“Could you take a bullet to the heart?”
“You don’t fight fair.”
“Neither do bullets.” He sighs as he washes his gaze over me. “Okay, I give. I get it. Quinn was your boss. This was his inn. This is personal. I’ll let you assist. But for the record, you are assisting me.”
“I’m in.” I raise my right hand as if I were taking an oath. “I solemnly swear to fully cooperate with your investigation, Detective.”
“Who are we kidding?” The hint of a mournful smile appears on his face. “I’m going to be cooperating with your investigation. Just don’t tell my boss. So what did you glean?”
“Okay, so I still don’t know what she dumped in his drink last night.”
“You saw her dump something in his drink?”
I nod. “Before the show.”
He pulls out his phone. “Making a note to send to forensics.”
“I meant to tell you that, but things kept going sideways.”
“That is their favorite direction,” he says, plopping his phone back onto the table. “And by the way, your investigation is moving too fast.” His brows bounce, and although there’s a dash of sarcasm in his tone, I know he means it. “What happened at lunch?”
“Angelica was dicey. She lied to me when I asked if she spoke to Quinn after the show. She was about to admit it but then backtracked, thinking she should keep her story consistent with what she told the deputies. But Angelica did admit out loud to calling Quinn’s estate attorney last night, wanting to know when they’d have the reading of the will. We’re hosting it at the inn, by the way.”
“Wow.” He gives a wistful shake of the head. “She ran home and called his attorney? It takes a special person to pull a stunt like that. But does it take a killer?”
“Not according to Angelica. She thinks Eve is the axe wielding maniac in this equation.”
“Eve French, the jilted girlfriend. I spoke with a few people who told me a little about the relationship she had with Quinn. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t a good one.”
“That’s basically what Angelica said. Oh, and there was one more thing she said that I thought was funny, and it had nothing to do with the case. She mentioned it was exhausting maintaining her lifestyle. I guess there are first-world problems and then there are socialite problems.”
Rudolph comes up barking a happy little yip-yip-yip while dancing on his hind legs, so I pull him onto my lap.
Fish strides over looking worn out. Good idea, Bizzy, she mewls. Hold him hostage. He’s a terror. He’s got far too much energy, and it never seems to end.
I can’t help but laugh as I translate to Jasper.
Sherlock moans as he collapses in a heap by the fireplace. I don’t even care about bacon anymore. I just need naps. He closes his eyes, and he’s out like a light.
Rudolph bounces between my lap and Jasper’s as his wagging tongue and tail all move frenetically along with him.
Those women at the restaurant were talking about the blonde you were with. He vocalizes as if trying to speak the words in perfect English.
“The women were talking about, Angelica?” I lean in. “What were they saying?”
Rudolph gives a sharp bark. They said she was broke, and that she had no money. One of them said she probably killed Quinn because she knew she was in the will.
I glance to Jasper and quickly tell him what I’ve just learned.
“Hearsay. Gossip at best,” he says the words slowly. “But maybe that’s what she meant by it’s exhausting to maintain the lifestyle? Maybe she is broke and she’s just keeping up appearances?”
My mouth falls open. “Come to think of it, she said she much prefers to hang out with people like Juni. Maybe she’s living a double life? Juni is anything but a socialite.”
Jasper nods. “And maybe that’s why she stiffed you with the bill.”
Fish yowls, I knew I should have gone along. Point her out to me, Bizzy. She flicks a claw from her paw. I’ll give her a gift she’ll remember for quite some time.
Rudolph wiggles free and jumps to the floor, giving chase to Fish while barking up a storm.
“The kids are wild tonight.” Jasper’s lids hood over. “How about if Mom and Dad hit the bedroom early?”
“What about your hot pastrami dinner?”
“Don’t tell Santa, but I’m a dessert first kind of a guy. Besides, I’ve got an access issue to check out for you. I’d hate to think you got ripped off twice in one day.”
“Smooth, Wilder, smooth.”
He takes me by the hand and we put the kaftan to the test.
Suffice it to say, Georgie wasn’t wrong.
Chapter 7
I think I like donuts better than bacon. Rudolph barks as he makes quick work of the sugary confection that fell to the ground.
Fish gives a long blink. For goodness’ sake, we’ve got another monster with the munchies. You’ve trained him well, Sherlock, she mewls. Your wicked work is done.
Sherlock barks. You’re wrong. There’s still plenty of work to be done. Nothing is better than bacon.
It’s the middle of the day and the foot traffic at the front desk of the Country Cottage Inn has been comparable to a clearance sale the day after Christmas. It turns out, a bed and breakfast up the way flooded, and we’re receiving their current bookings along with their prospective bookings, too.
Thankfully, I’ve got both of my trusty front desk clerks with me. Nessa Crosby, a feisty brunette who also happens to be a cousin of Emmie’s, and Grady Pennington, a real looker with dark hair and far too much Irish charm handed down via his DNA. The girls never fail to swoon in his direction. Both Nessa and Grady came to work at the inn right out of college.
Grady pretends to drop another donut, and this time both Sherlock and Rudolph dive for it at once and a growling fest ensues.
“Grady.” I shoot him a look.
“What?” he asks with a laugh caught in his throat. “They’re plain donuts. Humans don’t like those. They’re practically dog food to begin with.”
“The point is, they’re not dog food. And Rudolph has already informed me he’s a donut fanatic.”
Nessa moans as she pulls a pink cruller off the platter Emmie dropped off a while ago, along with a basket of her peppermint bark. Initially, I had Emmie bring them for the guests, but Nessa, Grady, and I haven’t been able to keep our hands off them.
Who could blame us? It’s freezing outside, Christmas is swooping in at supersonic speeds, the guests are cranky, we’re cranky, and the only thing we want to fuel our bodies with is deep-fried confections and peppermint bark—and coffee, lots and lots of coffee.
“I’m a donut fanatic, too, Rudolph.” Nessa reaches down and gives him a pat. “If Bizzy ever tries to withhold a sweet treat, you just find me.”
Grady nods my way. “So what’s going on with the inn? Is it being sold off? Are we losing our jobs?”
A small wailing sound comes from Nessa. “I can’t lose my job at Christmas, Bizzy. Who’s going to pay my credit cards off come January? I’ll lose my apartment. I’ll lose my car. Peanut and I will be homeless and carless, too.” Peanut is the cute little puppy she adopted last year. It just so happens that his owner was murdered right here at the inn, but that case was solved, and I have no doubt this one will be, too. She takes another bite of her cruller. “Who knew when they hacked Quinn Bennet to pieces they hacked my life to pieces, too?”
“He wasn’t hacked to pieces.” I wince because she’s not entirely wrong. “And would you keep it down? I don’t want to freak the guests out.” I glance out at the festive garland and red bows dotting the railing that lead to the second story, and my heart aches at the thought of the inn being sold off, but I really don’t see another way. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to the inn, but I guess we’ll know soon enough. As for now, it’s business as usual.”
Until the rug is ripped out from under us.
And the way my luck has been as of late, that sh
ould take place in about five hot minutes.
A tall, broad-chested man in a dark coat steps into the foyer and makes his way over, and I recognize that scraggly beard and those twinkling eyes.
“Warwick.” I slide off my stool and offer him a cheery grin. “Nice to see you again. What brings you around this afternoon?”
“Nice to see you again, Bizzy.” He gives Fish a quick scratch behind her ears, and one of her hind legs thumps with delight. “Looks as if I’ve hit the sweet spot.” He gives a husky laugh. “I was just stopping by to let you know I was contacted by the estate lawyer. It was Quinn’s request to hold the reading of the will here in the library. The attorney wanted to schedule it for this Monday at two in the afternoon if that works for you. I told him I’d stop by and ask.”
“That’s fine. I’ll have refreshments and some snacks available. I’m sure a meeting like that can be tense.”
He tips his head. “It will be. You have a formal invitation from the attorney. I’m sure Quinn wanted you to be apprised of everything from start to finish. Especially the fate of the inn.”
“Thank you. I’ll be glad to be there. I’m on pins and needles just waiting to see what he has planned for this place.”
Warwick balls up his lips. “I have a feeling he’ll have it absorbed into his real estate holdings.” He sheds what appears to be a manufactured smile. “You’ll be fine.” A little overhaul, and this dingy old inn will be a modern oasis. We’ll have every socialite in Manhattan clamoring to have a room here.
I take in a breath and hold it.
A modern oasis? What’s wrong with having a quaint little inn? And I take umbrage with that dingy remark. I work tirelessly to make sure this place is clean as a whistle.
“Warwick, who do you think will take possession of the inn if it’s absorbed into his real estate holdings? A board?”
“No stuffy board. I’m sure whoever it will be, they’ll be just as excited about this property as you are.” And I am. I’ll have this place producing twice the income. He gives a sly smile. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a look around. I haven’t been here in years, and the other night, well, I didn’t see much but the ballroom and the garden.”
“Absolutely. Would you like a tour? I can call the grounds manager, Jordy. He knows every nuance of this inn.”
“No, no, that won’t be necessary. I’d like a moment to reflect and think of Quinn. Sort of my way of paying my respects.”
“I completely understand.”
He takes off, and I watch him as he leaves.
Fish stands and lashes her tail my way. What is it, Bizzy? Why are you looking at him that way? Is he the killer?
“No, not that,” I whisper as I pick her up and kiss her. “But I get the feeling he might be the new owner of the inn.” A hard sigh expels from me. “Let’s hope I can convince him we can increase the revenue without turning this place into a steel and glass modern monster.”
A slew of new guests head in, and both Nessa and Grady tend to them. And on their heels is a feisty blonde in a fitted red peacoat storming my way.
“Hey, Macy,” I say. “Are you ready to rock and roll?”
I thought I’d do a little Christmas shopping out in Rose Glen this afternoon at an exclusive little shop called Elora’s Closet. I don’t see how Jasper could possibly object to that.
“Yes siree.” She leans in and lands a kiss to Fish’s forehead. “I’m ready and willing to check out my competition.” She needles me with her pale blue eyes. “But I’m not willing to watch you interrogate a suspect.” She smears a short-lived smile my way. “I know what you’re up to. Eve is my friend, Bizzy. She’s not a killer. So don’t go trying to see if an axe fits in her hand, or whatever it is you’re up to. This is strictly shopping. And—I want to see what her holiday inventory looks like. I need to step up my game if I don’t want Mom and Georgie to swoop in and steal my lunch.”
“I hardly think they’re going to steal your lunch.”
Sherlock lets out a quick bark. Speaking of which, I’m starving. How about we make a detour to the kitchen? I bet Emmie has a few burgers lying around. I feel like stealing Emmie’s lunch.
Emmie quite literally had a few burgers lying around last night, when Sherlock spotted them and proved to be a burger-eating magician. One second they were on a platter, the next they were in his stomach.
“How about I feed you lunch back at the cottage?” I pick up Rudolph as his tail wags back and forth like a spring. “Nessa, Grady? I’ll be back early this evening. If you need anything at all, give me call.”
Fish belts out a crystal clear meow. What about me?
“Don’t you worry.” Macy scoops the furry cutie off the counter as if she understood the sweet cat and plops her into the black leather tote bag cinched to her shoulder. Fish pokes her head out and wiggles her whiskers, looking as content as can be. “Bizzy’s got her purse puppy, and I’ve got my purse kitty.”
“How do you like that?” I bury a kiss in the back of Rudolph’s neck. “I guess you’re coming with me.”
Sherlock barks. Not me, Bizzy. After lunch I have a serious nap schedule I need to adhere to. I’ll see you all for dinner.
“It’s time to get some shopping done,” I say, giving Rudolph a quick snuggle.
And hopefully, Eve will help me buy a few clues as well.
Elora’s Closet sits at the end of a bustling street in Rose Glen where most of the shops are congregated. The scent of something deep-fried and delicious emits from a fish and chips restaurant across the street, and it’s noteworthy to point out there’s a bakery a few doors down that has a handful of people pouring into it. I predict I’ll be pouring into it soon enough myself. But Elora’s Closet has more than a few people pouring into it and it has us taking serious pause before heading in.
“Macy”—I pull her in close by the arm—“don’t you think it’s weird that there’s an equal number of men and women heading inside? I mean, it’s a women’s boutique. Don’t you think that’s odd?”
Georgie shakes her head. “I don’t know what they’re selling, but dibs on whatever it is because I’ve just all but added it to my inventory.”
As soon as Georgie got wind we were heading off to check out Macy’s competition, she figured it was her competition, too, and jumped into the back of Macy’s car.
Macy grunts, “I knew it was a mistake dragging her out here.”
Rudolph belts out a tiny woof. You don’t think the killer is in there, do you, Bizzy?
“You never know,” I whisper.
Fish gives a rousing meow. What’s everyone stopping to look at out front? She nods her nose that way, and sure enough, there’s a large framed sign sitting on an easel that people are pausing to examine before they head inside.
“Let’s find out,” I say.
We migrate over with a robust crowd and something strikes me.
I glance to Georgie and Macy. “Do the two of you notice anything interesting about the people who are flocking their way to the door?”
Macy squints as she examines the masses and gasps.
“Wait a minute.” Her mouth falls open. “All these men are hot!”
Georgie makes a face. “And the women look as if they were plucked out of a magazine.”
We come upon the sign in question, and while both Macy and Georgie let out a cheer, I groan as if I was just mortally wounded.
“A singles mingle?” I moan at the thought of coming all the way here only to abandon the effort.
“A holiday singles mingle,” Georgie points out. “But don’t worry. The price of admission includes a free Santa hat. That’s a bargain, Biz. Those are hard to come by this time of year. Now come on, don’t be a grinch. Let’s get in there.”
“I’m not single, Georgie. And it’s fifty dollars a person. Serious participants only—it says so right there in the fine print.”
“I’m serious, and I’m in.” Macy pulls out her compact and checks her face in the mir
ror. “Plus, I have Fish. Once these beefcakes see my nurturing side, their primal instincts will demand they wife me.”
“I’m in, too.” Georgie slaps her hands together. “I double dog dare one of these young guns to wife me. There’s nothing like the taste of fresh, young, juicy—”
“I get it,” I say as Rudolph squirms in my arms.
“Hand him over, Bizzy.” Georgie swipes him from me. “I need to demonstrate my nurturing side in the event one of those young guns wants me to pop out a basketball team.”
Macy and I opt to take the fifth on this one.
“Okay, fine,” Georgie grouses. “This little nugget will be my icebreaker.”
“You have never needed an icebreaker,” I’m quick to point out. “Me, on the other hand…” I shake my head at the influx of bodies and wonder how in the world I can excavate Eve French from this mingle madness.
Macy links her arm with mine. “You can use your wedding ring as an icebreaker. Come on, I’m buying.”
“What? I can’t go in there. I’m a married woman.”
“Not this afternoon.” Georgie links up with my other arm, and soon we’re migrating toward the entrance along with the crowd. “Look at it this way. You’re vetting these turkeys for Macy and me.”
Macy nods. “And I’ll make sure you talk to Eve before we leave. Remember, I like them good-looking, funny, and filthy rich. Not necessarily in that order.”
Georgie fluffs out her hair. “I’ll take ’em in any order I can get ’em so long as they’re still breathing. There’s always a handful that prefers an intellectual, far more experienced woman.” She looks to my sassy sister. “Ten bucks says I’ll come away the victor from this denizen of dating.”
“Dream on, hippie,” Macy says as she antes up at the door, and soon the three of us have all donned red pointy felt hats and are handed a glass of white wine—to ease the pain of that fifty-dollar assault, I’m sure.
It’s cozy inside although the store itself looks expansive. A few racks of clothes are scattered about, and beyond that there are a few tables with books and candles strewn over them, but mostly I see people. Soft music bleats over the speakers, but the roar of the crowd and the intermittent laughter are at a far higher decibel.
A Christmas to Dismember Page 7
