“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.”
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 cou
ple 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.
Cat Scratch Cleaver Page 8
