“Can I ask you a question?” I shrug over at the friendly blonde. “Who do you think could have done something like that to poor Quinn?”
She swallows hard. The muscles in her jaw tighten as she grows stiff.
And sadly, not a single thought flits through her mind.
“Eve.” She nods as if she were trying to convince herself. “Eve French. She wanted Quinn to herself in the worst way. She was his number one for many years, but she just couldn’t stand sharing him. And unfortunately, that’s the way the wealthy cookie crumbled, and because of it, they crumbled, too. But it wasn’t Eve who broke things off. Quinn felt as if her constant need for monogamy was wearing him down, so he went to England to think.” She shrugs. “We all know how that turned out. He stayed for years. And Eve grew bitter. She married for a while, and the man turned out to be a cad as well—a conniving one at that. He gambled away her fortune. Eve was a trust fund baby. And from what I hear, she hardly has two dimes to rub together these days. Oh, she has that shop of hers, but that’s about it.”
“That’s terrible,” I say. “I met her daughter last night. She was very sweet.”
“She’s precocious is what she is. She takes after her mother. The paternity was in question for a while, but boy, was she fuming when she found out the kid didn’t belong to Quinn. She wanted to anchor herself to that big pile of money he had. But she did marry the kid’s father. He was the aforementioned gambling louse.”
“But why would any of that drive Eve to bury an axe into the man’s chest?”
Angelica shudders as if reliving a very bad memory.
“Actually”—she glances over her shoulder before leaning my way—“it would. You see, Eve blames Quinn for her downfall. And I have no doubt she not only wanted him back last night—she wanted to get him back. That axe was a prop from the play.” She shakes her head at me. “That wasn’t premeditated. It was an act of passion, and no one felt more passionate last night than Eve.” And perhaps me, but I’m not giving that away for free. Nope. That little passionate tidbit is just for me.
And me.
Lunch wraps up, and the socialites take off as if the table were on fire.
Soon, it’s just Angelica left holding the bag, or the cute little puppy as it were.
“Would you mind?” She hands Rudolph over to me with his smiling face and frenetically wagging tail. “I’ve got to powder my nose.” She makes a run for the front door, and we see her speeding off into the snowy afternoon.
“Hey!” Georgie calls after her. “The restroom is that way.” She hitches a thumb behind her just as the waitress places something in her hand. “What’s this?” Georgie pulls the slim black leather case forward. “How do you like that? I think I get a purse out of the deal.”
“That’s the check,” I say, taking it from her and opening it up. “Oh my God. This can’t be right.” I glance up at the blonde waitress hovering above on standby. “Has this been paid?”
“It will be.” She offers a stern look my way.
I fork over my credit card and watch as all the money I’ve saved to do my Christmas shopping with—for the next two years—does a disappearing act.
Someone may have iced Quinn Bennet, but I have feeling I was just frosted by a gaggle of socialites.
Chapter 6
Main Street is covered in a blanket of white sparkling fluff that gives Cider Cove all the magic a month like December demands. The lampposts are wrapped in garland and twinkle lights, and each one is dotted with an enormous red velvet bow. The entire town looks as if it’s out of a storybook, and a part of me wishes we could leave the decorations up all year long.
Georgie asked to be dropped off at her new store, so I park and Rudolph and I head in with her. As soon as we step inside the dusty shop cluttered with boxes, Mom drops the broom she’s holding and dashes our way.
“Give me that baby!” She shuffles over in her slippers and a red bandana wrapped around her head. “I’ve just broken myself today.” She groans as she takes Rudolph from me and he proceeds to lick her face silly.
Macy comes up from behind with her hair neatly combed, wearing a festive red sweater dress paired with long black boots.
“I’m not lifting a finger around here.” She steals Rudolph from my mother. “I’m simply checking out the competition.” She holds Rudolph out a notch and examines the fun-loving, smiling pup. “Hey, you’re pretty cute.” She nods my way. “Why don’t you let me have him for a few hours? I bet he could double my sales.” Macy’s shop, Lather and Light, is located exactly across the street and has never been short of customers, especially not this time of year.
My sister isn’t exactly what I would call an animal lover, but I see she has no problem profiting off their adorable looks. Can’t say I blame her. Rudolph has the ability to brighten anyone’s day and is apparently wildly adored by socialites and common folk alike. I’m betting she’s onto something with that whole fiscal increase she’s sure his furry features will bring.
“Sorry,” I tell her. “Puppy labor laws prohibit him from working more than his concentration will allow. And seeing that’s about two minutes, I’m afraid no can do.”
I take a quick look around. The shop is rectangular in nature, with large bay windows set in front, rustic wood floors, and a register that sits on a long counter situated in the back. Last month there were nefarious things happening right here in this very store, but now with the killer behind bars, and with Georgie and my mother at the helm, I think they’re about to give this place the cheerful resurrection it deserves.
Georgie rips open a small box and begins pulling out one wonky quilt after another, far more than that tiny box looks like it could hold to begin with. Each quilt was handcrafted by whatever senior guild Georgie was able to bamboozle into doing her dirty work this month. And each one is alive with both vibrant colors and buzzing patterns.
“Come on, Toots.” Georgie motions my mother over. “Don’t just stand there growing old. We’ve got inventory to offload. We want to get this hovel open by Christmas, don’t we?”
Mom shoots her a look. “Who are you calling old?” She makes her way over with a groan. “And I’ve been thinking we need to expand our inventory. You know, in case someone strolls in and they don’t need a quilt. I say we keep a few candles on hand. In fact, I’ve got two boxes sitting right over there.”
Macy clears her throat. “How quickly you forget I had to put out a hit on the last girl who opened a candle shop here just last month.”
“Not funny.” I groan. “In fact, don’t even think about repeating those words outside these doors. The people of this town are going to hate you.”
“They’re going to fear me,” she corrects with a saccharin smile. “But I’m open to hate, too. I’ve never felt the need for people to like me. Unlike you, Bizzy.”
“I don’t need anyone to like me either.” Okay, so maybe I do, but just a little. “And you did not put a hit out on anyone. The poor thing was murdered. Besides, her killer is behind bars, and this shop is about to take on new life with whatever Mom and Georgie have planned.”
Mom scoffs as she looks over at Georgie. “What do we have planned? I have to order the signage this afternoon if we want to have that grand opening in a week. We need a name for this place, and we need it fast.”
“I’ve got one,” Macy says as she sets Rudolph down and he runs a spastic lap around the shop, barking and jumping with all the joy a puppy can muster. “How about Hags R Us?”
Georgie frowns over at her. “Don’t make me wave the special finger at you.”
Rudolph runs over to her. Does the special finger have bacon? Wave the special finger at me, Georgie! Wave it! Wave it!
She digs into her pocket and tosses him a handful of crispy pork fat, and all is well in puppy land.
“No hags.” Mom blows out a breath. “We need something serious. Something that makes people want to do business with us.”
“Serious?” Macy grunts as Rudolph kicks a piece
of bacon near her leather boots. “How about Lady and the Tramp?”
Mom gives a husky laugh. “Hear that, Georgie? She just called you a tramp.” She winks my way when she says it.
Georgie waves her off. “Everyone knows the tramps are much more fun. How about Good Time Granny and Buzzkill Betty? We can make a game of it and let the customers guess which is which.”
Macy chortles. “The reason you can’t decide on a name is because you don’t have a focus. Look at all this junk. You’ve got quilts, dresses made from quilts, candles—which you probably stole from me. What’s next? Sandwiches?”
“Sandwiches!” Georgie snaps her fingers and dances as if she just scored the winning touchdown at the Super Bowl. “I vote for hot pastrami.”
Mom rolls her eyes. “Do you see what I’m up against?”
I head over and grab one of the wonky quilt dresses Georgie is laying out over a glossy wooden table.
“These are kind of fun,” I say, holding it up on front of me. It’s primarily comprised of green and white gingham fabric with a few prints of Santa on a snowy roof and a few reindeer in the mix. “I can wear it around the cottage.”
“Oh, Bizzy.” Macy looks visibly ill as she inspects me with it against my body. “I had no idea you were already looking to get out of that booby trap of a marriage you landed in.”
“Funny,” I say as I frown over at her.
“She’s right.” Mom tosses her hands in the air. “Wear that around the house and Jasper will divorce you in a week.”
“Mother, he would not. Jasper wouldn’t care if I walked around in a garbage bag.”
“You’re getting close,” Macy mutters.
Georgie snaps her fingers. “Then that’s how we’ll market them. Want to give the old man his walking papers? Parade around in this beauty, and you’ll have full control of the remote and your finances within a week. Guaranteed or your money back.”
Mom groans ten times harder than before—right before she straightens with a jolt.
“Wait a minute!” She tips her head toward Georgie. “I think you may be onto something. We should have a silly sales magnet that offers women of a certain age something they need. Something to make them feel powerful and independent like they don’t need a man.”
Macy lifts her chin. “Just for the record, I call dibs on battery-operated boyfriends.”
“What?” Mom balks as she waves her off. “No. I don’t mean that. And you shouldn’t either.” She wags a finger at her oldest daughter. “I think we should sell things that speak to the soul of the more mature woman.”
“Like Tom Selleck?” Georgie picks up Rudolph as she steps our way.
“No.” Mom squeezes her eyes shut with exasperation. “Not like Tom Selleck. Like something you want to cuddle up with by the fire.”
Georgie nods. “Tom Selleck.”
“Mom”—I shrug over at her—“I hate to point out the obvious, but that’s what you’ve got the quilts for. How about marketing the store as something in keeping with the theme? You can call it something like Cozy Corner, or Me Time, or Get Bundled.”
Mom gasps. “That’s great! And we can have a monthly book selection to go along with it. In fact, we can have a book club.”
“Oh!” Georgie raises her hand. “We can sell those pinecones that turn colors when you toss them into the fire, and tea, coffee, and some of that peppermint bark from the Cottage Café.”
Mom taps a finger to her temple. “Now you’re thinking.”
“And kaftans!” Georgie plucks a red kaftan out of a box and waves it like a harbinger of hostile things to come—namely tie-dye kaftans. “Bizzy, you put on one of these around the house and you’ll have Jasper for life.”
Macy squints over at her. “How do you figure?”
“Easy access,” Georgie says without missing a beat. “Come to think of it, same with the wonky quilt dress. Now there’s a feature worth highlighting.”
My phone buzzes in my hand before I can respond to her, and it’s a text from the man I’m looking to give easy access to himself, Jasper.
Just got home. Picked up dinner. Bad news. It looks as if someone stole our credit card and spent over 1K this afternoon. Don’t worry. I shut down the card.
A breath gets locked in my throat.
“I’d better get home. Jasper is there.” I stretch my lips back as I look to Georgie. “I’ll give you twenty bucks for that kaftan.”
Georgie tosses it my way. “And just like that, we’ve got our first customer!”
I do a quick change, scoop up Rudolph, and head back to my cottage.
Here’s hoping a little easy access will make Jasper forget all about my poor purchasing decisions.
The cottage I share with Jasper was once exclusively mine. Jasper rented the cottage next door, but when we got hitched a few months back, we consolidated into this one. They’re both on the grounds of the inn and within walking distance to work for me, which I love. Emmie, Jordy, and Georgie live on the grounds as well. If I could, I’d move everyone I love here.
Jasper and I spent last weekend decorating the outside of our cozy little cottage with a wreath made of evergreen boughs, colorful twinkle lights to line the roof, and we set poinsettias on either side of the entrance to give it an extra festive touch.
I let myself in, only to find the fireplace roaring, the living room toasty, and Fish and Sherlock curled up on the sofa. The inside of the cottage has a cozy appeal, too, with its yellow and white checkered sofa, its frilly curtains, and rustic coffee table.
Jasper and I put up Christmas stockings over the fireplace with our names on them, and there’s one each for Fish and Sherlock, too. We put twinkle lights and garland over the mantel and a giant wreath made of holly berries up above the fireplace, but we’ve yet to get a tree.
“Hey, beautiful.” Jasper steps out of the kitchen with a couple of plates in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other, looking like the handsome detective he is—a handsome detective who is about to winnow out the truth about that pricey lunch date I had with a suspect, of all people.
So I do the only thing I can think of. I set Rudolph down and peel off my coat, dropping it right to the floor as if I was doing a strip tease.
He tips his head back a notch as if to get a better look at me before landing the plates and bag on the coffee table.
“I see you’re channeling your inner Georgie,” he muses as he wraps his arms around me. “And boy, do I ever approve.” Jasper lands a molten hot kiss over my lips, and for a moment, I forget all about the one thousand ways I’ve managed to land myself in financial hot water. He pulls back. “I hope you don’t mind, I picked up a couple of hot pastrami sandwiches for dinner.”
I lift a brow. “It sounds as if you’re channeling your inner Georgie, too.” I fill him in on Georgie’s hot pastrami sales pitch and we share a warm laugh.
“Sounds delicious,” he says, navigating us to the sofa as both Fish and Sherlock hop off and begin to chase Rudolph around the living room in a dizzying circle. “So what happened to your clothes today?” It’s clear Jasper isn’t buying my kaftan revolution so easily. He looks at me intently and manages to send my stomach searing with heat because Jasper Wilder just so happens to be unfairly handsome. “Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret asking that question?”
“Would you believe I opted for a stunning frock because it provided something special just for you?”
His brows furrow. “What’s that?”
“Easy access.” I blink a quick smile “And—my purchase of this little ditty allowed me to become the very first customer for my mother and Georgie. So I was essentially doing a very good deed.”
“Easy access?” He gets a drugged look in his eyes. “I like where this is headed.” He wraps an arm around me and pulls me close. “Are we skipping dinner?”
“Only if you lose your appetite.”
A dark laugh brews in his chest. “There’s no hope of that happening with you around
.”
“Oh, I’d say there’s a little hope.” I cringe at the thought of what comes next. “About that credit card…”
“Don’t worry about it.” He glances to the ceiling with a look of frustration. “Thank God fraud alert kicked in and we were able to squash it. What moron would pay a thousand dollars for lunch? Apparently, someone got ahold of our number and threw a party with it at some ridiculous place out in Rolling Oaks. Can you imagine? I bet they called two hundred of their closest friends and said the words free lunch.”
“You would be surprised.” A nervous laugh trickles out of me. “There weren’t that many people there.”
A laugh initiates from him but quickly diminishes.
“Bizzy?” He backs away a notch. “Tell me you didn’t have lunch in Rolling Oaks with two hundred of your closest friends.”
“Oh, I didn’t. There were only about twelve people there, and not one of them was a friend—unless, of course, you count Georgie and Juni. Would you call them friends? I’m thinking they’re more like family.”
His eyes widen about as far as they can go. “I call them trouble. Talk fast, Bizzy. I’m filling in the blanks, and I don’t like where the pieces are falling.”
“Fine.” I tell him about how effortless it was to track down Angelica Chatfield and how Georgie, Juni, and I just sat right down at their table and started chatting away.
Jasper tips his head back until all I can see is his Adam’s apple.
“Bizzy.” He groans. “I guess I should have talked to you first before I spent an hour with the fraud department.”
“I’m sorry. If it makes you feel better, I’ll call them first thing in the morning and have the charges put back on the card.”
His cheek flickers. “It’s the right thing to do. I’ll take care of it, though. It’s the least I can do while you’re out there chasing the bad guys.” He dips his chin, his brows narrowing like a couple of birds in flight. “Bizzy, I asked you earlier to please let me take this case.”
“You asked me to keep away from Arthur Silver. And I did. You didn’t say anything about Angelica. Besides, she’s a woman. I could take her if I had to.”
A Christmas to Dismember Page 6
