver of his own while dressed in the dingy jeans that he wears to mow the lawn.

“What are you doing?” My voice squeaks in a panic. “Jordy, did you plant a cleaver in the library?”

“Are you nuts?” His brows pinch in the middle. “I found this in the mermaid topiary by the beach. It was sticking out of her back.”

“Oh my God.” I give a nervous glance around at the cast and crew who seem to be oblivious to the chaos unfolding. “We’ll have to tell Jasper when he arrives. It sounds as if someone is leaving cleavers around the inn and terrorizing the guests. Why don’t you put that one near my computer? I’ll have Jasper check it for prints if they’re still on it. And if you don’t mind, check the rest of the inn for any more demented mementos.”

“This is some sick prank, isn’t it?”

“Either that or a warning of things to come from the killer.”

“Stay safe, Bizzy. I’ll take a look around.” He takes off, and I do the same once I spot Faith and Peter by the entry.

“Excuse me,” I say, interrupting the intense conversation they seem to be having. “I just want you to know we’ve found a couple of cleavers peppered around the inn. This wouldn’t have anything to do with filming, would it?” There was probably twelve better ways to phrase that, but I’m too hopped up on adrenaline to care.

Peter looks as if he’s aged ten years since Heather’s death. His forehead is crowded with thick lines, and the scruff on his face has gone pure white.

“Cleavers?” His ears pique. My God, where is Jane? He cranes his neck past me. “Excuse me.” He takes off without so much as an explanation, at least not a verbal one.

Faith steps in close, her silky pants swishing with her every move.

“Did you say cleaver?” she practically mouths the words.

“Yes. Are they props or something?”

“Nope.” She shakes her head, her dark eyes rounding out over mine. “I haven’t even purchased another one for the final scene yet. That’s really creepy. I guess that means we’ve got a prankster among us.” She gives a nervous look around at the crowd of bodies. My God, where is he?

“Who are you looking for?” I don’t hesitate to ask.

“Bates.” She makes a face. “He’s in this next scene. Excuse me, Bizzy. I’d better go find him.” She darts into the thick of the melee. He predicted the killer was about to throw everyone off. And I wonder if this is what he meant.

My lips part at the revelation, and suddenly I’m moved to speak with Bates as well. But I’m afraid it’ll have to wait. Instead, I decide to head in Kiki’s direction. But she’s no longer putting the pancake makeup onto Camila’s smug mug. She’s chatting it up with an all too familiar woman wearing a sky blue kaftan while holding my sweet cat. It’s none other than Georgie Conner.

“Hello, ladies,” I say, panting as I give Fish a quick pat.

Georgie is party planning. Fish sighs. You’re not opening a disco, are you?

I give a covert shake of the head.

Kiki sheds a hot pink smile. She’s donned a pair of capris and a pink tank top to match her lips while her curly hair sits tied in a knot on top of her head. Her arms are thick and yet you can see the outline of her muscles.

“How’s it going, Bizzy? Georgie was just inviting me to the opening of Darby’s new club tonight.”

“That’s right.” Georgie gives my hip a quick bump. “Juni’s off seducing Bates Barlow into coming. Once he sees how hopping and popping it is with the younger set, he’ll be forced to invest in it.” She gives a little wink. “Knowing my girl, she’ll convince that Hollywood hunk to follow her home afterwards, too.” She leans in. “Oh heck, they’re probably in his trailer right now closing the deal, if you know what I mean.” She gives a hard wink. “If the trailer’s a rockin’, don’t come a knockin’. That boy might have game, but my little girl has no shame.”

Kiki grimaces. Interesting. “I might just show up tonight after all. I’m all for front row seats to the Juni and Bates Show.” She gives a jovial laugh. Little does Juni know, I’d love to give her a run for her trailer rockin’ money.

Sounds as if Kiki is just as smitten with Bates as the rest of the ovary popping masses.

“If Bates Barlow will be there, I’ll be there, too.” I lean in. “Say, did either of you see anyone walking around with a cleaver by chance?”

Cleaver? Fish yowls as the hair stands up on the ridge of her back. Why do I feel as if my tail is in peril?

Why do I feel as if every guest is in peril?

Kiki twitches her head my way. “The cleaver is out? We’re not shooting the final scene today, are we? If so, I put the wrong makeup on Camila. I’d better start mixing a batch of blood.”

“No,” I say. “We just discovered a couple of them scattered around the inn.”

Georgie gasps. “Who would do something like that?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “But apparently, it doesn’t have anything to do with the shoot.”

Kiki clutches her throat. “This is getting scary.” She gives a quick look around. “Wait a minute.” She touches her fingers to her lips.

“Kiki, what is it?” I all but clutch her arm. “Did you see something?”

“Actually.” She takes a quick breath. “I really don’t think it’s a big deal, but Bates was drinking last night. He said something about wanting to play a prank on the crew.”

I give a knowing nod. “Faith said the same thing. But I don’t think it’s very funny.”

Kiki gives a weak smile. “Just don’t tell him I was one of the people who outted him. I’d like to stay on his good side.” Until he’s locked up for good. And the way things are going, that won’t be too long at all. “I’d better get to that blood.”

A woman with a bad blonde wig catches my eye as she snags the attention of a vexingly handsome homicide detective near the entry.

“Don’t worry, Kiki. I’ll cover the blood for this one,” I mutter as I speed off in their direction and Georgie scurries along right next to me.

“Did you say blood?” Georgie huffs and puffs as she tries to keep up. “How about I get one of those shiny new cleavers for you, Bizzy? You can hack Camila to pieces for pawing all over your man. We can call it a performance piece. They’re all the rage among the art population.”

“They’re all the rage among the prison population, too,” I point out.

Fish moans as she buries her face in Georgie’s armpit.

Try not to go to prison, Bizzy. She mewls. Georgie doesn’t believe in litter boxes or deodorant.

I know for a fact both happen to be true.

“Jasper,” I say as I come upon them.

Camila glares my way. “And she’s not even warning anyone.”

A dull huff bumps from me. “I take it you’re up to speed,” I say as Jasper’s eyes widen in disbelief.

“I am. And I think we can do an inspection without disrupting the guests.”

“Good.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Jordy is looking to see if he can find any more of those metal menaces.” I scowl at the menace in a blonde wig before me. “I take it Jordy told you.”

She gives a slight nod. “That, and the fact I heard that poor woman scream. You’ll be lucky if the inn isn’t sued for emotional distress.” She adjusts the little black dress she’s poured herself into with its plunging neckline. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m almost due on set.” She starts to take off just as Georgie pulls her back by the wrist.

“Hey, Toots,” Georgie snarls. “Not so fast. What did you do to land this coveted part? I’m looking to score an Oscar-worthy role myself.”

I snort without meaning to. “Georgie, I highly doubt Camila is going to put on an Oscar-worthy performance.”

Camila’s cheek curls on one side. Oh, Dizzy Bizzy, I deserve an Oscar every time I’m nice to you.

She plucks her wrist free from Georgie’s stronghold. “If you really want to catch the director’s attention, I’d suggest you do something to surprise him. I don’t know, maybe show him your best side.” She makes a face at Georgie while inspecting her features.

Jasper nods my way. “Camila mentioned the library. A cleaver in a book?”

I nod. “The cleaver is still in there. Emmie is making sure the guests don’t wander inside,” I say as he brushes a kiss to my cheek before taking off.

“Must be nice,” Camila muses. “Knowing that you’ve bewitched Jasper with your constant need to have a detective by your side. You must make him feel very important. Good strategy. I’ll have to remember that for when I land him back by my side.”

Fish yowls as she swipes a paw over at her. Let me at her. Just one scratch, and I promise she’ll never bother you again.

Sherlock trots over and wraps himself around me while barking up at the blonde bimbo among us, and Camila wastes no time in snarling right back at him.

“Oh hush, you,” Camila hisses just as Peter strides over.

“Are you ready for your close-up?” He places his hand on her back, and I can’t help but note he’s gliding it down over her bottom.

I can pretty much guess how she secured the role.

“Hey, Pete!” Georgie dances her way in front of him. “Got any parts for a gray-haired cutie like me? I’m ready to move out from the obscurity of background talent and into the limelight of superstardom.”

He raises a half-smile as if he were amused.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Let’s see what ya got.”

Before any of us can process what’s happening, Georgie whips off that sky blue kaftan and spins it over her head as if she was waving a flag, exposing us to two white sacks that look like a couple of pilgrim hats in lieu of a brassiere and a pair of off-white pants that I’m guessing are her undergarment of choice. Come to find out, Georgie’s skin underneath her clothes is pale as the underbelly of a fish and looks virtually wrinkle free.

“Whoa.” Peter winces. “Okay, fine. Head over to hair and makeup and I’ll give you a line. But just one.”

He takes off and Georgie lets out a whoop and dances a little jig that makes her jiggle and wiggle in all sorts of questionable places.

“Mama!” Georgie’s daughter calls out as she comes running into the foyer, and shockingly she just so happens to be shirtless, too. I’m sensing a familial theme here. “Guess who just got Bates Barlow to come to the club tonight?” Juni belts out a whoop that rivals her mother’s.

Georgie slaps her hands together. “That’s my girl. Did you have to resort to begging?”

“Nope.” Juni expands her chest rather proudly. “He did.”

Georgie howls out a laugh. “Don’t let anyone say us Conner women can’t get things done.”

Camila scoffs over at them. “You’re a couple of loons.”

Georgie leans her way. “Watch it, blondie. I know where you live, and I know a good book I can dig a cleaver out of.” She links arms with Juni. “Come on, kid. We don’t need to prove our sanity to anyone. Let’s go celebrate by swimming in the fountain.”

Swimming in the fountain! Sherlock gives a happy bark as he takes off after them. It’s time to invade the waters!

Fish circles my ankles, and I pick her up.

Don’t worry, Bizzy. She nuzzles her head against my neck. I won’t ever invade your fountain.

I nod as I kiss her on the forehead.

But someone has very much invaded my inn with the intention of frightening my guests.

I say enough is enough.

I’m going to squeeze these suspects until one of them sings.

Or I might just lose my mind and sling a cleaver in Camila’s direction.

Maybe I’ll do both.

CHAPTER 11

T  he Silver Shufflers Nightclub sits on the border of Cider Cove and Edison, which gives it just enough of a wild vibe—and equal parts mild—to convince me this place might not be so bad. The club itself is located in a renovated senior center and is conveniently located next door to the fire department should anyone be in need of a first responder.

Georgie, Juni, Macy, and I all pause outside the mirrored doors and inspect ourselves from head to foot before heading on in. The night air is so humid you’d think it was blowing straight off a boiling pot of water. The music from inside vibrates the walls outside of the establishment, and if I’m not mistaken, the smoke from a funny cigarette is lighting up our senses.

“Them silver foxes better be worth it,” Juni grunts as she tugs down the pleather, ultra-tight-fitted mini skirt that looks as if it’s cutting off her blood supply.

“They will be.” Macy blows her reflection a kiss before giving her blonde bob a quick flick. She’s opted for a red wrap dress that ties off to the side and matching heels that add a stratospheric lift of about six inches to her height.

Juni starts in on an odd little dance, trying to get comfortable in her own clothes, and Macy smirks her way.

“How on earth did you get that rubber band you call a skirt up onto your hips?” My sister has never been one to mince words.

Juni snorts. “The same way every other American girl gets her pleather on—with bacon grease.”

Georgie tips her head back and howls at the full moon for seemingly no good reason.

“Georgie, what are you doing?” I squint her way as the sequins on her navy kaftan reflect pink and yellow as the lights from the entry to the club strobe over us.

“I’m resetting my energy fields.” Georgie flips her hair upside down before straightening and repeating the dizzying motion three more times like a woman possessed. She turns toward the street and lets out one riotous roar that sends cars and people alike screeching to a stop.

Macy gives her a tug on the sleeve. “Would you knock it off? You’ll have us arrested before we ever get inside, and I’m dying to see the caliber of silver foxes this place is housing.”

“That’s right.” Juni whips out her lipstick and gives her mouth another ring of Riot Red. “This place is crawling with wealthy retirees just looking for some arm candy to cruise the Mediterranean with. How’d you think I found my last husband?” She gives her reflection a cheeky wink. “Of course, I’m not talking about your daddy.”

Macy and I exchange a glance. It’s so easy to forget that Juni was once our stepmother, brief as that union might have been.

Juni shakes her head. “No offense, but he turned out to be a dud. No yacht, no limo, no mansion, equals no Juni. Don’t get me wrong. That boy has all the right equipment he needs on his person, and believe me when I say he knows how to use it.”

Macy and I gag and retch in unison.

“All right, Juni.” Georgie pulls her close. “Remember, two drinks is all you get. Any more than that, and you can’t count the zeros in their bank accounts.”

Juni gives a sober nod. “And that’s how I came to live with Sal. That man fed me nothing but ramen and boxes of Captain Crunch cereal for six months straight.”

Macy shakes her head. “Hey. What’s wrong with that?”

I shrug over at them. “That happens to be the strict dietary regimen Macy has adhered to since she was eleven.”

We head inside the club, where the sound of Dean Martin blares at deafening debacles and the faint scent of a medicinal form of menthol permeates the air.

It’s dim inside, save for the pink spotlights giving everyone an unearthly rosy glow, and each table set out around the periphery of the room has a trio of candles flickering on it.

Georgie grasps me by the arm. “So what do you girls think?”

Macy shrugs. “The lighting is flattering if you’re going for that I’m-healthy-enough-to-see-another-decade look.”

Juni nods. “And the candles give it that let’s-talk-to-our-dead-loved-ones look.”

Georgie waves her off. “Everything is done in threes—for the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. They’ve got a priest, pastor, and a rabbi stationed at the bar in the event we run into a spiritual emergency. In fact, Darby had me paint the logo to this place right above entry.”

We turn, and sure enough, in bright blue letters it reads when you’re here, you’re right next door to heaven!

I’ll admit, there’s something endearing about it, but then there’s something equally off-putting about it as well.

I turn to Georgie. “So how many casualties is the place up to so far?”

Macy leans in. “They’re obviously not meeting their quota if they invited you.”

“Casualties smasualties.” Georgie sways to the music. “Let’s get these hips moving until we fall and we can’t get up.”

A man in a bright blue Hawaiian shirt dotted with pineapples shuffles his way over, jabbing his thumbs every which way and tossing his feet around so erratically I’d say they could be classified as deadly weapons.

“Guess who showed?” Darby plants a wet one right on Georgie’s kisser. “Bates Barlow is here sweatin’ to the oldies with the best of them.”

Juni cranes her neck toward the dance floor. “That would explain the steady influx of young, hot cuties. I’d better go throw my skirt into the ring if I want to end the night on my back. Sorry, girls, but duty calls. I’ll see you on the flip side.” She snaps her fingers over her head as she trots on over like a woman on a man-eating mission.

Macy cinches her dress tight and fluffs out her hair at the temples.

“Sorry, Juni. Bates Barlow is coming home with me tonight. If anyone’s bedroom is equipped to have that much star power in it, it’s mine. I’ve got a taser, an assortment of bungee cords, and a pair of sterling silver handcuffs Santa himself tied me to my bedpost with last Christmas.”

“Macy”—my chin dips a notch—“it sounds as if you’re ready to stage a hostage situation.”

She shrugs. “You say inmate, I say playmate. Potato, poh-ta-to. I’ll eat ’em up either way.” She slinks off into the crowd, body jousting her way through the throngs of women swarming around Bates like a hive.

“I said hostage situation,” I call after her as Georgie pulls me into her midst.

“Now you’re talking my language.” She nods to the dance floor. “Darby still hasn’t got Bates to commit to investing, and he needs the money to keep the pink lights on.”

Darby squints my way. “So you’re thinking I should take him somewhere against his will?”

“No.” I shake my head at him in the event his hearing aid isn’t turned all the way up. “That would be a Class A felony. And trust me, if you make him go somewhere against his will, the sheriff’s department will make sure you go somewhere against your will and it won’t be nearly as fun.”

He rolls his eyes. “It looks like it’s back to square one.”

Georgie offers a commiserating nod. “Back to trying to coax him into a conversation?”

Darby shakes his head. “Back to trying to blackmail him into giving me what I want.”

A breath catches in my throat. “Do you have anything good on him?”

He gives a simple nod. “I heard him and Heather arguing about twenty minutes before her body was discovered.”

“You did?” I move in close, suddenly interested to hear any and everything he’s willing to tell me. “So what were they arguing about?”

He rocks back on his heels. “It depends. How much cash are you willing to part with?”

I shoot Georgie the stink eye before reverting my attention back to the bartering barracuda.

“I don’t have cash, but how about this? You tell me what you heard, and instead of hosting the cast wrap party at the inn, I’ll tell Peter to host it right here at Silver Shufflers. The press will most likely be here, and that means free advertising to the entire country.”

Okay, so all of the above might just be a sheer fabrication of my overactive imagination, but who could blame me when a murderous bit of gossip lies in wait?

Darby twists his chubby little lips. “It’s a deal.”

Both Georgie and I lean in.

He gives a quick glance over his shoulder.

“I heard him tell her she was paranoid,” he whispers as loud as he can. “That he loved her and that she was enough. And then she said, ‘Don’t you get it? I don’t deserve to be loved. After what I’ve done, I deserve everything I get.’”

“And?” I nod furtively at him, waiting for him to really sock it to me.

“And that’s the end. Georgie here snagged me, and we went behind the building to sneak a little smoochy smoochy.”

Georgie gives his ribs a tickle. “And we would have done more if that woman wasn’t there taking off her shoes.”

I suck in a quick breath. “You saw Jane taking off her shoes?” My eyes bug out because suddenly it feels as if this entire investigation lies in the hands of the king and queen of smoochy smoochy.

Darby snaps his fingers. “That’s right. She said she needed to get her feet wet. She was melting in the heat.”

Georgie shakes her head as she covers Darby’s ears with her hands.

“She said she was having a hot flash, but men don’t like to think about that.” Her hips start gyrating to the music. “In fact, she said she was hot enough to commit a crime.”

Georgie gives a wave as she leads Darby toward the dance floor in a hip-swinging move.

Commit a crime?

Those footsteps I saw that night come to mind.

I saw Jane slipping on her shoes myself, and the wet sand on her feet.

Come to think of it, when I told Peter about those cleavers we found around the inn, the first person he thought about was his wife. I know for a fact Heather and Peter were having an affair. But I thought she had left him for Bates? And what about this new revelation about Heather thinking she didn’t deserve love?

I crane my neck into the ever-swelling crowd and spot Mayor Woods grinding her hips against some poor putz. And as I make my way in that direction, I soon discover that poor putz is a direct genetic relation of mine.

My feet don’t hesitate taking me his way.

“Huxley?” I pull my brother to the side, and soon he’s dancing with me, pulling my arms, making me move every which way like a rag doll. He’s still wearing his suit from the law office, and his bright red tie sits slightly askew. Hux and I share the same dark hair and blue eyes, but obviously our taste in the company we keep differs vastly. “What are you doing here? And why are you dancing with her?” Okay, so my brother and Mackenzie Woods have expressed an interest in one another more than once, and suffice it to say, it’s annoyed me more than once, too.

He frowns over at me, never once missing a beat to the music.

Why the heck does Bizzy care who I’m with? Correction, she doesn’t really care who I’m with so long as it’s not Mack. I get it. They were friends, and now they’re not for whatever reason. I have a feeling if she knew how far things have gotten with Mack and me, her head would explode.

I look at him, stunned at the thought of things getting far with Mackenzie of all people. Doesn’t he realize she’s inherently evil? That she alone is the reason I have the displeasure to hack into his mind at present? Not to mention the fact she enjoys making me miserable at every turn. I bet this is just another ploy to toy with my emotions. She knows how much I love my brother.

Mackenzie waltzes over and shimmies her body up and down Huxley as if he were a pole before shooting me a lethal glance.

There she is with that self-righteous look on her face. I bet she’s thinking to herself how unworthy I am of her brother. I bet she thinks I’m using him to make Leo jealous. She cranes her neck past my brother and I follow her gaze to find Emmie and Leo making out next to a neon sign that reads bladder release center. As if Leo would care. It’s obvious he’s head over heels for that little nitwit. I don’t know who annoys me more these days, Bizzy or Em. Not that I care what they’re thinking. The last time I bothered to care what they thought of me was at that ridiculous Halloween party where I caught them laughing at me. But I got Bizzy back by dunking her in a barrel—not to mention I made sure to swipe every boy who even bothered to look their way. I never said I wasn’t above holding a grudge. There was a little more to it, but I’m not up for reliving it now. I’m up for doing something far more exciting.

She pulls Hux in and lands a slobbering kiss over his mouth with so much vigor I’m half-convinced she’s about to gnaw off his face.

Gross.

Gag me.

I’d rather stomp out a bag of poop on fire than watch my brother make out with anybody.

Instead, I sway my hips into the crowd until I wiggle my way into the sweaty nexus and come upon Juni and Macy battling it out for Bates Barlow’s attention.

Incoming. He winks my way and a nervous laugh expels from me. This one’s hotter than them both. And why does she look familiar? His shoulders bounce. I’ve probably entertained her a time or two in my trailer. With all the bourbon I’ve been plying myself with ever since we got to this blip on the map, I can hardly remember a thing.

Great.

I glower over at him a moment while trying my best to groove to Sinatra.

Just my luck. The potentially last witness to see Heather Kent alive has a memory of a goldfish swimming in a bourbon bowl.

I swing my hips right up to him.

“I’m getting thirsty!” I shout up over the music and both Juni and Macy do their best to block him from me. “For bourbon!” I roar to no one in particular, but Bates peeks over at me from above Macy’s shoulder and nods for me to follow him as he leads the way to the bar.

Macy keeps pace alongside me. “Now look what you’ve done.”

Juni shoves her elbow into my sister’s side. “Never you mind. Dancing is dandy, but liquor is quicker, if you know what I mean. I might get lucky and not even have to leave the premises to do it.”

Macy shakes her head at the thought. “I have a strict no public restrooms, dark hallways, or senior centers policy when it comes to romance. I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t exceed my two drink maximum. I’ll need him conscious in order to get his explicit consent for the things I have planned for him.”

I race ahead of the two of them before they each grab one of his limbs and begin to pull. I have a feeling things are about to get messy, and I need him intact for at least fifteen more minutes.

I catch his eye with a wave.

“Bizzy Baker,” I say just a notch above the music. “I work at the inn.”

He tips his head back with a mild look of disappointment etched on his face.

“That’s right. You’re in charge of the s’mores.”

“Something like that. How about I buy you a drink?” I have a feeling his currency consists of either booze or a mattress, but I’m not interested in the latter. And I sort of wish neither was Juni or Macy. But there is a certain appeal to Bates and that baby fresh face of his.

“Sounds like a plan.” He orders up a shot of bourbon and I order a ginger ale as we land next to one another at the bar.

He’s out of breath, sweat beading along his upper lip as he unbuttons his shirt a few notches.

“How do you like the club?” I try to sound enthused about it, but with a sign advertising milk of magnesia less than five inches from me, it’s hard to get too excited.

“It’s good. I think with a little work it could be a very happening place. Heather and I were supposed to come out that night to check it out before it opened.” He shrugs as the bartender lands our drinks before us.

“Heather Kent?” I ask, amused. “The night of her murder?”

“That’s right.” He knocks the amber liquor in his shot glass back like a hero and shudders. “The guy who owns the place wanted me to check it out, invest in it. I thought Heather might get a kick out of it. I asked her to join me.” He shakes his head. “She may have thought I was about to propose. She blew a gasket.”

Could this be the argument Darby overheard?

“Wow,” I muse. “She must have thought the two of you were getting pretty serious to think that.”

“We weren’t.” He shakes his head as if he were puzzled. “She had a phobia of commitment. She said she had a habit of hurting those she cared about. It was easier to live unattached. And believe me, I get it. Not the hurting people part, but the part about wanting to live unattached. No offense to Heather, but I’m not the marrying type myself.”

She wanted to live unattached. I mull it over in my mind.

A phobia of relationships?

She had a habit of hurting those she cared about… Odd.

It sounds as if it all stemmed from some deep-seated pain that had the time to take root in her life. And considering she wasn’t all that old, it probably struck while she was a child—in high school maybe.

Rachel circles back to the forefront of my mind.

“Hey, Bates?” I lean in until we’re shoulder to shoulder. “Did she ever mention that she had been to the cove before? As a bridesmaid, maybe?”

His eyes widen a moment. There was some odd rambling about a drinking contest—about controlling people the only way she knew how, with liquor. Something about keeping her mouth sealed forever.

He shakes his head. “Nothing that would make sense. Heather and I spent the night before drinking out by the water. I think the heat was getting to her.”

“I see.” There’s no need to push it. I have a feeling Bates has told me all I need to know regarding that. “Bates, who do you think could have done this to Heather? After you had that argument with her, did she say she was going to talk to someone else?”

He takes a breath and his chest expands twice its size.

“No.” He leans in so close I can feel the heat emanating off his body and smell the blast of liquor on his breath. “But she mentioned that she thought she was being followed.”

“Followed?” I inch back to look into his glossy eyes. “Who did she say was following her?”

“She didn’t know.” His cheeks flicker as he lands his lips close to my ears. “She thought it was a ghost. At one point, she said it was two ghosts. Heather said she was certain there was life after death, and that for many years, the ghosts had been trying to get her attention.”

A chill rides up my spine. “Did she say who she thought those ghosts might be?”

His Adam’s apple rises and falls, and I can tell he’s contemplating what to say next and yet not a single thought is being transmitted.

He leans in. “One night after a bender, a couple of picture frames fell from the wall in her bedroom. Things started moving around on their own. She said it happened all the time. She said she’d wake up to the lights flickering. She’d come home to find the bathtub filled and she didn’t turn on the water. She also mentioned she found the toaster plugged in on the bathroom counter.”

“Oh my God. Someone was haunting her, all right.” I’m just not convinced it was a ghost.

He shrugs. “Another night I was over and her ceiling fan began to spin so fast one of the blades flew off and nearly decapitated her right before my eyes. She looked up, terrified, and shouted, ‘I’ve had enough. I hate you, Rachel. I hate you, Leeny.’ She kept lighting candles and burning sage in the corner of her room. She said it helped to keep the spirits away.” He blows out a bourbon-laced breath. “I don’t know who the hell she was talking about.”

Juni latches onto him from behind. “And I don’t know who the hell you think you’re talking to. If it’s not me, your lips are moving in the wrong direction.” She jousts him out of his seat as they head back toward the dance floor and Macy does the same to me.

“I hope your little investigation was worth it,” she snips. “Do you know how hard it is for me to see my brother out there getting more action than me?” She bops us into the crowd, and just as I’m about to make a break for it, a pair of strong arms wraps themselves around me from behind.

I spin around to find the most breathtaking gray eyes staring into mine as Jasper pulls me close and we begin to slow dance to a rhythm all our own.

“Careful,” I say. “My fiancé carries a concealed weapon. He won’t be happy when he sees you holding me like this.”

His brows hike as he gives an amused curl of the lips.

“In that case, we’d better not let him find out about the things I have planned for you later.”

“I will be the last to tell him.” I pull him in close by the silver tie that matches his eyes. “But I can’t wait to tell you the things I learned tonight.”

His expression grows somber as he glances behind me.

“I saw you talking to Bates when I arrived.”

“Are you spying on me, Detective?” A laugh bubbles from my throat as I say it.

“Not nearly enough.” He nods that way. “Camila stopped me at the door a few minutes ago to tell me what she has on the case.”

A groan evicts from me.

Suddenly, I’m very interested in exchanging notes.

I glance back to find Bates not only surrounded by my sister and Juni, but by Camila and Kiki Woodley, too. Camila looks as if she’s wrapped herself in tinfoil with an itty-bitty silver dress on, and Kiki looks as if she’s still wearing the same jeans and tank top she had on earlier. Nonetheless, the fact two more women have glommed onto the Hollywood hunk doesn’t surprise me. Bates Barlow certainly doesn’t have a shortage of women wherever he goes.

I pull Jasper close and spin him around so he’s not staring right at his wily ex who has decided to stick her nose into my case.

I’ll make sure Jasper tells me every last bit of information that loose cannon has collected.

And hopefully, whatever she’s gleaned will be enough for Jasper and me to nail the killer.

That’s right, Camila. I’m leaving you out of the equation, now and forevermore.

CHAPTER 12

L ater that night Jasper and I drove back to the inn and took a walk along the cove with Sherlock and Fish. It was dark, but we did our best to try to trace Heather Kent’s last moments as she walked from the café to the rocky crags at the other end of the cove.

I told Jasper all about the freaky supernatural stuff that Bates filled me in on. And Jasper told me that Camila filled him in on the fact Jane had just given Peter Olsen his divorce papers less than twenty-four hours ago.

It seems she caught Peter trying to get friendly with Camila herself, and Jane served those walking papers with a smile.

Figures.

Camila doesn’t mind bragging about her time on the casting couch to Jasper, most likely because she’s trying to spin him into a jealous tizzy—although Jasper assured me he couldn’t care less.

I try to brush all thoughts of Camila and those moves she was putting on my fiancé last night out of my mind.

It’s the very next morning, and the sun is already searing a hole through the roof of the inn as the heat gives the air conditioner a run for its money.

Fish and Sherlock are in top form, greeting every guest that steps into the lobby with a wag of the tail and a cheerful little hop.

Fish jumps up onto the counter in one gravity-defying move.

Why so glum? I haven’t seen you this grumpy since Camila tried to turn you into a pushpin for the government.

It’s true.

A while back, Camila tried to shove me in the direction of some government paranormal investigation agency and it was a big supernatural mess.

“Funny you should ask,” I whisper. “I was just thinking about the wicked witch.”

Jane Olsen strides through the doors, wrapped in a blue and white striped beach towel, her red bathing suit peeking out from underneath. She has a beach bag slung over her shoulder and a strip of zinc oxide slashed on the bridge of her nose.

“Good morning,” I say, trying my best to sound chipper.

“Good morning to you.” She laughs as Sherlock trots her way and she gives him a gentle pat. “You have the friendliest pets here. I never want to leave.”

“I’m actually surprised”—I catch myself before it’s too late—“you haven’t hit the beach already.”

She tucks a stray hair behind her ear and gives a playful frown my way.

“Nice save, Bizzy, but I’m guessing you heard about the divorce papers.” She gives a nonchalant shrug. “It was bound to happen. But I’m not leaving the set. I don’t believe in giving Peter peace with his hussies. Besides, I’m financially vested in this film, too, you know.” She sinks a wide-brimmed sunhat onto the top of her head. “I’ll be on the sand if anyone comes looking for me.” She gives a two-fingered wave as she disappears in the direction of the café.

Sherlock bounds from side to side and gives a cheerful bark. Let’s follow that woman, Bizzy. She’s headed toward bacon land.

Fish swats her tail in his direction. She’s probably just picking up coffee before she hits the sand. Not everyone is as obsessed with bacon as you. I don’t care for the stuff myself.

“That’s right,” I say. “Your drug of choice is catnip.”

Catnip! Her ears twitch just as Camila runs in with her hair disheveled, that same silver dress she was wearing last night sits askew on her body, and Sherlock barks at the sight of her.

Believe me, I’m moved to bark, too.

“Bizzy! You have to help,” she pants. “Quick, call Jasper. There’s an emergency.”

“Let me guess, you broke a heel doing the walk of shame from Peter’s trailer?”

She groans hard my way as the veins in her neck pulsate.

“No. I was about to leave when I found a cleaver sitting on the driver’s seat of my car.”

“What?” My heart pounds against my chest as I quickly text Jasper. His truck was still in his driveway when I walked to the inn this morning. And considering that our cottages are just a stone’s throw from the entrance, he should be here any—

“Bizzy?” Jasper speeds into the foyer at a quickened clip, his suit jacket latched over his back by way of his fingers, and you can see the gun in his holster sitting on his side.

Camila wastes no time before tossing herself at him.

“Oh, Jasper. It was horrible!” she shrills. “The killer is out to get me, and I’m terrified out of my mind.”

A small crowd of guests gathers around and begins to whisper amongst themselves.

Jasper and Camila speed out the door and I follow them all the way to the parking lot, where Camila’s sedan sits baking in the sun. And sure enough, gleaming on the driver’s side seat is a cleaver—identical to the one that killed Heather Kent—identical to the ones that were peppered around here at the inn.

Jasper calls it in and a forensics unit shows up to take prints of the car and the cleaver. It takes a couple of hours before Jasper heads off to Seaview for the station with Camila by his side. I frown as I wave to Jasper as he takes off.

I won’t lie. That cleaver seems to be playing right into Camila’s hungry clutches, and I don’t like it one bit.

There’s only one thing to do. Solve the damn case and get Camila out of my hair, and Jasper’s, for good.

Grady and Nessa have control of the registration desk, so I put on my bikini, grab a towel, and head for the water. Okay, so I haven’t exactly made a practice of going near anything that qualifies as a body of water ever since Mack held me under in that whiskey barrel and essentially told me to breathe. But Jane Olsen doesn’t need to know that.

There she is. Sherlock barks as he heads in her direction.

I let both Sherlock and Fish in on my plan to interrogate the woman while I was doing a quick change. I’ll admit, it was a bit odd talking to a couple of pets while jumping around in the nude, trying to wiggle my way into a swimsuit. Sherlock made a comment about me not having a tail like Jasper, and Fish let me know she wouldn’t discriminate against me just because I was hairless.

Sherlock leads us to the canopy the inn has set out over the sand with rows of wooden lounge chairs laid out for those guests who prefer not to burn to a crisp. It’s still early out and the entire cabana is empty, save for Jane lying on one of the loungers on her stomach while reading a book. She looks happy, in a youthful way, with her legs kicking back and forth in the air behind her.

“Is this seat taken?” I ask as chipper as can be while landing right next to her.

“Not for you and your furry little friends,” she says, scooping Fish into her arms as she quickly sits upright. “Oh, I just love this little cat. Her glowing eyes are so expressive. I was talking to her the other day, and I’d swear she knew exactly what I was saying.”

Oh, I did. Fish mewls. And now I know all about what a lying two-time cheat she’s married to. She told me to stay away from men, and to get lost in a good book once in a while instead.

I nod at the advice Jane doled out. Bitter, but sage, I suppose.

“They found another cleaver.” I shed my wrap and land on my stomach next to her while propping up on my elbows.

The faint smell of coconut-scented suntan oil permeates the air, and that mingled with the briny sea air makes it feel as if summer has finally hit its zenith.

“Another one, huh?” she huffs at the thought. “You know it’s probably just Peter trying to hype his film. I bet if you head down to the local hardware store you’ll see him on the security footage buying out the store.”

Security footage? Not a bad idea, and I tip my head her way to acknowledge it.

“So I take it, the culprit wasn’t you?” I try to laugh it off, but it comes out as serious as a cleaver in the back.

“Wasn’t me by a long shot.”

Sherlock nudges her hand for a quick pat and she’s more than happy to oblige.

Don’t worry, Bizzy. Sherlock whimpers. I’ll distract her with my cuteness. People say the darndest things to me. I bet I get a confession out of her yet.

Jane purses her lips at him. “Who’s a good boy? Yes, you are. Just between you and me, I apologize for ever calling my soon-to-be ex a dog. It was clearly an insult to your kind.” She flashes me a look. “And no, I didn’t leave the cleaver. It’s not my style. I’ve never been one to be passive. If anything, I’ve been known to be blunt.” And use blunt force trauma when needed.

I take a breath at the thought.

“Jane?” I lean in. “You were on the beach the night Heather was killed. Did you see anything strange? I mean, you were walking on the sand—by the shoreline.” There’s no use in pretending. She already knows I saw her covered with sand.

“I told you that night, I was just taking a walk.” She lets Fish jump down to the sand.

She’s the killer, isn’t she, Bizzy? Fish lets out a razor sharp meow. I don’t want a killer holding me. I’ll have to lick myself for two days straight just to get her killer germs off of me.

Good point. Sherlock moans as he moves out of Jane’s grasp.

“Wow,” she muses. “It’s as if I’ve got cooties. Well, I didn’t do it, kids,” she says to both Sherlock and Fish. “I’m not the big bad cleaver wielder. But”—she gives a quick glance around—“I did hear something. I was about halfway to the end of the cove, and I thought I heard screaming. I heard a woman.” Her voice shakes as she leans my way. “I haven’t told this to anyone else, but I heard Heather shouting something about the past. I heard her say the words haunting me.” She shudders. “And then I heard something like the splitting of a melon.” Her body bucks with the memory. “I thought…I thought I was going to catch Peter and her in the act, or in the least an argument.”

I don’t dare take a breath. “Jane, you went down to the end of the cove, didn’t you? What did you see?”

She shakes her head, her gaze set off to the cobalt blue horizon.

“I saw a blonde lying on the beach. I didn’t know what to think. Peter was never violent with me. I didn’t touch her. I didn’t even get close enough to see anything protruding from her body. I thought maybe she passed out. I ran back to the café and that was it. I had no idea she was mortally injured. And then I heard she was dead.” That last word comes from her threadbare as a tear rolls down her cheek. “It’s horrible is what it is.”

“I’m so sorry.” I quickly fish a tissue out of my beach bag and hand it to her. “Jane, did you know Heather very well?”

“Not really.” She takes a moment to blow her nose. “I never spoke with her privately. We were usually in a group setting with Faith and Kiki.”

“Did any of those conversations stick out to you?”

Jane falls back and rests on her hands as she considers it.

“You know, strange things were supposedly happening on set—mostly to Heather.”

“What kind of strange things?” Every cell in my body is at peak attention.

“Things moving around her dressing room. Her personal items missing then reappearing in odd places. Her toothbrush in the toilet, her phone in the refrigerator, things like that. It sounded like nothing more than childish pranks to me, but Heather insisted it was a ghost. So when Faith said we should hire a medium to come to the set, Heather flew off the handle. She said that was evil, and that there was a very good reason we should never try to contact the dead. She said life after death was none of our business, and once you started to delve into it, you would be forever sorry.”

Forever sorry.

“Jane? Did Heather ever mention that she delved into life after death?”

Jane glances to where Sherlock lies fast asleep.

“I don’t know. She didn’t extrapolate and nobody pushed her. She was the star. Half the time we were walking around on eggshells trying to keep her happy. But she wasn’t happy. In her own words, she was being haunted.”

Jane gets back to reading her book and my mind races with thoughts as to why Heather Kent could have been haunted.

Could all of these ghostly encounters she was supposedly having be linked to Rachel Hatterman? And if so, who is this Leeny that Bates mentioned last night?

One thing is for sure—Heather Kent was hiding something. And if I had to guess, it was of a very supernatural nature.

CHAPTER 13

Wedding dress shopping.

“Why does this momentous occasion actually feel more like a chore?” I whisper to Emmie as we huddle in the corner of the Sew Lovely Bridal Boutique situated right here on Main Street in Cider Cove. It’s finally the weekend, Saturday to be exact, and all of the planets have aligned so that my sister, mother, Georgie, and Emmie could help me hunt down the perfect gown. Both Juni and Jasper’s mother, Gwyneth, skipped out on the offer to join us. I can’t blame them. I almost skipped out myself.

“A chore, Bizzy?” Emmie hisses at me as she plucks and pulls at the sea of white dresses while trying to balance her glass of complimentary champagne. After looking at these prices, it’s clear why they’d want to liquor up the bride-to-be along with anyone who’s accompanied her. “What would Jasper think?”

“Jasper wouldn’t care if I were naked.”

Emmie giggles. “Okay, fair enough, but personally I’d rather see you in one of these. Ooh.” She plucks out a wall of taffeta. “How about this one?”

I cringe at the sight. “No, thank you. I believe that’s the marshmallow dress Sherlock was hinting I wear.”

She blinks over at me. “Sherlock Bones? The dog?”

My fingers quickly ride over my lips. Since Emmie doesn’t know about my quirky gift, I don’t want to clue her in on the fact. “I meant Juni. I think the champagne is going to my head.”

“Bizzy, you’re the only one in here who hasn’t had any champagne. I think your nerves are getting the best of you.”

“You’re right. I think I’ll rectify that with champagne,” I say, swooping past her and threading my way through the spacious light and bright boutique that caters to all things getting hitched.

Honestly, I would have been happy picking out my dress online and having it delivered in the mail. This entire barrage of white dresses has quickly become an avalanche of choices—choices that suddenly feel impossible to make.

Of course, the boutique has an entire slew of bridesmaid dresses, too, in every shade of pastel, and I told both Emmie and Macy to pick out whatever they like, in whatever hue they desire, and I’ll gladly pick up the tab. I just so happen to be picking up the tab for Georgie’s dress, too, but she’s not a bridesmaid. She’s the ordained minister who gets to tie Jasper and me up into a tidy little matrimonial knot.

“Bizzy.” Mom toasts me with a flute of champagne as she stands around a marble bistro table with Georgie and Macy. “How’s it going?”

“It’s come and gone, I’m afraid,” I say as I pick up a glass of champagne sitting on the platter. As soon as we arrived, the staff began to pour the bubbly. “You know, I think they ply you with liquor here to keep you from falling over from the sticker shock.”

Macy belts out a laugh. “Then you should have the entire bottle, seeing that you’re picking up the tab.”

“No way.” Mom wags a finger and sloshes some of her champagne onto the slick marble floor in the process. “Your father already volunteered to pay for your dress, Bizzy. And that of your sister’s and Emmie’s. You and Jasper are doing enough. It’s our treat.” Even though my parents have long since divorced, when it comes to getting my father to pay for things, my mother really does deserve half the credit. Without her prodding him, there would be no credit to give anyone.

“Wow, thank you.” I toast her with my glass. “How did you get him to agree?”

The Sew Lovely Bridal Boutique is light and bright, with creamy marble floors, the sound of moody love songs ringing out through the air, and the entire place holds the scent of a sugary perfume.

“Don’t you worry, kiddo.” Mom gives a twitch of her cheek. “I may not be tied to that man legally anymore, but I know how to sit on him when I have to. Believe me when I say, the divorce was a marked improvement in our relationship.”

“Hear, hear.” Georgie holds her champagne flute high. She’s dressed in a flame red kaftan with yellow and orange streaks dyed into the fabric, and she looks exactly like the spitfire she is. “My divorces were the best time of my life.”

Macy sighs dreamily. “I can’t wait to get a divorce.”

“Macy”—I make a face at my ornery sister—“you’re not even married yet.”

She gives a wistful tick of the head. “And that’s why I need to hurry up and saddle down one of Jasper’s brothers.”

“You stay away from Jasper’s brothers,” I’m quick to tell her. Macy has already cycled through two of them, and my mother has tried out yet another. “You’ve done enough damage.” I look to my mother. “You too.”

Georgie gives a throaty laugh. “Save a Wilder for me, would you? I wouldn’t mind adding a fling or a ring to my resume in the very near future.” She wiggles her hand while winking at the thought.

“All this talk about divorce is turning me green,” I say as I take a little sip of my champagne. I’m not a drinker by nature. I don’t have anything against it. I just don’t care for the stuff. Besides, the few times I’ve overstepped by inebriated bounds, I had every thought in the room flooding into my brain—and at an amplified decibel. No, thank you. But at present, I don’t see what a sip or two could hurt.

I take another hearty swig.

Mom sags as she inspects me. “Now look what we’ve done. She’s taken to day drinking because she’s so afraid of getting a divorce. Don’t you worry, Bizzy. Things are different with you and Jasper. I hardly knew your father before we jumped the gun.” She leans in. “Not to mention the fact your grandfather had a very real weapon at our wedding. You’ve heard of shotgun weddings? This was a Saturday Night Special.”

Georgie winces over at her. “Don’t tell me Hux was a guest at your wedding.”

Mom jerks her head to the side. “He was born eight months after the fact. You do the math.”

Macy contrives a gasp so loud you would think we were out of champagne.

“And you still wore white? No wonder Grandma Baker ignored you for the next sixteen years.”

Mom laughs. “That explains it. That and the fact she hated my guts.”

“Hates.” Macy nods. “This is an ongoing thing.”

Mom blinks back. “I thought she died years ago.”

Macy shakes her head. “She just wanted you to think so.”

I roll my eyes. None of that is true—I think. As far as I know, Grandma Baker really did die years ago. But Macy does love her revisionist history when it comes to making people squirm. It’s nice to know my mother isn’t above the fold when it comes to my sister’s shenanigans.

Georgie elbows me. “Your mama is right. You and Jasper know each other inside and out.” She waggles her brows. “Now go ahead and blink if you’ve done the deed with the good detective.”

I blink inadvertently and Georgie lets out a double whoop.

Do I really know Jasper inside and out? I mean, I’ve met his siblings. His brothers are great. His sister has an adorable four-month old little girl who is a princess if ever there was one. His mother—well, despite the fact Gwyneth and my father seem to be enjoying a long engagement, the woman is a bit of a pill. And his father—

I suck in a quick breath. “Oh my goodness, I just realized something.” My fingers fly over my lips like a reflex.

“What’s that?” Macy inches her head forward a notch with a general look of disinterest on her face.

“I don’t know anything about Jasper’s father.”

Mom shrugs it off with a look of surprise. “Who the hell cares?”

“Wait a minute.” Georgie holds out a hand as if she were refereeing a fight. “Is he a hot hunk of beef?”

“I wouldn’t know.” The words sail from me in a panic. “I have no idea what he looks like. I don’t know his name or anything. All I vaguely remember from the first time we talked about our families is that he divorced Gwyneth.”

Mom grunts, “You’ve met the woman, Bizzy. That was not a hard decision.”

“True,” I say. “She’s as caustic as a cactus.”

Macy grimaces. “Well, you won’t get a divorce just because you don’t know his father’s first name. But he might cut the legal ties when he finds out you’re talking smack about his mother in a bridal boutique.”

A dull laugh huffs from me. “And who’s going to tell him?”

“I am,” a sharp, decidedly caustic and prickly as a cactus voice emanates from behind and I cease to breathe.

Dear God.

Kill me.

I spin on my heels and force a bright smile at the caustic cactus before me.

“Gwyneth! So glad you could make it,” I trill to the older, beautiful in a cutthroat manner, brunette with the same shock of dark hair as her children and same glowing silver eyes.

“Oh, can it.” She reaches past me and snatches up a champagne flute. “No harm, no foul. Like I said, you’ll make a fine starter wife for my Jasper.”

I roll my eyes and am about to launch into an apology that will start here and most likely end at my wedding reception when two familiar women stride in through the doors.

It’s Faith Grayson and Kiki Woodley.

“Hang on to that thought,” I say as I ditch the melee I inadvertently caused, and as soon as I step away, I can hear my mother and Gwyneth start in on the bickering. They usually get along pretty well, but Gwyneth drew first blood with that starter-wife comment. And if my mother is anything, she’s a mama bear at heart—all teeth and razor sharp claws. Gwyneth will need more than just a single glass of champagne to get through the afternoon.

“Ladies,” I say brightly and both Faith and Kiki enlarge their eyes my way a moment.

“Bizzy?” Faith gives a little laugh. She’s donned a sunhat and crisp white T-shirt with shorts. Kiki has on a flower printed sundress and sandals, and judging by the bright pink hue on their cheeks, I’m guessing they strolled down from the inn.

Kiki looks momentarily confused. “You don’t work here, too, do you, Bizzy? It’s like you run the whole town.”

A laugh strums through me. “Nope. I’m here hoping to find something to wear to my wedding. But I’m not really getting anywhere. How about the two of you?”

Faith glances around. “Peter thought we should find a fancy gown for our female lead to get slaughtered in, and our wardrobe girl would rather be sunning on the beach today, so we’re taking one for the team.”

Kiki nods. “Camila suggested a wedding dress, and Peter flipped for the idea. Boy, she’s really hot for that detective that keeps coming around.”

“Tell me about it,” I grunt. “That hot detective happens to be my fiancé.”

The two of them gasp and gag.

“I’m used to it.” I shake my head. “Camila is basically psychotic when it comes to Jasper. They, too, were engaged once upon a time. But she cheated on him with his best friend and Jasper moved on.”

They gasp in unison once again.

Faith makes a face. “As a person who was cheated on once, I don’t look too kindly on cheaters.” She ticks her head. “Then again, I was born out of an affair, so I guess I can’t knock it too hard. But by the sound of it, Camila and the other guy didn’t last.”

Emmie pops up as if on cue.

“Nope,” I say. “Camila and Leo didn’t last, and this girl right here is pretty thankful for it.” I pull Emmie in close. “Faith, Kiki, have you met Emmie? She runs the Country Cottage Café.”

Kiki leans in. “Are you kidding? I have a serious addiction to those s’mores bars, and Emmie here is my supplier.”

“Ditto,” Faith is quick to agree. “It’s no wonder this Leo person has glommed onto you. You’ve bewitched him with your baking skills.”

Emmie belts out a laugh. “I won’t lie. Not a day has gone by since we’ve been dating that I haven’t plied him with one of my creations.” I want to add—believe me when I say, Leo Granger knows how to get very, very creative with my sweet treats, but I’m guessing Bizzy wouldn’t find it as amusing as I do. I have no idea what it’s going to take for her to fully accept us. She said she would, but it always feels as if she’s holding something back when we bring him up. I can’t put my finger on it. There’s an elephant in the room, and for the life of me I can’t figure out what it could be.

I make a face.

That elephant just so happens to have the ability to pry into her private thoughts.

If they get serious enough, I’ve already decided to tell Emmie about my secret. She’s going to think I’m a monster for keeping it from her for all these years. That right there is the real reason I almost can’t stomach the thought of going through with it. And on another note, once she discovers that I’ve let her mind ramble freely in front of a man capable of micro-analyzing every little thought, she just might kill me.

I look to Faith and Kiki, desperate to change the subject from Leo Granger and those things he does to my bestie with her innocent desserts.

“Champagne, anyone?” I ask brightly. “It’s free.”

No sooner do I say the magic word than the four of us migrate over and quickly imbibe.

Georgie, Mom, and Gwyneth have split apart an equal distance as they peruse the delicious, creamy gowns among us. Gwyneth is eyeing something white with sequins and the thought of her wearing white to my wedding makes me twitchy.

Macy tops her glass off before linking arms with Emmie.

“Come on, Em.” Macy pulls her out of our circle. “Let’s find something slutty to wear to Bizzy’s big day.”

Faith glances around. “Should I put Camila in something slutty?”

“Heavens no. She’s praying you’ll do just that.” I take another nip off my drink. “I say choose something matronly.”

Kiki chuckles. “Something that she’ll swim in, with a high neck.”

“And puffy sleeves,” I add.

Faith squints toward the back. “I think I see a hoop skirt. Excuse me, ladies.” She takes off and I top off both my glass and Kiki’s.

I look over at her. “How’s the morale on the set?”

She makes a face before knocking back half her drink.

“You know, it’s funny you should ask. Faith and I were just commenting on the way over it’s as if no one really misses her.”

“Oh.” I inch back at the odd statement. “I guess she was just another co-worker then. It’s not like anyone was really close on set.”

She rolls her eyes. “Peter was plenty close to her. Bates was close to her. Just about every grip and soundman was itching to get into her pants. And I have no doubt she would have been willing to give them all a turn. She was loose and didn’t bother to hide it.”

“I sort of gathered that myself,” I say it just above a whisper. “I guess the sheriff’s department can rule out a man,” I tease. “I mean, she seemed to work hard to please them.”

Her chest ripples as she swallows down a laugh. “Maybe, but I think it’s obvious a man did it.”

“You do?”

She takes another sip of her drink and nods. “I heard the killer really went to work with that cleaver. Most women don’t have the upper body strength to pull something like that off.”

“I guess I’d have to agree. I heard it was pretty rough.” Spine severed, ribs broken, not to mention the organ damage. “Whoever did it was pretty angry with her.”

“Peter was angry. Bates argued with her. And she mentioned she has someone watching her.”

“I heard that,” I whisper. “There was even mention of a ghost.”

Her eyes widen with what looks to be delight. “I guess you really do learn something new every day.”

Faith comes back with a wall of a dress that meets all the high neck, puffy sleeve, hoop skirt criteria. And the pièce de résistance? A series of corrugated fans are sewn onto the bustle of the skirt to transform any woman’s hips into what essentially amounts to a landing strip.

“Oh, it’s perfect.”

Faith angles her ear our way. “So what’s the gossip? What did you ladies learn?”

I glance to Kiki before leaning in. “Heather thought she was being stalked by a ghost.”

Faith gags on a river of words. “So that’s what she meant.”

“That’s what she meant by what?” My heart thumps wildly as I step in close.

Faith gives a quick glance around. “The day she was killed she mentioned that she felt a dark presence, that she had a stash of sage at home—that she didn’t feel safe.”

“Wow.” I try to take it in. “It’s almost as if she knew the killer was closing in.”

Oh, she did. Faith curls her lips. I’ve never seen anyone jumping out of their skin the way she was. But then, I’m not saying a word. The last thing I want is to have the sheriff’s department sniffing around any more than they already are. Bizzy is dating—engaged—to the lead detective, after all. Everything we say can be misconstrued twelve ways till Sunday. I’d hate to give the impression that I had anything to do with this mess. She glances to the ceiling.

“Wait a minute,” she says. “I asked Heather about the sage. I thought it was a joke, and she said she had an entire altar of sorts in her bedroom to chase the evil spirits out. She said she saw a spiritus years ago to keep the wickedness away.”

Kiki shrugs. “I guess it didn’t work.”

“I guess it didn’t,” I say.

They ante up at the register, and I continue the hunt for the perfect gown to wow my groom, but my mind is elsewhere.

I can’t help but wonder what other oddities Heather Kent may have lurking in that bedroom of hers.

Heather Kent was rife with secrets.

I bet her rental house is a virtual jackpot of clues. Or not.

Either way, I’m determined to find out.

CHAPTER 14

Shopping for my wedding dress turned out to be a bust.

I’m not happy with the fact I’ll have to go again. I’d like nothing more than for the perfect dress to simply show up in my closet. Heck, I’d be happy if it magically appeared in Jasper’s closet right about now. It’s not that my heart isn’t in it. It’s just that there are far too many choices. It probably didn’t help that I only tried on three. In all fairness, none of them appealed to me, and come to find out, wedding dresses are practically impossible to get on and off.

As soon as Gwyneth and my mother left, I turned to Georgie, Macy, and Emmie.

“I have a sudden urge to drive out to Seaview,” I say. “Anyone care to join me?”

Macy narrows her baby blue peepers over mine. “I recognize that wily look in your eye. You’re up to no good.” She gets a wily look in her own eye. “I’m in.”

My shoulders bounce with a touch of pride. “Okay, so I’m up to no good. But I promise it’s not above the law. I just want to do a simple drive-by of Heather Kent’s place.”

Emmie sucks in a breath as her eyes round out. “Bizzy Claire Baker, you’re going to break in, aren’t you?”

“No.” It comes out thick and defensive. “Okay, so I might look through a window, but that’s totally legal and we all know it.”

A dark laugh strums from Georgie. “You can count me in, Toots. I haven’t met my quota of breaking into a dead person’s place this week.”

The three of us take a moment to stare at our kaftan-loving friend.

“What?” She tosses her hands in the air. “I can’t help it. Dead people have been known to leave a lot of good stuff behind.”

We speed back to the inn and pile into my car as we make a beeline for Seaview. I remember Camila telling me that’s where Heather was staying, and on our way there, Emmie puts on her sleuthing hat and finds Heather’s address in no time flat.

It turns out, Heather posted many a selfie in front of her rental house, and the address itself was visible in more than one photo. Not a bright move in my opinion, especially since she thought someone might be stalking her. Although in her defense, she thought it was a supernatural stalker. I’m not so convinced.

In no time at all we’re parked in front of a pale yellow house with a dogwood hedge in full bloom and an overstuffed mailbox that looks as if it’s about to vomit all its contents onto the street below.

Emmie makes a face as she inspects the place. “I sure hope she didn’t have any pets in there.”

“Huh,” I say, taking off my seatbelt and opening the door. “Now that you mention it, maybe I’d better do a pet wellness check.”

“Ooh!” Georgie grunts as she does her best to untangle herself from the back seat. “I’m coming, too. It’s going to be creepy and morbid to see everything the way she left it, not knowing that she’d never be home again. You know there are a lot of things I would hide if I thought I’d never see my cottage again.”

Macy looks over at her. “Like those funny vases Mom thinks you smoke funny things out of?”

“And they make your brain funny, too,” I add.

Georgie waves the idea off. “Heck no. I’m talking about the raw milk and butter in the fridge. I’m known down at the retirement villas as the resident vegan.”

“Georgie”—I glance at her from the rearview mirror—“you don’t live at the retirement villas.”

She lifts a finger. “Don’t tell them that either.”

The four of us start to get out and a thought hits me.

“Wait a minute,” I say. “One of us has to stay behind and be the lookout.”

“Not it.” Georgie bolts before we can stop her.

“Me either.” Macy shrugs at Emmie. “Sorry, Em. Have fun.”

Emmie groans, “I always miss out on the fun.” She gives me the side-eye. “You’d better save something borderline dangerous for me. I call shotgun on the next investigation.”

“Duly noted,” I say. “Stay out of trouble.”

“I assume you’re talking to yourself.”

I shut the door and head up the porch. It’s stifling hot out, which I think will work in my favor, considering no one in their right mind wants to be out in this heat. It feels as if a glass dome has been set over all of Seaview, effectively turning us into ants ready to combust from the heat.

Both Macy and Georgie are nowhere to be seen. I’m about to knock on the door in the off chance someone is inside just as Macy peers from around the side of the house.

“Hey, amateur. Over here.” She gives me a spastic wave in her direction, and I quickly traipse over. “I can’t believe you were about to knock on the door.”

“Pfft.” I hear Georgie but don’t see her. “Who was going to answer? A ghost?”

“Well, she did believe she was being stalked by a poltergeist.”

“Poltergeist?”

Georgie sticks her head out from inside the window near the back of the house, and I let out a yelp.

“What are you doing in there?” I hiss, trying to keep from notifying the neighbors of an apparent break-in in progress.

“Never mind,” she says, reaching her hand my way. “Get me out of here before the ghosts take me to the other side.”

I step on the garden hose outside the window to give me the boost in height I need before giving her a hand, and in less than a second, Georgie has me landing headfirst in the bedroom.

She belts out a wicked cackle. “You didn’t think I fell for that poltergeist malarkey, did you? I’d welcome a ghost or two right about now. I did a quick check for any pooches or kitties, but it’s pretty lonely in here.”

“All right,” Macy grunts as she hoists herself through the window as well. “Now the party can start.”

“You girls are insane,” I say, quickly surveying the interior of Heather Kent’s bedroom. “I wasn’t going to break in. All I wanted was a peek through the window.”

Georgie rolls her eyes. “Now that you’re here, have a look around.” She smacks Macy on the arm. “Let’s raid the fridge. I call the cheese and lunch meats.”

Macy ticks her head. “I call the chocolate and cookies.”

“You’re both disgusting,” I whisper as they take off.

The bedroom isn’t all that spacious, but it’s still three times the size of mine. There’s a king-size bed to my right with a pink frilly comforter dotted with unicorns. To each her own I suppose. Along the far wall, three oversized pictures of horses hang in gilded frames. There’s a dresser with jewelry scattered across the top, a few earrings and necklaces. But it’s the vanity in the corner that has my attention, and I quickly make my way over. The vanity itself is white with a large mirror set above it against the wall. But the contents on the surface of the vanity are what feel like pay dirt.

A trio of white candles sits on a flat mirrored base. They’re melted down severely and there’s a minty scent emanating from them. Scattered around the four edges of the vanity are tiny bundles of pale looking weeds held together with bright pink rubber bands. I’m guessing that’s the sage.

Two thick drawers sit under the vanity and I slip the first one open. Nothing but a few stray pens, lip-gloss, and some blank notepads inside. I open the next one and discover a plastic red folder. I pull it out and find it filled with clippings from newspapers. Most of the edges are yellowed and the paper itself feels fragile. I glance at the first headline and gasp.

Bridesmaid Drowns at Seaside Wedding.

I pull my phone out and take a picture of the article.

My God, why would she save these?

I quickly pull out a few other articles, and they’re all about Rachel Hatterman, the poor bridesmaid who passed out in the water and was found dead the next day.

That conversation Jasper and I had with Kendra, the bride, comes back to me. She practically accused Heather of orchestrating that drinking game.

Could Heather have done that in hopes Rachel would wander to the water? Maybe Heather led her to the water?

I’m not a big drinker, but I can imagine it would take a lot to black out. And if she was that wasted, could she really make it across all the beach? Walking in sand is a lot harder than walking on flat land.

I pull another article out and scan over it quickly, hoping against hope it’ll give me a clue. Woman’s Body Washes Up Against Rocks After a Night of Drunken Revelry.

The rocks.

Come to think of it, maybe Heather bashed her over the head with a rock? But why?

Kendra also mentioned that Heather denied knowing Rachel, even though Rachel insisted they were high school friends.

I think it’s clear Heather had something to hide. I wonder if Rachel knew about Heather’s secret? I wonder if it cost the poor girl her life?

I thumb through the rest of the articles and marvel at what lengths Heather went to procure all of these different newspapers. And for goodness’ sake, why?

An article tucked in the back catches my eye. It looks badly yellowed, dating back eleven years.

I do a quick scan of the other articles and they’re all from six years ago.

A loud bang emits from the kitchen, followed by an expletive-riddled tirade coming from Macy, but I’m too absorbed in what’s in my hands to care.

I carefully pull the article from the back.

High School Girl Found Dead at Smuggler’s Cove. Aileen Bradley from Woodley Heights.

“What’s this?” I whisper as I squint to read the faded lettering.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I fish it out to see a text from Emmie.

Leave NOW!

“Oh God.” I take a quick picture of the article and work my fastest to get the rest of the clippings back into the folder.

Macy and Georgie run by in a blur before trying to dive out of the window at the very same time.

That last article about the girl in Smuggler’s Cove is still hot in my hand, and I can’t seem to part with it. What if the picture doesn’t come out? What if it’s the missing link to the puzzle that is Heather Kent?”

I fold it up and start to put it into my pocket.

“I shouldn’t do this,” I pant.

A loud snap goes off on the wall to my right as all three pictures fall to the floor at once.

I gasp and bury the article into my pocket like a reflex.

All that talk about ghosts runs through my mind and I quickly shake it away.

“It was probably just Macy and Georgie,” I mutter as I give the vanity one last glance. And then in a moment, the wicks on the three candles begin to spark—as one by one an elongated flame appears.

“Oh my God!” I panic as I blow them out in haste then make a mad dash for the window, and as soon as I spot a handsome man with his arms folded across his chest, I let out a bona fide scream.

Jasper pulls out his badge and holds it up.

“Seaview County Sheriff’s Department.” His voice is deep and somber. “You’re under arrest.”

CHAPTER 15

“I  can’t believe you arrested me.”

“I had to make it look good.” Jasper secures his grip over the steering wheel.

Jasper cuffed me and placed me in the passenger’s side of his truck, much to the delight of the applauding neighbors. But all was not as it had seemed. It wasn’t the neighbors that tipped off the sheriff’s department; it was Emmie herself.

“I can’t believe my own lookout snitched on me.”

She apologized profusely once Jasper dragged me from the bushes in handcuffs. Jasper asked Macy to drive my car home. He said he wanted to take the ringleader down to headquarters for a brief interrogation.

Jasper shrugs as he looks out the windshield. “Don’t be too hard on poor Emmie. She was talking to Leo on the phone. And when she got evasive about where she was, he tapped into her gray matter.”

“Wow,” I muse. “Talk about taking your talents to another level. I’ll have to try that the next time I’m on the phone with you.”

His lips flex a dry smile. “Bizzy, you broke into Heather Kent’s house. What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know—finding fresh ways to infuriate you?”

His brows rise and fall as if the thought amused him.

We pull into the back of the Seaview Sheriff’s Department and Jasper helps me out but pauses before freeing me from my cuffs.

“I’ll take these off, but only if you promise not to run.”

“You’re very funny. Are you always such a good time?”

“I’m a ball.” He gives a sly wink before taking off the cuffs and wrapping an arm around my waist. “Come on, I’ve got something in my office I think you might be interested in.”

“Why do I get the feeling that was a double entendre?”

“Have I ever told you I like how you think? With the exception of when you decide to break and enter. I’m not so crazy about that maneuver.”

Jasper leads us into the well air-conditioned building, quickly navigating me to the homicide division.

Camila sits at her desk, flicking her bright red nails that look freshly painted. The caustic scent of nail polish lingers in the air.

She grunts at the sight of me, “I guess now’s as good a time as any.” She hops up and blocks our path to Jasper’s office.

Her blouse is far too fitted and unbuttoned suspiciously low. Her pencil skirt is so tight I’m shocked she can breathe. And those sky-high heels look as if they were designed as instruments of torture during the Middle Ages. It’s clear Camila is working overtime to seduce my fiancé, and I don’t like it one bit.

Is it wrong that I’m hoping a round of budget cuts obliterates her position?

Jasper takes a full, clearly irritated breath.

“What is it, Camila?” He doesn’t bother to gift her a smile.

Her hot pink lips curve my way. “As I was leaving the set this morning, I spoke with Peter. He said Heather told him she was in a wedding party that held the reception right there at the cove, and guess what?” She bats her lashes manically at us.

“One of the bridesmaids drank herself silly and drowned in the cove,” I say, cutting her off at the pass. I know I made it sound like some punch line to a macabre joke, but I couldn’t help it. Camila is working very hard to undermine my case.

She takes in a quick breath. “You knew?”

“I know everything.” I lift a shoulder her way.

Okay, so I don’t know everything, but that doesn’t mean Camila needs to come across as knowing everything either.

She tips her head back, and for some reason, her cutthroat beauty only seems to be magnified.

“Did you know that both Heather and the bridesmaid that drowned went to high school together?”

Now it’s me gasping. It sounds as if Camila is really getting a handle on this case, and I don’t like it one bit. Of course, I knew Heather and Rachel went to high school together, but the fact Camila is picking up clues at a quickened clip is the alarming part.

A wicked laugh trembles from her. “See that, Jasper? I’ve impressed the future missus.” She leans his way with a seductive swivel of her shoulders. “I have something that’s about to make your mouth water, too.” She steps back to her desk and retrieves something before thrusting the object our way.

“A yearbook?” I just about howl out the words as I try to snatch it from her, but she pulls it back just enough out of my reach.

“It’s not for you.” She smears a prideful smile my way. “And yes, this is Heather and Rachel’s senior yearbook. I’m gifting it to the man who has stolen my heart.” She gives a little wink his way. “And whose heart I am determined to winnow my way back into.”

She hands the book to Jasper.

He takes a breath as he examines the cover. “Smuggler’s Cove High. Home of the Pirates.”

“Smuggler’s Cove?” I look up at Jasper in disbelief. “Jasper, this falls in line with what I found in Heather’s bedroom.”

Camila leans in. “You were in Heather’s bedroom?” Her mouth falls open. “You broke in, didn’t you?”

I shoot her a look. “None of your business. Come on, Jasper.” I pull him along until we’re in his office and Camila trots in right after us.

She feigns a brief smile. “If I go, my yearbook goes. I had to pay thirty bucks for that relic.”

“Fine,” I say, taking it from Jasper and heading straight for the senior section.

Onyx pages are brightened with young men and women clad in royal blue caps and gowns, each one looking their very best as they smile into the camera.

My finger slides down the page as I scan alphabetically for my target.

Camila grunts, “You’re off by a few pages. Heather’s last name is Kent, and Rachel’s last name is Hatterman. You’re still at the beginning of the alphabet.”

“I’m not looking for Heather or Rachel.” I land my finger just under the picture of a pretty brunette with clear green eyes. There’s something trusting about her, innocent, and I instantly feel sorry for the poor girl. Little did she know this would be the last year of her life. “I’m looking for this girl, Aileen Bradley.”

Camila huffs, “Who?”

“Jasper.” I look his way. “Heather had a bright red folder in her vanity. It was chock-full of newspaper clippings about Rachel’s death, the drowning at the cove. But there was only one clipping that told a different story.” I pull the article from the pocket of my jeans and unfold it carefully.

Jasper groans, “Tell me you didn’t swipe that from Heather’s bedroom.”

I glance to Camila momentarily.

“Maybe,” I say. “But I think we need to look this girl up.”

Jasper and Camila lean over my shoulders as we quickly read the article to ourselves.

“My God,” I whisper. “The article says they found her body in the water, but that Aileen died of asphyxiation, not drowning. It also states there were no signs of strangulation.”

Jasper closes his eyes briefly. “She was most likely smothered.”

I blow out a breath. “And whoever killed her tried to cover their tracks by tossing her into the water—just like Rachel.” I sag at the thought. “How I wish I could rewind time and save all three girls.” I look to Jasper. “I think Heather knew Aileen. I mean, obviously she did, right? Why else would she have saved this article? And that’s not the strangest part.” I bear hard into Jasper’s clear gray eyes. “Bates and Jane both told me that Heather thought she was being haunted. Faith mentioned something similar. Bates said pictures were falling off the walls and things were moving around on their own. Today on Heather’s vanity I found three candles that looked as if they were pretty well used, and on the four corners of the vanity were bundles of sage as if she was doing some sort of ritualistic cleansing.”

Camila nods furtively. “She was trying to keep the spirits away. I know all about it, Jasper.”

Only a true witch would, I want to say but decide to keep the commentary to myself.

“I think so, too,” I whisper. “Anyway, let’s see if we can glean anything from this yearbook.”

I take a seat and Camila sits beside me as Jasper leans over my shoulder. I turn to the back and look up Aileen’s name in the index and quickly turn to the pages she’s referenced to be on. The first is her senior picture with her kinky brown hair, her freckled face, and glowing green eyes. The second is her big win for best eyes, and in the final picture she’s hugging a young Heather and a young Rachel Hatterman. The caption reads best friends forever.

“There you have it.” I take an unsteady breath. “They were best friends.”

Jasper nods. “Which makes what Kendra told us about Heather denying any kind of relationship with Rachel even more interesting.”

I nod. “Heather had something to hide.”

Camila snatches the yearbook from me and pulls it to herself. “You think she killed these girls, don’t you?”

A million thoughts run through my mind at once.

“We can’t be sure.” My eyes meet with Jasper’s. “But she wasn’t just morbidly interested in their deaths. Heather Kent believed they were haunting her. Bates told me a story of being in her bedroom when a blade flew off from the ceiling fan, narrowly missing her neck. He said she shouted, ‘I hate you, Rachel. I hate you, Leeny.’” I shake my head. “Heather felt they were tormenting her. If they were best friends, why would she feel they were haunting her from the great beyond?”

“Guilt.” Camila doesn’t hesitate with the answer.

I turn her way. “As much as I hate to agree with you, I think you’re right.” I lean toward Jasper. “Aileen was smothered. Rachel had a gash on the back of her head. The authorities assumed that Rachel hit her head against a rock. What are the odds that two of Heather’s best friends both end up dead in the water?”

“Apparently very good,” Camila spouts off. “And let’s not forget that Heather herself died by the water.”

I nod. “Bludgeoned with a cleaver. A far more violent crime.”

Jasper pinches his lips. “It was personal.”

“It sounds like revenge,” I counter.

“All right.” Jasper heads over to the expansive dry-erase board hanging on the wall and picks up a red marker. “Suspects. Let’s see what we’ve got.” He draws a large circle on the board and writes Heather Kent in the middle of it before drawing a few spokes around the outside of it. “Who’s up first?”

I glance to Camila.

“Peter Olsen.” She gives a quick nod as if she was sure of his guilt. “He was doing it with her, and he didn’t want his wife to find out about it.”

I wave the idea off. “His wife knew all about it. In fact, they were arguing about it that night. Peter liked the attention Heather was giving him. But the night she was murdered, she broke it off with him. She was already into Bates at that point.”

“Okay.” Jasper jots down Peter’s name and cites the breakup as a motive. “Who’s next?”

“Jane,” Camila shouts as if it were the right answer in a pop quiz. “I bet she grabbed the nearest cleaver and hacked away at the other woman.”

I shrug over at Jasper. “Why not? Plus, there were the fresh footprints in the damp sand near Heather’s body and I did see wet sand on Jane’s feet. She admitted to going to the edge of the cove. She said she heard Heather arguing with someone. She assumed it was Peter. She heard something being said about the past, the words haunting me. And then she said she heard what sounded like the splitting of a melon and she took off. She also mentioned something strange. She said Heather once told Faith and Kiki not to mess with anything that had to do with the afterlife. She mentioned that she felt like she was being haunted.”

Jasper pauses to look at me an inordinate amount of time. And when were you going to tell me all this?

“Now?” A nervous laugh titers from me and he quickly writes it down. “Next suspect.” I clear my throat. “There’s Bates Barlow. Kiki, the makeup artist, said she heard Bates and Heather arguing just before Heather was killed. And, right after we found the body, I heard”—I make wild eyes at Jasper to alert him to the fact I heard what comes next as an internal dialogue—“Bates say the word perfect. Then the witch is dead. Now if I can just get the others off my back, I might actually get my life on track again.”

Jasper scans the floor a moment before writing it down on the whiteboard.

“Anyone else, ladies?”

Camila giggles as she elbows me in the arm. “Hear that, Bizzy? Jasper is already likening us in the same regard.”

I make a face at her. “He may be milking you for information now, but he’ll be milking me for kisses later.” I give a wink his way. “No one else I can think of, sweetie.”

Sweetie? His brows dip down, and he looks equally amused and vexed by my spontaneous nickname.

I shrug over at him. “I can work on it. But back to the case—I’ve got nothing. In fact, the only other people I know on set are Faith, the production assistant, and Kiki Woodley.”

Jasper quickly adds their names. “We don’t discount anyone at this phase.”

“You know”—I lift a finger in the air—“there was something strange about Faith that night. I caught her wiping down the counter where the cleaver was last seen, almost as if she was wiping down any sign of prints.”

“Okay.” Jasper makes a note of it. “I’ll have to ask her about that.” He glances over his shoulder. “I as in me. I can handle the case once we leave this room. I don’t want either of you pursuing this any further.”

Camila raises her hand as if she were in class. And how she longs to be the teacher’s pet. To quote one of Georgie’s favorite sayings, “Too bad, Toots.”

Jasper nods her way and Camila straightens.

“We should write down Kiki’s name, too,” she insists.

“Kiki Woodley,” Jasper says as he writes her name. “Any thoughts?”

Camila purses her lips. “She was making up the fake blood the day of the murder. I bet she wanted to mix in the real thing as she went for the authentic look.”

“Nope.” I don’t mind knocking down Camila’s veil of a theory. “Kiki.” I close my eyes, trying to remember anything that could have been incriminating. “Come to think of it, she did confirm to me that Bates was drinking the night of the murder and that he told both her and Faith that he wanted to play a prank on the crew.” Some of the private thoughts she was having during that conversation come back to me. “She also said that she couldn’t wait until Bates was locked up for good, and that the way things were going, she didn’t think it would be long at all.”

Jasper gives a wistful tick of the head. “Another strike for Bates.”

We wrap up the suspect scrutiny, and I somehow convince Camila into letting us keep the yearbook overnight. I promise to return it to her on set tomorrow as the cast and crew shoot the final scene.

A part of me can’t wait to see Camila get hacked to pieces in a wedding dress. In fact, I might just insist that Jasper stick around for that piece of cinematic entertainment himself.

Once she leaves the office, Jasper turns the lock on his door and a throaty laugh escapes me.

“Why, Detective Wilder, whatever are your intentions?” I sling my arms around his neck and bite down seductively on my lip.

“I think I interrogated you enough.”

“Oh?” A laugh stifles in my chest. “Is it time for my punishment?”

He ticks his head back a notch. “I was thinking something more along the lines of pleasure.”

“Pleasure? I’m not sure an ornery detective like yourself knows the meaning of the word. I think you need to prove it.”

A wicked gleam crops up in his eyes and Jasper is quick to do just that.

CHAPTER 16

T  he Country Cottage Café is somewhat quiet, considering the fact the final scene of Cat Scratch Fever is about to commence just outside its doors. The café has been cordoned off to regular guests and Emmie and the rest of the staff are serving the guests in the grand dining room instead.

Fish and Sherlock sit next to me as I leaf through that old yearbook Heather and her friends were in. I’ve got my tote bag with me in the event anyone comes my way so I can bury it in there. God forbid the killer sees me hunting for information. But I can’t help it. I want to wade through this while I watch them set up for Camila’s big death scene.

What do you see now, Bizzy? Sherlock barks from the floor.

Fish hisses his way. She’s perched up on my lap and seemingly perusing the text right along with me.

Would you give her some peace? Fish growls. You’ve been asking that all night and all morning.

It’s true. I scoured this yearbook from cover to cover last night and didn’t find a thing. Poor Sherlock seems about as hopeful as I do that I’ll spot something new.

A breeze picks up and blows the pages over until I’m in another section entirely.

“Huh.” I give a quick glance around the café, but the doors are still shut and the air conditioner doesn’t seem to be malfunctioning. “Did you feel that? There was a breeze out of nowhere.”

Sherlock whimpers. It was the ghost, wasn’t it?

I shake my head at him. “I don’t think it was a ghost.”

The salt shaker next to me knocks onto its side, and I gasp as a sea of white granules spills over the bottom corner of the book.

“Fish,” I quickly pick it up. “Be careful.”

It wasn’t me, Bizzy. She gives a weak mewl. As much as I hate to admit it, I think that furry carpet of Jasper’s might be onto something.

“No, it couldn’t be,” I whisper it low as if I wasn’t sure at all and wipe the salt off the glossy page where it landed. Just below my fingers, I see a small picture of Heather, Rachel, and Aileen. The caption reads friends for eternity.

A chill rides through me. I saw this picture last night and had the same spine-tingling reaction.

The three of them sit huddled beneath a maple tree with its leaves curled and dried.

Must have been fall.

Heather is in the middle with her golden curls falling over her shoulder. The two brunettes are flanking her on either side. Aileen looks as if she were caught laughing, and there’s an innocent exuberance about her. Rachel is squinting a bit, and there’s a tough girl vibe she’s giving off. I glance to their sweatshirts, all of them dark, all of them with something embroidered in bright yellow across their chests. I lean forward to get a better look. “Leeny, Hezzy, and Roxy. Huh,” I muse. “Those must have been their nicknames for one another. Cute at best, cliquey at worst.”

Fish belts out a gargling yowl as she dips her nose close to the page. What’s it say beneath their names?

I squint hard down at the page. “It looks like a line or a squiggle.”

Sherlock whimpers and growls. I would have beat Fish to the squiggle if I could have seen the page myself.

Fish snorts. Dream on, fuzzy.

“Maybe if I take a picture of it with my phone I can enlarge it.” I do just that, and it takes less than five seconds for me to magnify it. “Post Vitam?” The letters look uniform across each of their sweatshirts.

Sherlock gently lands his front paws over the table, trying to get a better look.

He gives a soft bark. Is that English?

“I don’t think so.” I quickly look up the words and my phone spits out a slew of links for the Latin language. “It’s Latin,” I say, clicking into a site that promises to translate it. “It says afterlife.”

No sooner do the words leave my mouth than a strong breeze blows every granule of salt right off the table.

“Oh my God.” Fish flies off my lap as I snap the book shut and bury it in my tote bag while Sherlock enters into a barking spree that doesn’t seem to have an end.

The three of us speed out of the café and into the humid afternoon as the day quickly melts to evening. The left side of the beach has been roped off for the production crew, and the tourists are all standing at the boundary line snapping pictures of all of the paraphernalia that goes into moviemaking magic.

Georgie and Juni run up, dressed in blush pink dresses with white carnation corsages, and I’m not sure what’s stunning me more—the fact I just had another bona fide ghostly encounter or the fact these two look as if they’ve just escaped their senior proms, emphasis on the senior.

“Let me guess,” I say. “You got a two-for-one deal at the Sew Lovely Bridal Boutique?”

Juni belts out a hacking laugh. “Nope, no deal for me at the dress shop, but it turns out, Faith and Kiki got a good one. They picked up these numbers for us and we’re being featured in the movie’s big finish.”

The sound of a woman pitching a verbal fit cascades over the cove and the three of us turn to the right to see Camila in that—well, humiliating, for lack of a better term— wedding gown. Her upper torso is an ode to the eighties, and from the waist down she’s got the girth of a runway that can easily accommodate a 747.

Georgie snickers. “Someone isn’t happy with their wedding dress.”

Juni grunts, “More like wedding mess. With that train wreck on, the killer will practically be doing her a favor when they take a cleaver to her back.”

Sherlock brays with what sounds like a laugh. I wish Jasper were here to see how she’s carrying on. Is it wrong that I’m thrilled she’s no longer in our lives?

Fish meows. She’s not gone yet. I don’t know why, but I sense trouble. I’d watch my back if I were you, Bizzy.

Sherlock gives a caustic bark. Don’t you worry, Bizzy. I’ll watch your back for you.

“Thank you,” I mouth his way.

Georgie leans in. “Any more freaky encounters with the other side?”

I told Georgie and Juni about my ghostly meet and greet yesterday in Heather’s bedroom with the self-lighting wicks.

I give a little nod and spill the salt myself on what just went down in the café.

The two of them gasp at what they hear.

“We better make this quick.” Juni cranes her neck in the direction of the set as the production team scurries to and fro as they ready the scene.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “Is all this talk about ghosts giving you the willies?”

“Nope.” Juni lifts her bosom with her hands. “It’s giving me the hots. I need to hunt down my ex and see if he’s up for a wild night of hot ghost-inspired lovin’.”

Georgie grunts, “How about sharing some of the ghostly affection?” She needles me with an accusing look. “I’ve got a room in my cottage for a poltergeist or two. Once you solve the case, you tell those girls to head over to my place. We can play strip poker until the wee hours, and I’ll even let them cheat. I’ve got a backlog of horror movies on my DVR and we can laugh at all the lousy special effects. We’ll have a haunted ball.”

“Speaking of special effects”—Juni hitches her thumb back to the set—“Kiki has a vat of blood she’s working on. It looks as if they really plan on destroying that dress Camila is wearing.”

My curiosity piques. “Sounds as if a good time will be had by all today. I’d better go check it out. Have fun on set, ladies. I’ll be watching you.”

I take off near the shoreline where the production team is buzzing around like a busy hive and run into Jane Olsen first. Her dark hair is slicked back as if she just took a swim and she’s wearing a thin blue sundress.

“Jane,” I say. “Did you enjoy a quick dip in the Atlantic?”

“I sure did.” Her eyes pick up a sparkle I haven’t seen in them before. “I got Peter to agree to arbitration this afternoon. That means no messy court battle. I’m not in this to ruin either of our lives. I just want to hurt the man where it counts.” She leans in. “Below the financial belt.”

A nervous laugh expels from me. “Well, I hope you get exactly what you want.”

“Oh, I will. That will be the easy part. The hard part for me will be moving on. I really did care for him.” She wrinkles her nose as she glances over her shoulder, and I follow her gaze to find Camila ranting to Peter. “Rumor has it, she landed the part by way of the casting couch. What do you think he sees in that woman that he doesn’t see in me?”

“An easy target,” I say without missing a beat, and Jane belts out a laugh.

“No truer words have ever been spoken.” She pats me on the arm. “I knew I liked you, Bizzy.” She starts to take off then backtracks. “And word to the wise, there’s a cleaver on set today. I’d watch your back if I were you.” She gives a little wink before taking off.

Fish yowls, and I bend over to pick her up.

Did you hear that, Bizzy? The killer is still on the loose and the production team is essentially weaponized once again.

Sherlock winds himself around my legs and whimpers. Don’t worry, Bizzy. I’m not leaving your side. But just in case, we should probably call Jasper.

“Not a bad idea,” I mutter. But Jasper texted about an hour ago and said he was running surveillance videos from local hardware shops to see if he could find the culprit who’s been planting cleavers around the inn. He already ran the security footage from the inn itself, but with the influx of bodies, it was impossible to tell who was doing what. We’ve discovered six more cleavers, each not so discretely hidden around the property. Jordy found three, and guests found the rest.

Whoever is trying to jangle my nerves is doing a great job. I’m just grateful most guests aren’t particularly aware of the cleaver-based drama.

I’m about to text Jasper when Peter storms in my direction. His brows are narrowed, his expression as angry as the ocean behind him, and he’s walking at a quickened clip.

“Peter,” I say, unsure of what’s about to pop out of my mouth next. “Um, we’ve made an extra batch of those delicious s’mores bars you and your team seem to love so much. They’re on the refreshment table. Be sure to help yourself.”

He grunts in lieu of a response. If only Heather had lived to finish out the scene, I wouldn’t have to deal with this nonsense the new lead is dishing out. Who the hell cares if the dress makes her look hippy? I guarantee no one is going to notice once the blood starts to flow.

“S’more’s bars? Thank you,” he says as he glances back to the refreshment table. “That sounds like just what I need.”

“Oh, I just had a thought,” I say and I pull Fish in close to my chest. “You might want to keep an extra eye on the cleaver this time—just in case.”

Those serious eyes of his laser right through mine. “Just in case.” He tips his head curiously. Did this girl just threaten me? Why not. Join the club. Jane and Camila didn’t mind doing it. I don’t see why this seemingly sweet thing should miss out. “There are two cleavers. A clean one for the beginning of the take and one in makeup for the final result.”

My eyes widen at the thought. “Peter, were there two cleavers the day Heather was killed?”

“Yes.” He gives a circular nod as if he were confused as to why I’d ask. “Thank you for the treats.” He barrels past me like a man on a culinary mission.

“Two cleavers?” I whisper to myself and Sherlock barks.

I don’t like that look in your eye, Bizzy.

Fish buries her head in my chest. I don’t either. Tell me when it’s over.

I spot Bates Barlow digging through his pockets until he comes up with a cigarette and I land in front of him before he has a chance to light up.

“Bates,” I pant through a smile. “Can I ask you a question?” My heart drums inside my chest because what I really want to ask feels overtly brazen. But I never said I was above being just that. “The day that Heather died—you had the cleaver last, right?”

He tosses his hands in the air as if I were holding him at gunpoint.

“Not me. I was told to put it on the counter and I did just that.”

“Told by whom?”

“Faith.” He hitches his head to the left. “She’s the boss. I’m just the worker bee.” He wiggles his cigarette in my direction. “Excuse me. I got to sneak in a quick smoke. This scene is making me antsy.” Let’s hope the new girl doesn’t end up with a cleaver in the back. Regardless, I think this is the last thriller for me. I hear there’s good money in comedies—and less casualties.

He takes off and I head over in Faith’s direction where she’s busy pointing the small crowd around her toward the waterline and they quickly scuttle in that direction without her.

“Faith,” I say as I head onto the sand and my feet feel the intense heat emanating off of it right through my shoes. The sand can get blistering on triple digit days like this and the heat can last straight through evening. “Hey, I just have to know something.” I wince because I can feel a flood of words ready to vomit from me.

Sherlock sniffs around her ankles and she quickly pats him on the back.

“Anything,” she says. “Shoot.”

Fish twists in my arms as if to get a better look at the woman.

“Peter says that you use two cleavers when you film. A clean one for the opening shot and one that gets sent to makeup.” I give a little shrug. “I guess I just wanted to make sure both were accounted for. I’m a bit nervous.”

“No need to be nervous, hon. I’ve got one right here.” She holds up a blue canvas bag in her hand. “And the other is with Kiki. I promise you, we’re not letting them out of our sight. The entire production team feels bad about that lunatic running around planting cleavers willy-nilly. I hope they catch them soon. And when they do, they hang them by their toes. It’s sickening, trying to frighten people like that. Especially after what happened.” I won’t tell her my theory. The last thing this poor girl needs to hear is that I think her inn is haunted with Heather’s leftover ghosts. I wasn’t always a believer in the afterlife, but this whole shoot has me rethinking my stance on a lot of things—like, say, my career choices.

I nod her way. “Well, I appreciate you looking after them.” I glance to the blue bag where the cleaver sits snug. “So the night of the murder, were both cleavers accounted for?”

“One. The other, well”—she leans in—“it was the murder weapon.”

“Oh, right. So did you have one of them that night?”

She makes a face. “Bates was trying to give it to me, but my hands were full, so I asked him to put it on the counter in the café. Of course, after I heard what had happened, I made a beeline to the café and was relieved to find the cleaver still there. I didn’t put two and two together until later that the other cleaver was used to do the dirty work.”

“So you took the cleaver?”

She nods. “Oh yeah. I’m all about being responsible.” She grimaces. “Except for when I’m not and one of our actresses gets murdered.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault,” I say as I do my best to pry into her thoughts for what might come next.

“No, it’s not. But that won’t stop me from feeling like it was.”

“All on set!” a voice booms from behind, and just as I turn that way, Peter trips right over Sherlock and bumps into me, sending the tote bag hanging from my shoulder to the sand and the yearbook slides out. Thankfully, I don’t drop Fish, but Peter keeps stumbling until he regains his footing. “Watch where you’re going,” he grunts as he takes off toward the action down the beach a ways.

I bend over to scoop the yearbook up, but Faith beats me to it.

“Smuggler’s Cove.” She makes a face. “Heather’s I’m guessing.”

“Heather’s?” I take it from her and bury it back in my tote bag.

“That’s where she was from.” Faith shrugs it off. “Did you find it in her trailer?”

“Oh, um, I guess it must be hers. It was lying around.”

She nods. “Peter had her things boxed up so the new girl could have the space.” She rolls her eyes. “And what a piece of work that new girl is. Do you know she threatened to sue once she saw that wedding dress? Don’t worry, Bizzy. I made it crystal clear she’s not getting another one. The big scene is almost here. I think everyone on set is a little bit jittery after what happened to Heather.” She blows out a breath. “I’d better get out there. Oh, and if you want to offload that yearbook, you can give it to Kiki. She’s from Breckinridge. It’s essentially Smuggler’s Cove.” She takes off, and I glance toward the tent near the refreshment table where I saw Kiki earlier working her magic on the cast of that gaping wound.

“Breckinridge,” I say as I pull out my phone.

Fish swipes her paw gently at my phone. What is it, Bizzy?

“I don’t know,” I whisper as I input the town’s name, and sure enough, Breckinridge sits right next to Smuggler’s Cove. I look up Breckinridge High, but it diverts me to Smuggler’s Cove High instead.

How about that?

Both towns look as if they’re blips on the map. There aren’t a lot of secrets in small towns. Typically, gossip rules the roost. And if that’s true, I bet Kiki might know something more about Heather’s past—about Rachel, and Aileen.

An article near the bottom catches my eye.

Woodley Heights Girl Dies in Smuggler’s Cove

I click into it. Woodley Heights? Isn’t that where Aileen was from?

I scan through the article quickly to determine the fact.

Bizzy, look. Fish mewls as her paw lands shy of the bottom of the screen.

My gaze drifts down, and what I see sets my teeth on edge.

I think the killer is in our midst.

And I think she always has been.

CHAPTER 17

“Bizzy!” Kiki gives an enthusiastic smile as I enter her makeshift studio in the tent at the edge of the cove. A few lamps illuminate the small space, accompanied by a table laden with cosmetics. “I’m so glad you brought Fish.”

Kiki comes over and gives my cute cat a quick scratch above the nose.

Sherlock runs a circle around her, and she bleats out a cheerful laugh.

“I see you, too, Sherlock.” She catches him and gives him a hearty scratch on his neck. And judging by his thumping hind leg, he seems to enjoy it.

Kiki’s hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her cheeks look ruddy as if she’s just spent some serious time in the sun this afternoon. I wouldn’t blame her if she did. The production team is due to clean up and leave in the morning. It was essentially her last chance.

“Did you go for a swim today?” My voice pitches without meaning to, giving away the fact my nerves are frazzled.

“I didn’t. I ended up taking a walk along the beach and doing my best to forget all my worries. I haven’t worked out since we started this production. I used to lift weights and I have the upper body strength to prove it. But I took a walk late last night, too, and it was heavenly. It was darn right cold if you can believe it. My father always said, ‘Midnight knows no seasons.’”

“Sounds as if he was a wise man.”

“Oh, he was brilliant.” She gently extracts Fish from my arms. “Guess what, you precious little bundle of joy?”

Bizzy? Fish belts out a hearty meow. A little help, please. I’ll claw her eyes out if I have to. I’d hate for this to get messy.

Sherlock barks and yanks Fish by the tail, plucking her right out of Kiki’s arms in the process.

Kiki bucks with a laugh as the two of them give chase right here in the tent.

“Well, that escalated quickly.” She looks my way. “You’re never going to guess what happened this afternoon.” She takes a step in and I fight the urge to take an equal step away from her. “I convinced Peter to use Fish in the film! That is, if it’s all right with you. I thought what kind of a movie named Cat Scratch Fever doesn’t have a cat in it? I mean, I get it, Heather—and now Camila is the sex kitten in question, but still. Peter said he loved the idea. He’s going to do a few still shots of her and place them artistically throughout the film. She’s a doll and she’s going to be the star of the show.”

Sherlock stops short in front of us and lets out a whiny groan. And what am I? Chopped bacon? Actually, chopped bacon is my favorite. Hey? Now that I think about it, I bet Jasper really likes liver. That’s one of his favorite sayings.

Kiki’s entire torso vibrates with a laugh. “Okay, Sherlock Bones. I’ll talk Peter into letting you in on the film, too. Maybe you can chase Fish away during the final shot. I bet it’s something the two of you rehearse just about every day.”

“You got that right.” Any tension I may have brought into the tent with me suddenly dissipates. Kiki is so friendly, I feel like I can talk to her about anything, and lucky for me, because I’m about to do just that.

“Kiki?” My eyes drift to a table set up just a few feet away with a bowl full of red liquid and a board lying next to it with that familiar looking prefabbed flesh wound Kiki constructed out of glorified slime the night Heather was killed. I remember being fascinated by it. I take a step in that direction and note a thin silver blade embedded in it from the side and a shiver runs through me.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” She walks over and gives the red liquid in the bowl a stir. “This? I’ll admit, it can be a bit unnerving.”

“Yes.” It strums from me numbly. “It can.”

Kiki had the second cleaver that night and neither Jasper nor I realized it.

My eyes meet with hers.

The sun has settled, dusk has turned to flat black, and the whites of her eyes glint from the lamplight.

“Kiki, you knew Heather, didn’t you? From before? Outside of this movie?”

The pleasant expression on her face quickly melts away as she glances to the sand.

“Yes, actually.” She blinks up at me. “She got me this job. I feel terrible admitting it. But she’s always been so nice to me. Did she mention it? I mean, it’s okay if she did. But she was always telling me to keep it low. She didn’t want people to know she was kicking a job to someone she knew from way back when.”

“Well, you are definitely good enough to be here,” I say, glancing back at the blade covered with sticky goo. “I don’t think anyone would argue that. I’m sure Heather thought so, too. I don’t think she’d hire just anyone, no matter how long she’d known them.”

“I’d like to think so.” But I happen to know better. I could have been making her look like a clown and she still would have hired me. The guilt was eating her up inside.

A breath hitches in my throat.

“Kiki.” Her name sinks from me with a touch of disappointment without meaning to. “Is your last name Bradley or Hatterman?”

“Brad—” She stops cold and her eyes widen with fright. Did I hear her right? I swear a little time in the sun and my head is thumping. I’d better get out of here and get some rest. Better yet, head home back to Breckenridge for good.

“It’s Bradley.” I nod. “You chose Woodley as an ode to Woodley Heights. You were related to Aileen Bradley, weren’t you?”

Something just shy of a groan evicts from her.

“How did you…?” She shakes her head my way, her mouth agape, unable to finish her sentence.

“Kiki, your sister was smothered to death. She didn’t drown. She was murdered, but you know that.”

Her cheek flinches as if I struck her.

“Bizzy”—she takes a staggering step back—“who told you this? Did Heather say something? It’s not a big deal.” She shakes her head as she continues to move away from me.

“But it is a big deal, isn’t it? You knew Rachel Hatterman, didn’t you?”

Kiki butts up to the table and that fake blood runs around the lip of the bowl. She freezes solid with her eyes locked over mine.

Fish lets out a hair-raising screech. I don’t like this, Bizzy. Why are you asking her about her poor sister? She looks crazed.

Sherlock barks. I’d run if I were you.

But I can’t.

It’s as if my feet are stuck in the sand.

I need to know the answers to the burning questions running through my mind.

Rachel. Kiki closes her eyes a moment. So beautiful. She looked glorious in that yellow dress.

Yellow dress.

Why does that sound familiar?

That picture of Rachel in her bridesmaid’s dress comes back to me. And then a flash of something Kiki was thinking that first day I met her flits through my mind. Georgie had asked if she was available for weddings and she thought to herself, I haven’t done makeup for a wedding since that horrible night.

“You were there,” I say, breathless. “You were there the night Rachel died.”

Her features harden and the anger emanating from her is palpable.

“Oh my God.” I shake my head. “You did it. Heather didn’t kill Rachel, did she?”

A hint of a laugh drums through her chest.

“Heather didn’t care for Rachel.” Her nostrils flare as she says the words. “But I hated her.”

“You hit her over the head with a rock. You killed Rachel just like you killed Heather. This was all some twisted form of revenge.”

“Twisted?” Her voice pitches. “How dare you take something so necessary and turn it in an effort to make me sound as if I was the psychotic one in this equation. Those girls—they killed my sister.”

“Heather”—her name slips from me in a whisper as I struggle to piece it all together—“she was obsessed with the afterlife. They all were.”

She nods. “And they wanted to die, just a little.” She averts her eyes. “Or as my sister put it in her journal, just enough. They wanted to see what waited on the other side. Guess who Heather and Rachel thought should go first?”

“They were part of a club. The Post Vitam.”

Her lips part. “My God, how do you know all this?”

“And you’re right,” I say, ignoring her question. “For whatever reason, Aileen went first.”

“They made her,” she huffs at the thought. “Or they asked and she was too nice to say no. She was a people pleaser. They killed her mercilessly. Rachel admitted it. Heather held a towel over my sister’s face while Rachel pinned her down. I couldn’t let them get away with it. They took Aileen away from me, from the planet. They murdered her. And I was going to make sure they both met with the same unfortunate fate.”

She takes a blind step forward.

Sherlock rips out a few rabid barks, but Kiki is unfazed.

“I had to do it, Bizzy. My sister—she deserved better than this.”

“Your sister would never have wanted you to harm anyone.” The words come from the deepest part of me.

“I don’t care,” Kiki riots as an unnatural icy breeze blows past us, mussing our hair, knocking most of the cosmetics right off the table.

“That’s her,” I hiss as I give a quick glance around. “That’s your sister. Both Aileen and Rachel were haunting Heather. Aileen—she’s here.”

“No,” Kiki shouts as she swipes that cleaver off the table and strangles it in a menacing fashion. “She’s not here, Bizzy. She’s dead. Just like you’ll be soon enough.”

Kiki lunges at me with that blade in her hand and Sherlock jumps between us, doing his best to knock her down. Kiki swipes him away with her free hand and sends him flying to her right as if he were a ragdoll.

Bizzy! Sherlock barks as he charges for her again, and this time she swings the cleaver in his direction, nearly taking off one of his ears.

I pick up the chair next to me and toss it at her, giving Sherlock the chance to get away.

Kiki pauses a moment to get her bearings as she pants my way.

“Kiki”—I say her name as sweetly as I can—“this ends tonight. You don’t need to carry this burden anymore. We can get you help. I have people you can talk to.”

“Like that detective you’re engaged to?” The words riot out of her as she lunges my way.

I turn to run, but she catches me by the wrist.

She hoists the cleaver over her shoulder as if she were readying to take a powerful swing.

“If only you had waited another few days, none of this would have happened. You would have made a beautiful bride, Bizzy. And now, Heather has taken another life—yours.” Tears stream down her face, and her voice is thick as she struggles with her emotions. “I’ll make this quick. One blow to the head. I won’t make it hurt. I made sure it was quick for Rachel because she confessed. She apologized. She said killing my sister brought her great grief. But Heather—she was heartless right to the bitter end. She wanted me to let it go. She insisted it was all in the past. She wanted to move on, but Leeny couldn’t move on. Heather didn’t get that. She had to go, too. I made sure of it.”

“You planted all those cleavers around the inn to throw off the case, didn’t you?”

“No.” The word sails from her on the defense. “Why would I do that? I never wanted to scare anyone. I like the inn. I like you, Bizzy.”

“You were hoping to pin this on Bates,” I say.

“Or Jane, or Peter, or whoever the heck your boyfriend was willing to put away. I really don’t care anymore. I knew they would never prosecute anyone. I just needed the time to finish this shoot, collect my paycheck, and never be heard from in these parts again.”

“You were so close.”

“It’s still happening.”

“No, Kiki.” I pluck my wrist free with a violent jerk. “It’s not.” I run out of the tent like a lightning bolt and head for the murky darkness at the edge of the cove.

Kiki runs with a cry in her throat as her footfalls pound their way behind me.

Sherlock barks into the night as he runs a circle around her, jumping and biting, doing his best to slow her down, but she’s unstoppable in her fury.

Fish scampers ahead of me, and I can see the glowing waves as they crash down over the ebony shoreline. The moon is but a sliver, and the rest of the production company is too far to our left for me to cry out to them.

My foot catches on a rock, and I fly face-first into the sand. No sooner do I prop myself onto my elbows than that cleaver lands into the sand next to me with a heavy wallop.

Before I can process it, Kiki is on top of me, grunting as she tries to pin my legs down with her own.

Bizzy! Fish cries as she leaps onto Kiki’s back, but the woman is undeterred.

Sherlock bites at her backside and snaps and barks, snarls, and pushes up against her with all the force he can, but all I see is the gleam of that blade, the red liquid glossing its sides as it’s held high up above me.

My hand slaps over a rock the size of a large apple as I grip onto it.

Kiki bellows with all her might as she brings that blade down over me, and I roll to my right just in time for her to dig that cleaver into the sand once again. She plucks it out with brute force, and before she can aim it in my direction once again, I take the rock in my hand and knock her over the temple with all my might.

A sickening thud fills the air, and that cleaver in her hand comes crashing down just as Kiki falls limp over the sand.

Instinctively, I push myself out of danger’s reach. Sherlock continues to bark as he runs a spastic line toward the inn and back again.

“Bizzy,” a deep voice thunders as Jasper and Leo run in this direction while reaching for their weapons.

I crawl on all fours until I stagger to my feet, and soon I’m snapped up into Jasper Wilder’s strong, capable arms.

“She did it.” I glance back at Kiki whose body is beginning to writhe over the sand. “She confessed to killing both Rachel and Heather. It was revenge. She did it for her sister.” I nod to Jasper. “Her sister was Aileen Bradley.”

Leo lands Kiki in cuffs and calls it in while Jasper pulls me close, and I can feel the explosive pounding of his heart ricocheting against my body.

“It’s over.” He lands a kiss to the top of my head. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Jasper gently lifts my chin with his finger until my eyes are locked with his.

“Bizzy Baker, you scared the hell out of me.” He shakes his head ever so slightly. “You’re going to keep doing this, aren’t you?”

“God, I hope not.”

A silent laugh bucks from us at the very same time before Jasper seals his lips over mine.

The wail of patrol cars cut through the night, and it truly feels as if this entire nightmare has finally come to an end.

I glance back to Kiki just as Leo helps her to her feet and she staggers a bit. But it’s not Leo or Kiki who has my attention. It’s the luminous girl who looks as if she has miniature stars trapped in her hair that has her arms wrapped around Kiki.

“Aileen,” I whisper and the ghostly woman looks my way and gives a mournful nod before dissipating, her arms still very much wrapped around her sister until she’s no longer visible.

And something tells me she won’t ever be far away from her.

CHAPTER 18

J asper and I made our way back toward the shoot just in time to see Camila bludgeoned to death with the working end of yet another cleaver. It turns out, that once Faith realized Kiki was MIA, she took it upon herself to bring down the bloody mixture and they finished the scene as best as they could. And what a beautiful bloody scene it was. Both Jasper and I thought it was very well-executed, pun intended.

And the very next morning, Peter went ahead with Kiki’s original suggestion and Fish was filmed looking solemnly toward the cerulean blue waters of the Atlantic. Sherlock managed to squeeze himself into the scene as well.

Here’s hoping they both make it past the cutting room floor.

It’s the night of the cast party at the Silver Shufflers Club down in Edison, and everyone from the production team and then some are here.

Camila is already giving Peter the cold shoulder now that her part in the movie is over. And it seems as if he has a sudden interest in one of the extras, a buxom blonde that reminds me a lot of Heather Kent. I guess he has a type. Unfortunately for Jane Olsen, she wasn’t it. Hopefully, she’ll take him to the cleaners and find someone else who will appreciate her all on her own.

It’s dimly lit inside the club as red and pink spotlights strobe above us to the rhythm of the raucously loud music straight from the rollicking fifties. The scent of fresh coffee permeates the air and the refreshment table is filled with platters and platters brimming with s’mores bars brought over from the Country Cottage Café.

In fact, I drove over with Emmie and helped transport the platters myself. Jasper said he’d meet me here after work. It’s the very next day after the incident with Kiki. She was booked and is being charged with the deaths of both Rachel Hatterman and Heather Kent. Jasper says they’re going to try to get her the help she needs. Her mind fractured all those years ago when she lost her sister. And I most certainly agree, Kiki needs help and lots of it.

Emmie hands me a s’mores bar and toasts me with one of her own.

“To my best friend, Bizzy Baker, the best detective just this side of Honey Hollow.” She gives a little wink as she mentions the town my sleuthing friend, Lottie Lemon, is from.

“Very funny. But I’ll have you know, I’d like nothing better than to never have to solve another homicide again. How about we toast to no more stumbling upon dead bodies?” I lift my s’mores bar higher and she does the same.

“Hear, hear.”

We both take a bite and moan.

“Emmie, I want these at my wedding.”

“You bet. Would you like to wear them, considering the fact you only have a month left and you still don’t have a dress?”

“You’re on a roll, you know that? I happen to be a big believer in things working out in the end.”

Macy bops up with a pink cowboy hat and matching boots.

My eyes ride up and down my sister’s pink fringed outfit morbidly slow.

I angle myself toward her. “How concerned should I be by this country fried display?”

She flicks her wrist my way before holding up a fruity drink.

“Don’t come at me just because I know how to stand out in a club.”

Emmie ticks her head to the side. “She’s got you there, Bizzy. In fact, I think every gentleman in this place has their neck craned in this direction.”

“Yup.” Macy frowns at the thought as she inspects the crowd. “And if I’m lucky, maybe they’ll take me somewhere nice where they can use their AARP discount.” She makes a face. “It looks as if both the director and the hot actor already have their hands full.”

I look past her and confirm that both Peter and Bates Barlow are already ensconced by an entire brigade of women.

Emmie butts her shoulder to my sister’s. “Don’t worry, Macy. Bizzy’s old friend McKenna is getting hitched at the inn and she just requested the ballroom for a magic show beforehand. Who knows, Macy? She might even have a clown or two at the event for you.”

Macy sticks her finger down her throat. “I hate clowns. Besides, I’ve already dated like sixty of them.”

A laugh bucks from me. “I wouldn’t be so quick to knock a man with big feet, Macy. Who knows? Maybe a man with a rubber nose and a rainbow wig will be Mr. Right?”

“Oh, honey”—she shudders—“those creatures wouldn’t even qualify as Mr. Right Now.” She trots off for the bar without missing a beat.

A tall, dark, and arrestingly handsome man walks into the club and takes my breath away with his presence. Half the women in the place just gasped because they want him, and half the men just groaned because the ladies they want suddenly aren’t interested in them.

Jasper’s diamond clear eyes scour the room like lasers until he comes upon me.

“Speaking of Mr. Right,” I say. “I’ll be back, ladies.”

I swoop over to my handsome fiancé’s side and smack his lips with mine before we exchange hellos.

“Hey, hot stuff.” I give his ribs a squeeze. Jasper was up all night doing paperwork on the case and closing it out. “It’s nice to have you back now that everything is behind us.”

“It’s nice to be back.” He glowers as he stares out into the crowd. “But not everything is behind us.” Jasper leads us to the center of the dance floor, and just when I think we’re about to bust a move to this doo wa ditty, he taps a man on the shoulder, and once he turns around I’m surprised to see it’s my brother.

“Hux?” I glance just past him to affirm my worst nightmare. Camila is the one trying to do her best to swivel her body up against his.

Then like a bat out of a belfry, in swoops Mayor Mackenzie Woods in all her dark and haunted glory as she wraps her arms around my brother’s waist.

“I’m here now.” She bleeds a dark smile my way. “Ready to dance the night away with my man.”

Good Lord, I don’t know what would be worse. Hux with Camila or Hux with Mack.

Soon enough, Hux and his hussy are lost in one another’s eyes as Jasper navigates both Camila and me to the side.

“I know what you did,” he says it to her curtly, and just this side of angry.

I grunt at the thought. “What in the world did you do now?” It comes out harsh as if I were scolding her, and I’m pretty sure I will be doing just that in less than a minute once the proverbial gauze is removed from my eyes.

“What are you both rambling about?” Camila tugs down the little black dress she’s squeezed herself into as she does her best to look past us. “Make it quick. Jordy is coming out tonight. He told me to save a dance for him.”

Jasper folds his arms across his chest. “This would work better if you would confess.”

Before she has a chance to weasel out of it, Leo Granger steps up beside her, looking lean and mean with his dark hair slicked back. The fact he’s scanning the crowd tells me he’s looking for my bestie.

“Evening.” He nods my way. “Did Jasper share the good news with you yet?”

“What good news?” I look to Jasper with open-mouth surprise.

“Camila”—Jasper narrows those high beams of his in her direction—“fine, have it your way. Camila was spotted on the security camera of the inn planting those cleavers. It was grainy and difficult to read, but I took it to the lab where they magnified and digitized it.”

“No way.” She shakes her head. “It wasn’t me. You said yourself the image was grainy.”

Jasper sighs. “Yes, the digital image from the inn was grainy. But the security footage from the local mall was not. Specifically, just outside of the Kitchen Corner. You were seen leaving a week ago with a sizable bag. I spoke to the manager and they affirmed that someone on that date bought thirteen cleavers. That would have been you, Camila. If you don’t confess, I’ll be forced to have you turn in your credit card statements.”

Camila huffs, “Fine. I did it. Is it really a crime? All I did was a little decorating. I’m the one that produced the yearbook. I was essentially responsible for the biggest break in this case.”

“Maybe so,” I say. “But probably not. Jasper and I have a pretty good track record of catching a killer without you. Camila, you terrified the guests.”

Leo nods. “Bizzy’s right. This very much falls under terrorism.”

I suck in a quick breath of delight. “That means you’ll be fired from the sheriff’s department.” I do a little hop. “And arrested!” I nudge Jasper in the ribs. “Go ahead and cuff her. Better yet, you do it, Leo. I’m suddenly in a dancing mood.” I thread my arm through Jasper’s. “I bet we can jitterbug with the best of them.”

“No one is arresting me.” Camila tips her chin in the air. “You can’t prove anything. My credit cards won’t show a thing. Just because I was shopping at a kitchen supply store means nothing. I’ve already conferred with counsel.” She nods toward my brother, and I suddenly want to wring both her neck and his. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe my date is here.” She snaps her fingers in the air and swivels her hips as she sashays her way to Jordy.

“Someone’s in a celebratory mood,” I say. “And ironically, it’s no longer me. Why does she seem to get away with everything?”

Before I can reach for Jasper’s weapon and start firing in her direction, Georgie and Juni dance their way over, each holding a glow-in-the-dark magic wand with a star gracing the tip.

Juni does an odd little dance in front of Leo.

“Aren’t you gonna arrest me?” She shakes her chest at him and I roll my eyes.

“Arrest someone,” I tell him. “I think I’ll actually sleep better tonight because of it.”

Leo makes a face. “I’m not arresting you, Juni.”

“Fine,” she bleats as she all but climbs Jasper like a pole. “Feel like tasing me tonight, Officer?”

Georgie plucks her wayward daughter off my man.

“Down, Juni,” she says, doing her best to hold her back. “This heart-stopper is taken, too. You’ll have to forgive her. She’s had one too many Shirley Temples.”

I shake my head. “Georgie, Shirley Temples don’t have any alcohol in them.”

“Who said anything about alcohol?” Georgie swats her daughter with the purse in her hand. “My Juni has never been able to handle her sugar.”

Emmie comes over holding a platter of those chocolate and marshmallow wonders.

“S’mores bars, anyone?” She holds the platter our way and half of those yummy bars are scooped up in a flash.

Juni holds four.

Georgie snorts. “Now look what you did. I’ll be peeling her off the ceiling in less than an hour. The best thing I could do is find her a man to take her off my hands for the night. What do you think of Darby, Juni?” She links arms with her daughter’s.

Juni squints in his direction. “He’s looking pretty good now that I have my Shirley Temple goggles on.”

Emmie laughs. “What do you think about magicians, Juni? The inn is about to be infiltrated with them.” She bites down on a smile as she looks to Leo. Here’s hoping Leo will morph into a magician tonight and make my clothes disappear. And maybe while he’s at it, take our relationship to new heights all at the same time.

New heights? Exactly how high does she want Leo Granger to take her?

Leo growls out a laugh. “Have I ever told you that I once dabbled in magic? I’m an expert at making clothes disappear.”

I give a wry smile his way. Smooth, Granger.

He takes the platter from her and sets it on the table before pulling her close.

“In fact”—his lips curl as he looks right into my bestie’s eyes—“I think this fall might just take us to new heights. I’m betting we can track down a Ferris wheel at a harvest festival or two.”

She belts out a laugh. For a second there, I thought he was reading my mind.

I roll my eyes his way.

Jasper wraps his arms around me. “How about you, Bizzy? Are you looking for a man to take you to new heights?”

Georgie pokes her head in between us. “You chose a fine time for hanky-panky. You’ve got a month before the two of you get hitched and you haven’t ironed out a single detail. Where are you going to live once you bite the big one? Bizzy still needs a dress. I bet you don’t have a decent suit picked out. And the flowers need to be ordered, a cake designed, and don’t get me started on the honeymoon. Where’re we headed, anyway?”

My mouth falls open as I look from Georgie to Jasper.

“Where are we headed?” I ask. “And by the way, what’s your father’s name?”

“My father?” Jasper inches back, perplexed by the question.

I shrug. “There’s still so much I feel we need to know about one another. And the wedding—it’s coming up so fast.”

“Bizzy.” His brows flex in the middle. “Are you trying to tell me you want to postpone the wedding?”

“What? No! I just want a crash course in Jasper Wilder family history.” I pull him closer by way of his tie.

“Nothing a ride on a Ferris wheel can’t accomplish.” His lips curve in the right direction.

“I’m afraid of heights. And large bodies of water—heck, all bodies of water. And have I ever mentioned I’m not a fan of tight spaces?”

Georgie bumps her shoulder to mine. “That’s right, Biz. You keep vying for that walk-in closet. See about getting a mother-in-law quarters as well. If you leave the inn, I’m leaving with you. Word on the supernatural street is that place is haunted.”

“I’m pretty sure all the ghosts have cleared the premises now that the killer has been caught. And I’m pretty sure I’m not leaving the inn. I like walking to work.” I twist my lips at Jasper. “Does that work for you?”

“As long as I get to wake up next to you, I don’t care if we’re on Mars. The commute would be a killer, but you’re worth it.”

A laugh rumbles through me as I reach up and rake my fingers through his glossy, thick hair.

“Good luck trying to get out of bed once you start waking up next to me,” I purr.

“I take it we’re destined to have a good night?”

“And a good morning.”

Georgie claps her hands. “Now we’re talking. How about a little afternoon delight? I’ve got a kaftan you can borrow that will have him firing his weapon into the ceiling just for fun.”

Jasper shakes his head. “I’m not one to misfire.”

Georgie smacks me. “Hear that? You’ll be knocked up by Christmas.”

Emmie gasps as she pulls Leo in close. “You’re going to try for a baby? This is so exciting!”

Macy appears in our midst once again like the blonde and sassy apparition she is.

“You’re already knocked up?” she muses as she takes us in. “Nice to know you don’t waste any time. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Mom. But it would be fun to watch Dad clutch a shotgun at the wedding. And here I thought it would be me with a full uterus on my big day. Go figure.”

Leo chuckles as he looks to Jasper. “Congratulations, Dad. Let me know if you need help picking out a minivan. My cousin owns a used car lot.”

I look up at Jasper. “They’re hilarious.”

He nods as his searing gray eyes smolder into mine. “And I’m hilariously, deliriously in love with you.” He lands a simple kiss over my lips and through his mind a thousand thoughts sail—a place to live, wedding cake, flowers, a suit, a honeymoon, a minivan, a baby, and finally the two of us snuggled up before a roaring fire with Fish and Sherlock Bones seated on either side of a bassinet.

I pull back and bite down on my lower lip.

“It’s happening,” he whispers right over my lips. “And I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

Georgie leans in. “Not even for a two-seater Dodge Viper and a club full of naked women?” She shrugs up at him. “Just thought I’d ask.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve got a truck I like and a woman I love.” He dips his lips directly over my ear. “How about we blow this joint, pick up some dinner, and find other ways to entertain ourselves?”

“We could always practice for the honeymoon.”

A wicked grin rises on his lips as we quickly say goodnight and make a break for the door.

He leans in. “We’re not really taking Georgie on our honeymoon, are we?”

“God, I hope not. But, stranger things have happened.”

He chuckles. “I call a moratorium on all things strange.”

“And just when I was going to show you a few stealth moves behind closed doors.”

Jasper picks me up once we hit the balmy night air and races me to his truck.

If history proves anything, strange things are bound to happen to us.

And for once, it doesn’t sound like such a bad thing.

*THANK you so much for reading! We hope you had a blast with Bizzy and her friends. Need more Cider Cove? Be sure to pick up Just Buried (Country Cottage Mysteries 9) coming up NEXT! Bizzy is getting married and someone is getting buried.

An innkeeper who reads minds. An ornery detective. And a trail of bodies. Cider Cove is the premiere destination for murder.

***Includes RECIPE

My name is Bizzy Baker, and I can read minds—not every mind, not every time but most of the time and believe me when I say it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

It’s September and that means two things: Fall is descending on Cider Cove, and my wedding day is almost at hand. And as if preparing for my wedding wasn’t enough, there’s another wedding at the inn that I have to tend to. An old friend from college is getting married right here at the inn. Add a pushy mother-in-law to be, and a wedding party at war—and it's enough to make me want to elope. But when someone in the wedding party ends up dead, it puts a damper on the festivities all the way around.

Bizzy Baker runs the Country Cottage Inn, has the ability to pry into the darkest recesses of both the human and animal mind, and has just stumbled upon a body. With the help of her kitten, Fish, a mutt named Sherlock Bones and an ornery yet dangerously good looking homicide detective, Bizzy is determined to find the killer.

THE COUNTRY COTTAGE INN is known for its hospitality. Leaving can be murder.

Be sure to pick up Just Buried (Country Cottage Mysteries 9) coming up NEXT! Bizzy is getting married and someone is getting buried.

Love your books with humor, sass and murder? You’ll devour the Murder in the Mix Series!

Start at the beginning! Cutie Pies and Deadly Lies (Murder in the Mix 1)

Enjoy this preview. Happy reading!

I see dead people.

Okay, so I don’t see dead people—at least not on the regular—I see dead pets. Yes, pets. At first, I had no idea what these hologram-like beasts were up to until after an unfortunate run of something akin to trial and error that I concluded each dead pet was some sort of a harbinger for its previous owner, a very, very bad omen if you will. Sometimes I see them floating around willy-nilly in a crowd and it’s hard to decipher exactly who the bad luck is coming for. But on occasion, I see them attached firmly to the side of whomever the incoming disaster is set to strike. I’m not sure why this is my lot in life. In fact, my lot in life hasn’t been so stellar in general. My birth mother thought it was a brilliant idea to leave me on the floor of a firehouse, and that’s where a brave and thankfully curious firefighter spotted me, swaddled up and squirming. It just so happens that I was adopted by that sweet man, Joseph Lemon, and his wife, Miranda, and gifted a book-loving big sister, Lainey, currently Honey Hollow’s lead librarian, as well as a feisty and shenanigan-prone younger sister, Meg, who is also known as Madge the Badge on the Las Vegas female wrestling circuit. And being that Las Vegas and all of its glittery wrestling venues are a good distance from Honey Hollow, Vermont, we don’t see her very often.

But back to that strange gift of mine, or curse as it more often than not feels—I have zero clue where it came from or why, or even the major significance of it. A part of me has always believed that something alarmingly supernatural occurred around the time of my birth, and that’s exactly why my birth mama decided she so desperately needed to offload a seven-pound chunk of bad luck.

The very first time I put the furry-dearly-departed and outright chaos together was when I was seven and I saw the flicker of a barely-there turtle swimming next to Otis Fisher’s ear. Later that day, Otis fell from a tree and broke his arm. At the time, I wasn’t too sorry about it either. That boy had a mad hankering for pulling on my pigtails. And as fate would have it, the boy who lived to tease me, one day admitted to having a mad crush on yours truly. And post that amorous admission we dated on and off for about three years. If I thought that boy was annoying in elementary school, he outdid himself in high school. In fact, Otis—or Bear as he’s affectionately known around these parts for having once chased off a black bear before it could invade and devour an entire herd of innocent tourists who were on a leaf peeping tour—is one of the reasons I left Honey Hollow to begin with. No sooner did my high school diploma cool off than I hightailed it to New York—Columbia University to be exact—where I’ve had the displeasure to ogle other people’s dead pets.

I’m quick to push what I’ve affectionately dubbed the New York Disaster out of my mind as I take a step outside of my apartment. It’s a duplex, actually, and my landlords, the Simonson sisters, live upstairs. They’re the primary reason I’m headed out on this unforgivably crisp September morning wearing my Sunday best, even though it’s smack in the middle of the week, Wednesday. Usually, I’d be happily snug in my favorite jeans, sporting my comfiest sweatshirt with my hair in a ponytail, and on my way to the Honey Pot Diner where I’m currently employed as the chief baker, not that there’s anyone baking underneath me but, hey, I like the title. Instead, I’m stuffed in a pencil skirt, two sizes too small, and a blouse that looks as if I swiped it off a mannequin at Goodwill, partially because I did. Okay, so I don’t own many Sunday clothes per se, but only because the local church is all about casual attire. They’re far more concerned with keeping your soul free from the flames than they are about your accruements, but I digress. I’m not headed to work or any holy house in the great state of Vermont. I’m headed to court—small claims court to be exact—all the way over in Ashford County.

Just as I’m about to head to my beat-up old hatchback, I spot both the aforementioned Simonson sisters at the foot of the driveway squabbling amongst themselves about who knows what—most likely me. It is me they’re hauling to court after all, and over something completely ridiculous.

It just so happens that last summer at the county fair my blueberry buckle pie won the coveted blue ribbon in its division, and it seemed as if all of Ashford County were thrilled for me, at least all of the townsfolk here in Honey Hollow. But the Simonson sisters were decidedly not enthused in the least. Sometime between the taste test and the judging, someone edited my entry to read Simple Simonson Pie and crossed out the all-important part about the blueberry buckle. Regretfully, a riot of laughter ensued, mostly from the fine, and, might I add, intuitive folk here in Honey Hollow, but I swear on all that is holy that good time only lasted about three thrilling minutes before I made the correction. Although, to hear Mora Anne and Merilee tell it, the aftermath not only bruised their egos and reputation but managed to cause a retail apocalypse down at the shop they own and run. It turns out, The Busy Bee Craft Shop was short on patrons and dollar bills alike and had a difficult time paying its rent last month, so the only logical solution they could come up with was to sue me for every last red cent.

Both sisters are dressed head to toe in long velvet coats with ruffled shirts peeking out from underneath like a couple of throwbacks from some long-forgotten steampunk era. It’s eerie the way they choose to dress alike each and every day despite the fact they’ve been on the planet for twenty-six long years—and twenty-seven respectively. I know this because I happen to be the exact same age as Merilee. We’ve all grown up together, but the way they treat me you’d think they were my bitter and scorned elders.

Merilee snarls as if she were rabid. “Well, look who’s here? If it isn’t Honey Hollow’s favorite jester who will soon be performing live in court.” Those narrow slits she calls eyes light up like cauldrons. The sisters have always held a witchy appeal to me, what with their long, dark, stringy hair and bony, long fingers. The fact they look as if they suck on lemons day and night doesn’t exactly help their plight. “Are you ready to have your bank account turned inside out?”

I scoff at the thought. If they think this is the day they hit a financial jackpot, they’d better think again. Working shifts at the Honey Pot Diner doesn’t afford me much of a bank account. The only thing in my savings at the moment is enough to cover my rent and Pancake’s Fancy Beast cat food. I’ve had Pancake now for over a year, and he officially qualifies as the greatest love of my life.

I glance over to the living room window where he’s currently monitoring the situation while licking his paw. Pancake is a butter yellow Himalayan with a rusty-tipped tail and dart of a line running between his eyes. He is a precious little angel now that he’s no longer using my leather ottoman as a scratching post and chewing down all the cables and cords he could get his hungry little paws on. The entire apartment has been cat-proofed, and Pancake hasn’t forgiven me yet.

An icy breeze picks up and the row of liquid ambers and maples that lines the street shed the first smattering of red and gold fall leaves. I steal a moment to take in the glory of nature on full display around the two wicked witches determined to make my life a living hell. Our little corner of Vermont has a habit of turning into a golden and ruby wonderland this time of year, so much so that the leaf peeping keeps the tourists coming in strong right up until winter.

Speaking of tourist traps, the Honey Hollow Apple Festival is coming up later this month, and I’ve been asked to supply the pies for the occasion. After my shift was over at the Honey Pot last night, I baked two dozen personal-sized caramel apple pies—cutie pies as I like to call them—and I need to deliver them straight to the orchard this afternoon because the owners requested a sample for their employees. My guess is they want to be sure my baking skills are up to snuff before they live to regret the decision come the day of the festival. But I guarantee they’ll far from regret it. In fact, the only thing they might regret is not ordering enough to keep up with demand. It took me weeks to perfect the right combination of caramel and spices, and I even threw in a handful of crushed walnuts into each tiny pie to give it a little crunch. But it’s that buttery caramel that steals the limelight from those golden delicious apples. It’s so smooth and creamy, my best friend Keelie and I spent an hour last night licking the bowls clean ourselves.

I can’t help but sigh over at the two beady-eyed siblings who relish my financial undoing. “I won’t be having my bank account turned in any direction this morning because there isn’t a judge on this planet who would side with—” I’m about to lay into the Simonson sisters with every colorful word in my lexicon when something akin to a flame flickers around Merilee’s ankle. For a brief and fleeting moment, I think it’s simply a stray leaf, but suddenly that flicker materializes into the clear outline of a long-lost, dearly departed orange tabby that I’m guessing once belonged to one of the shrews before me.

“Ha!” Mora Anne scoffs as she takes a step in close. “She can’t finish the sentence because she knows she’s guilty. Just admit it and whip out your checkbook. Save us all the trouble of driving to Ashford. We’re meeting with Darlene Grand this afternoon to secure a booth for the festival. We don’t have a lot of time to dilly-dally with you over a handful of change. Hand it over right now and we can all get on with our day.”

I take a moment to scowl at the surly sisters. Since when is three thousand eight hundred dollars a handful of change? And if it’s so darn piddly, why bother to sue me to begin with?

The ghostly cat twirls around Merilee’s left foot before pausing to look up at me, and I would bet my life that feisty feline just smiled. The pets I see are never skeletal or gruesomely decomposing but clear as vellum versions of themselves in their plush and fluffy prime. On the rare occasion, I do see a once-upon-a-person, but neither the pets nor the people breathe a single word to me. I’m guessing the lack of vocal cords has something to do with it. And, believe you me, I am more than grateful.

I’ve only confided my strange gift to one person, and she wasn’t family at that. Nell Sawyer is my best friend’s grandmother, and she might as well be mine. She’s been that kind to me. If my mother knew about my morbid third eye, she would tie me to a stake and light the flames just trying to usher the dark side out of me. And, well, considering the fact my mother has a way of spreading an errant word around town—you would think she were aspiring to be the biggest gossip Honey Hollow has ever seen—I’m not too sorry I’ve never broached the subject with her. But Nell seemed as understanding as she was intrigued, not one ounce of judgment spilled over from that woman. I’m not sure why I told Nell and not my sisters, or Keelie, Nell’s granddaughter and my BFF, but something about Nell’s sweet round face has the power to pull even the darkest secret from my soul.

“What’s the matter?” Merilee chides with a bony hand set over an equally bony hip. “Cat got your tongue?”

I glance down at the curious cute little kitty. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it does. I’m guessing luck is on my side today.” And not yours, I want to say. “I’ll see you ladies in court.” I bite down a smile as I give one last look to the tiny poltergeist licking its ghostly paws.

Who knows? Maybe Merilee will trip on the courthouse stairs—and if she does, I hope to see it.

Aw heck, maybe she’ll skin a knee.

Read more now! Cutie Pies and Deadly Lies (Murder in the Mix 1) With over 25 books in the series, start your reading addiction TODAY! Happy binge reading!

*LOVE JANET EVANOVICH? You’ll have a blast with Meow for Murder. Enjoy the sneak peek!

Pick it up NOW! —> An Awful Cat-titude

A highly inaccurate psychic. A grumpy writer. And a corpse. Welcome to Starry Falls. Running from the mob can be murder.

Confession. I’m no psychic. But I can sort of see the future—albeit not accurately. And you better believe, I’ve never let that little detail stop me from prognosticating my way into a pickle. So when I ticked off the mob, the feds, and my wily ex, I decided to take my Uncle Vinny’s advice and start over with a new name and new hair color while relying on my old shtick—getting my psychic wires crossed and putting myself in danger.

Chapter 1

“I don’t want to die!” The words rip from my throat as if they were being pulled out with barbed wire.

My name is Stella Santini. I’ve got long black hair, light brown eyes, stand at an average height of five-foot-five, and I can see the future.

Okay, fine.

Confession: I’m no psychic. Nor have I ever come close to predicting what the future might hold—not with any accuracy anyway.

You see, ever since I was a little girl, I had what my Nana Rose liked to call the shakes. Technically, it’s more of a shiver, and when you get down to it, there’s a warm, fuzzy feeling involved that makes me want to forget about the world around me for a moment and retreat to the dark recesses of my mind where a thought plays out like a movie and I see things.

And trust me when I say, I have been wrong about interpreting the things I see on more than one occasion.

Take now for instance. This morning when a scene from the West End Woods flashed through my mind and I saw myself running for my life—I thought maybe I might be running from a serial killer looking for his next victim on this odd jaunt through the woods or running from a bear looking for his first meal post-hibernation, thus the solemn decision I came to during my second cup of coffee to stay the heck away from the West End Woods for the duration of my supernatural life.

But in a twist that only fate could provide, here I am, a mere hour later, panting, ducking evergreen trees and their prickly branches that threaten to poke my eyes out as if my life were on the line, and, oddly enough, I think it is.

“Don’t kill me!” I howl once again, ducking and jiving my way through the forest as my Uncle Vinnie chases me through the woods with a bona fide weapon in his hand.

“I’m not gonna kill you for God’s sake!” he riots right back.

“Then why are you holding a gun?”

Let’s backtrack for a minute. After I enjoyed my third cup of coffee this morning, Uncle Vinnie called and said I had fifteen minutes to get dressed because we had things to discuss and he was picking me up pronto.

He sounded serious, morbid even. And I know him well enough to realize he meant business. I had an inkling about the subject he was going to prick. I happen to be what the mob likes to call a dead girl walking. Less than twenty-four hours ago, in what I and any sane person would call a very unfortunate chain of events, I managed to tick off the mob, the federal government, and break up with my idiot boyfriend of two years, Johnny Rizzo, all within a fifteen-minute span. And judging by this mad dash through the West End Woods, you could toss my Uncle Vinnie on that ticked-off list, too.

My foot catches on a buckling root system and I trip, slowing myself down enough for me to know I’ve just widened that bullseye on my back.

“Don’t shoot!” I cry out, jogging to a finish as I spin around.

Uncle Vinnie stops within feet of me, panting, the veins on his neck throbbing like a couple of angry garden snakes about to wiggle their way into his brain.

Uncle Vinnie is tall, with black hair, dark eyes, and bushy eyebrows that hover over his face, giving him that perpetually angry look he’s got going for him in life. But, by and large, he’s a good guy who stepped up to the plate once my father was put away five years ago on RICO charges. He treated my brother, sister, and me as if we were his own children while my mother got a quickie divorce and began to chase men far younger straight into her bedroom.

“Please,” I beg. “Put down the gun.”

“What?” He squints over at me. “What the heck are you talking about? This ain’t no gun.” He shoves something toward me and I turn my head in horror.

It’s not unusual for a man of my uncle’s standing within the organization to take care of his own once word gets out that their proverbial number is up. And by take care of, I mean bump off the planet in a far more humane method than the fate that awaits them otherwise. And that’s exactly why I suspect my Uncle Vinnie has dragged me out to this isolated strip of nature just outside of Hastings, New Jersey, the town in which I was born and raised.

He’s brought me here to die. My loving uncle is about to impart what the family refers to as a mercy execution.

“It’s not a gun?” I stagger for a moment. “You mean you’re going to stab me to death? My God, how could you? Is that any way to treat a girl you said you regarded as a daughter when your own brother went to prison?”

He blinks back, stunned. “Stella, look in my hand,” he growls as he rattles the instrument of death my way once again. “It’s a box of hair dye.”

“Oh God, you’re going to poison me?” I bury my face in my hands a moment. “Do you even realize how painful that will be? How much worse do you really think it will be for me at the hand of the Morettis?”

Ten years ago, after my father single-handedly unraveled the entire Fazio family in a mere weekend, the Morettis took over all of New Jersey with an iron fist, and one of their underlings happened to be my ex, Johnny Rizzo.

Johnny is the one that dragged me into that whole let’s screw the Morettis scheme while they screw the government. It involved a car wash, a donut shop, a chop shop, dirty money, and a monster profit that’s kept me in Louis Vuitton bags for the past six months, but the inner workings of Johnny’s idiotic scheme are far too complicated to dig into at the moment, nor do I care to relive them.

But my dad… I’ve spent the last five years reliving everything about that man. How I loved the way things were before everything fell apart.

My father, Angelo Santini, or The Sunday Sinner as he’s since been dubbed, is in prison on RICO charges. Prior to his incarceration, he became an informant for the feds. He wore a wire, the whole nine-weasel yards—and on a Sunday no less, thus his dishonorable new title.

Suffice it to say, he’s as good as dead if he ever gets out—and maybe on the inside, too.

My dad cut a deal. Not a good deal. The feds still managed to seize everything, from our small kitchen appliances to my mother’s minks. Yes, real minks had been sacrificed to create those furry horrors my mother loved to ensconce herself in no matter if the weather dictated their presence or not. Believe me, she is no friend of PETA.

But as soon as the government licked us clean, she was filing for divorce and out on the cougar prowl. Her preference for men younger than her own children is still something I can’t wrap my head around.

In less than twenty-four hours after my father’s incarceration, our first-class world turned into a third-world nightmare.

It turns out, Dad and his buddies were smuggling millions of dollars’ worth of drugs into the country, via Latin America, and the Fazio family distributed it right here in New Jersey.

But since Daddy’s little tap dance with the wire, that nightmare with the Fazios imploding and the Morettis stepping up to take their place led to my own aforementioned nightmare called Johnny Rizzo. And it was his bright idea to steal from the mob, which accidentally tipped off the feds to the Morettis’ felonious misgivings—that led me here, to my very own execution party sponsored by Clairol.

“Stella,” Uncle Vinnie barks my name out as if he were trying to wake me from a very bad dream, and how I wish he were. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m doing you a favor. The Morettis have already decided they want you quiet.” In the mob, quiet is code for dead. “Johnny took off last night or they’d have gotten him first.”

“He took off?” My eyes bulge at the thought. “And he left me here to fry?” Okay, confession: technically, Johnny isn’t my ex quite yet. As of yesterday, we were still together. I haven’t actually had the privilege of slapping him silly and telling him to take a hike just yet, only because we knew our lives were about to implode in far more dramatic ways than any mere breakup could bring on.

But on my way home from that fiasco, I had broken up with him a thousand times in my head. I came this close to texting him with the news but didn’t want to deny myself the pleasure of looking him in the eye when I did it—and I might have been looking forward to shoving my knee into his crotch as well.

Johnny Rizzo promised me a rose garden and instead wrapped me in thorns and threw me into a sewer.

“Yes, he took off.” Uncle Vinnie nods aggressively as if this should have been obvious. “You’re on your own, kid. And I’m not going to kill you.” His features soften. “I’m going to help you.” He hands me the box with a picture of a redhead on the front who could double as Ariel from The Little Mermaid. “I’ve got a car waiting around the corner. Sit in the back. You’ll find a large envelope filled with the paperwork you’re going to need. New driver’s license, Social Security card, passport, and car insurance. Everything you need to start a new life. My driver is taking you up to the New York border. I bought a car for you. It’s not much, but it’s yours. There’s some gas money in the glove compartment. You’ll have to be smart about how you spend it. Drive through New York, then up through Vermont until you get to Canada.” He swipes the phone out of my hand. “In the glove compartment you’ll also find a burner phone. I’ve got the number. I’ll be calling from a burner myself. You don’t call anybody else, you hear?”

“What? Give me that.” I dive for my phone, but he tosses it to the ground and quickly puts a bullet through it before putting his gun back into his pocket. “This is really happening?” Tears sting my eyes as I look to the man I’ve regarded as a second father for my entire life.

“It’s really happening.” His eyes grow glossy as well. “Goodbye, Stella. That’s the last time I will ever say your name, and the last time you’ll hear it. You got that?”

My head wobbles back and forth. “What’s my new name?” I swallow hard to keep from bawling like a baby.

“Bowie Binx, with an X.”

“Bowwow what?” I snip, highly annoyed that I had no say in this. “Are you kidding me? I’ve waited my whole life to crawl from under the name my parents gifted me and you did what to me now?”

“Bowie Binx.” He shrugs. “What can I say? I was working under a very tight time constraint. You have no idea how hard it was to put together a fictitious life in less than twenty-four hours.”

“Bowie Binx.” I try it on for size. “How in the heck did you come up with that whopper?”

“I happened to be listening to some good music. David Bowie was playing at the time, and I went with it. And as for Binx, I asked Minnie what she wanted to name her next kitten and it’s the first thing that flew from her lips.”

Minnie is Uncle Vinnie’s thee-year-old granddaughter who thinks she’s married to her stepfather because her mother, my cousin Jackie, thought it would be cute to have him put a ring on her finger, too, during their wedding ceremony.

“Great. I’m named after a legendary singer and an imaginary cat. I couldn’t have done better myself.”

“You keep up with the sharp tongue, little lady. You’re going to need it to survive. It’s a tough world out there. Even in Canada.” He wags a finger my way. “You’ll see how cold and unfeeling it is without the warm, strong arms of the family around you.”

“Yeah, well, the family wants me dead. I think I’ll take my chances with a bunch of cold, unfeeling Canadians.” I suck in my bottom lip as I look to my uncle for what feels like the very last time. “I love you.”

“I know.” He pulls me in and holds me for a small eternity, and I truly do feel the warm, strong arms of family around me. “If the burner phones don’t work out, we’ll find another way to communicate. The code word is meow.”

I make a face. “Another contribution from Minnie?”

He gives a somber nod.

And then, just like that, he turns me around and instructs me to run.

And run I do.

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to Canada I go.

Let’s hope I don’t run into Johnny Rizzo there or I’ll kill him.

And that’s one prognostication I can guarantee will come true.

****Find out what happens to Stella in Starry Falls! Order NOW and READ NOW! —> An Awful Cat-titude

RECIPE

Country Cottage Café

S’mores Bars

Hello, friend! It’s me, Bizzy Baker! The Country Cottage Café has knocked my supernatural socks off with their latest delicious creation. These bars are the perfect combination of chocolate and marshmallow goodness. And the best part is they’re so easy even I can make them. Well, okay, maybe not me, but everyone else, that’s for sure. Have fun with these and enjoy!

Ingredients

3 cups graham crackers crumbs

12 tablespoons butter (softened to room temperature or melted)

¾ cup powdered sugar

4 chocolate bars (Emmie uses Hershey’s Bars.)

16 ounces mini marshmallows (Emmie says it’s typically 1 bag of Kraft Jet-Puffed.)

Directions

Preheat oven to 350° (grease 9x13 pan with butter)

In a large mixing bowl mix graham crackers, powdered sugar, and butter.

Pack the crumbles along the bottom of the greased pan.

Line the crumbles with chocolate until the surface is covered.

Bake for seven minutes. Let cool.

Place marshmallows over the top of the chocolate and put back in the oven. (Emmie likes to put the oven on broil for a minute or two.) Or you can bake at 350° until the tips of the marshmallows turn golden brown (about ten minutes).

Let cool once again and cut into bars.

These will go very quickly!

Jasper and Leo cannot get enough.

Happy eating!

BOOKS BY ADDISON MOORE AND BELLAMY BLOOM

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Cozy Mysteries

Meow for Murder

An Awful Cat-titude

A Dreadful Meow-ment

A Claw-some Affair

A Haunted Hallow-whiskers

A Candy Cane Cat-astrophe

Country Cottage Mysteries

Kittyzen’s Arrest

Dog Days of Murder

Santa Claws Calamity

Bow Wow Big House

Murder Bites

Felines and Fatalities

A Killer Tail

Cat Scratch Cleaver

Just Buried

Butchered After Bark

Country Cottage Boxed Set 1

Country Cottage Boxed Set 2

Murder in the Mix Mysteries

Cutie Pies and Deadly Lies (Murder in the Mix 1)

Bobbing for Bodies (Murder in the Mix 2)

Pumpkin Spice Sacrifice (Murder in the Mix 3)

Gingerbread & Deadly Dread (Murder in the Mix 4)

Seven-Layer Slayer (Murder in the Mix 5)

Red Velvet Vengeance (Murder in the Mix 6)

Bloodbaths and Banana Cake (Murder in the Mix 7)

New York Cheesecake Chaos (Murder in the Mix 8)

Lethal Lemon Bars (Murder in the Mix 9)

Macaron Massacre (Murder in the Mix 10)

Wedding Cake Carnage (Murder in the Mix 11)

Donut Disaster (Murder in the Mix 12)

Toxic Apple Turnovers (Murder in the Mix 13)

Killer Cupcakes (Murder in the Mix 14)

Pumpkin Pie Parting (Murder in the Mix 15)

Yule Log Eulogy (Murder in the Mix 16)

Pancake Panic (Murder in the Mix 17)

Sugar Cookie Slaughter (Murder in the Mix 18)

Devil’s Food Cake Doom (Murder in the Mix 19)

Snickerdoodle Secrets (Murder in the Mix 20)

Strawberry Shortcake Sins (Murder in the Mix 21)

Cake Pop Casualties (Murder in the Mix 22)

Flag Cake Felonies (Murder in the Mix 23)

Peach Cobbler Confessions (Murder in the Mix 24)

Poison Apple Crisp (Murder in the Mix 25)

Spooky Spice Cake Curse (Murder in the Mix 26)

Christmas Fudge Fatality (Murder in the Mix)

Murder in the Mix Boxed Set (Books 1-3)

Murder in the Mix Boxed Set (Books 4-6)

Murder in the Mix Boxed Set (Books 7-9)

Murder in the Mix Boxed Set (Books 10-12)

Murder in the Mix Boxed Set (Books 13-15)

Murder in the Mix Boxed Set (Books 16-18)

Murder in the Mix Boxed Set (Books 19-21)

Mystery

Little Girl Lost

Never Say Sorry

The First Wife’s Secret

Romance

Just Add Mistletoe

3:AM Kisses (3:AM Kisses 1)

Winter Kisses (3:AM Kisses 2)

Sugar Kisses (3:AM Kisses 3)

Whiskey Kisses (3:AM Kisses 4)

Rock Candy Kisses (3:AM Kisses 5)

Velvet Kisses (3:AM Kisses 6)

Wild Kisses (3:AM Kisses 7)

Country Kisses (3:AM Kisses 8)

Forbidden Kisses (3:AM Kisses 9)

Dirty Kisses (3:AM Kisses 10)

Stolen Kisses (3:AM Kisses 11)

Lucky Kisses (3:AM Kisses 12)

Tender Kisses (3:AM Kisses 13)

Revenge Kisses (3:AM Kisses 14)

Red Hot Kisses (3:AM Kisses 15)

Reckless Kisses (3:AM Kisses 16)

Hot Honey Kisses (3:AM Kisses 17)

Shameless Kisses (3:AM Kisses 18)

Value 3:AM Kisses Boxed Sets

3:AM Kisses Boxed Set 1-3

3:AM Kisses Boxed Set 4-6

3:AM Kisses Boxed Set 7-9

3:AM Kisses Boxed Set 10-12

3:AM Kisses Boxed Set 13-15

3:AM Kisses Boxed Set 16-18

The Social Experiment (The Social Experiment 1)

Bitter Exes (The Social Experiment 2)

Chemical Attraction (The Social Experiment 3)

Low Down & Dirty (3:AM Kisses, Hollow Brook1)

Dirty Disaster (3:AM Kisses, Hollow Brook 2)

Dirty Deeds (3:AM Kisses, Hollow Brook 3)

Naughty By Nature

Heartless (Breakers Canyon Billionaires 1)

Wicked Heart (Breakers Canyon Billionaires 2)

Stone Cold Heart (Breakers Canyon Billionaires 3)

Beautiful Oblivion (Lake Loveless 1)

Beautiful Illusions (Lake Loveless 2)

Beautiful Elixir (Lake Loveless 3)

Beautiful Deception (Lake Loveless 4)

The Solitude of Passion

Someone to Love (Someone to Love 1)

Someone Like You (Someone to Love 2)

Someone For Me (Someone to Love 3)

BOXED SETS

Breakers Canyon Boxed Set (Books 1-3)

Lake Loveless Boxed Set (Books 1-3)

A Totally ‘80s Romance (Books 1-3)

3:AM Kisses, Hollow Brook (Books 1-3)

Young Adult Romance

Melt With You (A Totally ’80s Romance 1)

Tainted Love (A Totally ’80s Romance 2)

Hold Me Now (A Totally ’80s Romance 3)

Paranormal Romance

(Celestra Book World in Order)

Ethereal (Celestra Series Book 1)

Tremble (Celestra Series Book 2)

Burn (Celestra Series Book 3)

Wicked (Celestra Series Book 4)

Vex (Celestra Series Book 5)

Expel (Celestra Series Book 6)

Toxic Part One (Celestra Series Book 7)

Toxic Part Two (Celestra Series Book 8)

Elysian (Celestra Series Book 9)

Perfect Love (A Celestra Novella)

Ephemeral (Ephemeral Academy 1)

Evanescent (Ephemeral Academy 2)

Entropy (Ephemeral Academy 3)

Ethereal Knights (Celestra Knights)

Season of the Witch (A Celestra Companion)

Celestra Forever After (Celestra Forever After 1)

The Dragon and the Rose (Celestra Forever After 2)

The Serpentine Butterfly (Celestra Forever After 3)

Crown of Ashes (Celestra Forever After 4)

Throne of Fire (Celestra Forever After 5)

All Hail the King (Celestra Forever After 6)

Roar of the Lion (Celestra Forever After 7) Soon

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank YOU, the reader, for joining us on this adventure to Cider Cove. We hope you’re enjoying the Country Cottage Mysteries as much as we are. Don’t miss Just Buried (Country Cottage Mysteries 9) coming up next. Bizzy Baker is getting married—and someone is getting buried. Thank you so much from the bottom of our hearts for taking this roller coaster ride with us. We cannot wait to take you back to Cider Cove!

Special thank you to the following people for taking care of this book—Kaila Eileen Turingan-Ramos, Kathryn Jacoby, Jodie Tarleton, Margaret Lapointe, Ashley Daniels and Lisa Markson. And a very big shout out to Lou Harper of Cover Affairs for designing the world’s best covers.

A heartfelt thank you to Paige Maroney Smith for being so amazing in every single way.

And last, but never least, thank you to Him who sits on the throne. Worthy is the Lamb! Glory and honor and power are yours. We owe you everything.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

Addison Moore is a New York Times, USA TODAY, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author. Her work has been featured in Cosmopolitan Magazine. Previously she worked as a therapist on a locked psychiatric unit for nearly a decade. She resides on the West Coast with her husband, four wonderful children, and two dogs where she eats too much chocolate and stays up way too late. When she's not writing, she's reading. Addison’s Celestra Series has been optioned for film by 20th Century Fox.

Bellamy Bloom is a USA TODAY bestselling author who writes cozy mysteries filled with humor, intrigue and a touch of the supernatural. When she's not writing up a murderous storm she's snuggled by the fire with her two precious pooches, chewing down her to-be-read pile and drinking copious amounts of coffee.

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Contents

Copyright

Book Description

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Recipe

Books by Addison Moore and Bellamy Bloom

Acknowledgments

About the Authors