Lock, Stock, and Feral

by Addison Moore

Slim to nothing advertising budget…

  “A friend of mine is a writer. She’s shopping her novel right now. Regency romance.” It takes everything in me not to gag.

  “Romance—that’s what keeps the publishing wheels spinning.” He gives a wistful shake of the head. “I’d say sixty percent of what we sell at Higgins House is romance.”

  “Oh? What’s your role there?” I ask as Macy’s eyeballs roll into the back of her head and she lets out another hearty moan.

  This girl. James gives a sly grin her way before reverting his attention back to me. I’d better play nice with the sister.

  He leans back in his seat. “I’m the communications manager. And believe me, I’ve spent the last week doing a heck of a lot of communicating. But the authors all seem to understand. There are about six hundred authors as it stands, so I sent off a mass email. Some wrote back and asked about rights, so I had to henpeck my way through those while responding. It’s all up in the air, but everyone is being as understanding as can be.” Here’s hoping I can transfer the title to the company to myself. I asked Pat a year ago if I could be a full-fledged partner, but he balked at the idea. But I’d like to think he’d be happy with the outcome. He sheds a quiet laugh. He should have listened to me a year ago, and if he did, he might be alive today.

  Might be alive today?

  “I’m glad they were so understanding,” I say. “Did Patterson have any disgruntled clients?”

  A loud yelp of a laugh bursts from him. “About six hundred of them.” He chuckles as he downs the rest of his soda. “Let’s just say Patterson was good at one thing and one thing only, making promises.”

  “So he had a lot of irate clients?” The buzz starts to build at the table once again as the seats fill in, and it looks as if the seventh-inning stretch is just about over. “Did you know that the sheriff’s department thinks Patterson was murdered?”

  “Oh yeah.” He gives a quick glance around. “I had the lead homicide detective come by the publishing house office earlier. Decent guy, nosy as hell, but I guess that’s his job. He let me know someone spiked Patterson’s drink.”

  So much for having inside intel just because I’m sleeping with the lead homicide detective. Jasper made no mention of the fact he was going to speak with James.

  “Yup.” He nods. “For all I know, he could still be at the office.” He checks his phone.

  He’s at the publishing house office! That means I could be at the publishing house office.

  James nods. “I let him look at the company register from the last year. Just things I had access to. Meetings we had, a few conference calls, authors we were courting, that’s about it. Not much to see there.”

  “Had you been to the book club before that night? I mean, it seemed interesting.”

  He shrugs. “Not as interesting as you would think. But yes, I’ve been so often I’d like to consider myself a full-fledged member of the Grim Readers.” A tiny smile plays on his lips. In fact, I look forward to our next meeting where I will finally have Ms. Hadley Culpepper to myself.

  A breath gets caught in my throat and I hold it.

  Hadley? He wants Hadley? Oh wow, he can have her. Who knows? If things go well, he might even get to star in her next novel.

  Any trace of a smile quickly fades from his lips. Patterson was always in the way with that one. He thought she was falling in line like the rest of them. He was just too blinded by his own greed to see the light.

  “Game,” someone shouts from the head of the table, and soon the original owner boots me out of my seat.

  “It was nice talking to you,” I tell him.

  “Likewise,” he says as the cards are dealt his way.

  Macy tells me to scat by way of waving me off with her fingers, and I spot Georgie across the room in her lime green kaftan so I head her way. She’s seated at a table with eight men and is guarding her cards with the best of them.

  “Not now, Biz. I’m looking to win big in this round.” Georgie motions to a small mountain of chips in front of her. “I’ve already taken half the loot, and I’m not leaving until I get the rest of it.” She glances my way. “Don’t just stand there. More banana pudding. It’s my secret weapon.”

  “Your wish is my command.” I lean in. “You’ve got five minutes. We have to get moving.”

  “I need an hour,” she says, shuffling her cards.

  “An hour?” I mutter and I rush into the kitchen and toss a banana pudding at everyone in my path, including everyone at Georgie’s table.

  When in Rome.

  I spot Juni sitting on a sofa just behind the table noshing on her own banana pudding, so I pluck two off my tray and head her way. I need to get Juni, collect Georgie far sooner than an hour, and get to Higgins House Publishing stat if I want a chance to snoop around with Jasper.

  “We need to get going,” I tell her.

  No sooner do I take a seat next to Juni than a thought hits me.

  “What’s the matter?” Juni grouses. “Mama stole your man, too?” She dips her spoon back into her banana pudding and dishes herself a creamy scoop.

  “No.” My lips part as I look across the room as James whispers to my sister and she gives a giddy laugh. “Oh my word,” I pant as I look directly at that dark-haired man that’s beguiling Macy and groan.

  James Foreman looks my way, and for a solid moment we lock eyes and a chill rides through me as if I’ve just looked at the Devil himself.

  “He lied,” I whisper as James gives his attention back to the cards in front of him.

  “Oh hon, that’s what men are best at. Don’t take it personally. It’s sort of a survival mechanism with them.”

  “He said he didn’t have the wine,” I breathe the words out lower than a whisper. “And I distinctly remember him standing in line to get a glass full—and then walking around with it.” Oh, he lied right to my face. But if he’s diabetic like he said he is, then he could have very well poisoned the wine and gave it to Patterson—and that would leave him alone with both the publishing house and Hadley. “On second thought, we’d better stick around a minute while I process things.” I shove a heaping spoonful of banana pudding into my mouth in hopes to do just that.

  My phone bleats and I fish it out. It’s a text from Jasper.

  At Higgins House Publishing. In the mood to hop down and join me?

  I text right back. I would, but I’m stress eating banana pudding at the moment. And I think I’m staring right at the killer!

  Bizzy. He shoots back before those dancing ellipses go off again. Where are you? Never mind. Get out now. Run. Text me when you’re safe in the car. On second thought, drive home then text me.

  I indulge in another few bites as quickly as I can.

  “Mmm, this really is good,” I muse to Juni just as my phone bleats again.

  I know you well enough to know you’re not leaving until you’re good and ready. For my sanity’s sake, please just tell me where to find you.

  Juni grunts, “Tell the poor man where you are. It’s not like they’re going to let him in.”

  “Fine.”

  In Edison at the Royal Regency, penthouse. Some high stakes poker club. Don’t worry. It’s all perfectly legal.

  He texts right back. The Right Stuff???

  “How about that?” I muse to Juni. “He knows exactly where we are.”

  My phone bleats again. Bizzy, get out NOW. That’s a notorious mob hangout. I assure you nothing in the penthouse is legal!

  “Exclamation points and caps?” Juni clucks her tongue “It looks to me someone’s got a temper.”

  “A mob hangout?” I hiss as I look around at the dapper gentlemen and their wicked grins with new eyes. “We need to get Georgie and Macy. We need to get out of here fast.”

  My phone bleats in my hand again, and I land the pudding on the table next to me.

  Who’s the killer, Bizzy?

  I make a face at the phone. In the event I don’t make it out of here alive—the
killer is James Foreman. I hit send with a touch too much determination and nearly knock the phone out of my hand.

  “Come on,” I say, burying my phone back into my purse and grabbing Juni. “It’s time to make tracks.”

  We head over to Georgie’s table, only to find her kaftan crumpled up in a ball on the table and a couple of Nilla Wafers stuck to the outside of her bra.

  A hard groan comes from me. “Georgie,” I hiss. “Get those cookies off your brassiere.”

  “Hon, I’m not wearin’ a brassiere. These days I only wear that boulder holder on days that end in Z.”

  “GAH!” I snatch her up and pull that dress off the table, spraying chips around errantly and a dusting of cards, too. The men spike out of their seats in a revolt, and in the process the table jostles and a couple of Mason jars tip over, making an instant mess over the area.

  “Food fight!” Georgie shouts, picking up her spoon and slinging banana pudding at the man across from her. And within seconds, banana pudding is being flung every which way.

  “Good grief!” I shout as I toss her dress over her head. “We need to go, now.” I drag both her and Juni across the way, getting pegged in the neck, the leg, and square over my bottom—you can’t tell me someone wasn’t aiming to get that shot.

  Laughter breaks out, as do errant howls as perfectly reasonable looking men—or mobsters as they might be—continue to sling banana pudding at one another as if they had suddenly reverted back to seventh grade.

  I tiptoe over to Macy while James flicks a few shots off at a nearby table and shouts something about teaching them a lesson for stealing his lunch.

  “Come on, Mace”—I say as I pull her my way a few inches—“we need to leave now. Jasper says so.”

  “I don’t care what Jasper says.” She yanks her hand back. “He’s your boss, not mine. I’ve got a stick shift to drive, if you know what I mean. I’m not looking to sit in the back seat of your used car while your hubby dictates our every move.”

  I pull her in close by the shoulders in one hulkish move. “That man whose lap you’ve been seated in all night? I think he just might be the killer!”

  A yelping noise emits from her. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  Macy rockets us to the door and I drag Georgie and Juni along with me.

  “Wait!” Juni cries out above the shouting and the salty language flying behind us. “I need me some more banana pudding.”

  “Good idea,” I say. “We’ll raid the kitchen first.”

  We make a mad dash that way and scoop up as many Mason jars as our arms will allow and we hightail it out of that penthouse into the first open elevator, and out of the Royal Regency as if it were on fire.

  I don’t text Jasper. Instead, I drive like a madwoman all the way back to Cider Cove, and about halfway there I find a familiar car following me.

  “We’re being tracked. Lose him, Biz!” Georgie shouts. “You hit the gas, I’ll pelt him with banana pudding.”

  “It’s Jasper,” I tell her. “He’s just making sure I’m safe.”

  Macy snorts. “First, he tells you what to do and then he tails you? I think you’ve got a problem on your hands, little sister. And this possessive behavior is precisely why I’m never getting hitched.”

  Juni turns to Georgie. “Macy got the brains.”

  “I’ve got brains,” I mutter. Enough brains to know that this case has two very viable suspects—Devan and James. And, of course, Hadley, too. I can’t let her off the hook. She wrote regency porn about my husband.

  Fine, she underwent a trauma I know nothing about. I guess I have to give her a pass all the way back to 1812.

  After dropping everyone off, I pull into the driveway and Jasper pulls up behind me. I get out and quickly hand him his very own banana pudding.

  “I guess I’ll have to return the Mason jars to the hotel or it’s considered stealing.” I cringe. “But something tells me petty theft is the least of my worries.”

  He nods. “You could have been killed.”

  “Yeah, but instead of bullets, those mobsters shoot with banana pudding,” I say, plucking at a strand of my sticky hair.

  His brows furrow a moment as the moonlight kisses his features and turns his hair a pale shade of blue.

  “I think you have some pudding right there.” He brushes his finger over my neck before diving in and cleaning it off with his kiss. Jasper pulls back and his chest expands with his next breath. “Let me help you get cleaned up.”

  “Wait—what happened when you questioned Devan?”

  His shoulders sag. “She swears up and down she doesn’t grow anything toxic. I put in a request with the judge for a search warrant of both her home and her business, but she assured me I wouldn’t find anything.”

  I scoff. “That’s because by the time you get your hands on those warrants, her hands would have disposed of the evidence—that is, if she did it. And if she didn’t…”

  He nods. “Someone could be trying to frame her.”

  “And what about our diabetic killer?”

  “Let’s hope he doesn’t skip town before I can question him again. Higgins House checked out. He let me have the run of the place but only as far as he had access himself. Nothing shady on the outside. But as for now, I’m clocking off. I’ve got a wife to tend to. The killer will have to wait.”

  “In that case.” I pull three more Mason jars full of banana pudding out of the car. “How do you feel about food fights?”

  A dark laugh brews in his chest. “I think we’re both going to come away victorious in this war.” He leans in and touches his lips to my ear. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  And a delicious time is had by all.

  Patterson Higgins’ killer will have to wait.

  For now.

  Chapter 11

  “I’m ruined!” Mom wails as she hugs Clyde tightly.

  It’s the middle of the afternoon, the day after the banana pudding wars, and my mother summoned Jasper and me down to her shop, Two Old Broads.

  Georgie and Juni are here snickering by her side while petting Fish and Sherlock.

  “And you can’t tell your siblings.” Mom gives me a stern look that amounts to a death threat.

  Two Old Broads is an eclectic little shop that sells wonky quilts in all its configurations. The store is as cozy as can be with its red painted doors that lead inside and its pastel walls and rustic wood floors. There’s a candle burning on the checkout counter and the entire place is permeated with the scent of lavender.

  Not only do they sell candles and knickknacks, and a few of Georgie’s art pieces, but by and large they sell quilts in every configuration. But as fate and the upper eighties temperatures outside would have it, there’s not a very big market for blankets this time of year. Last month, they filmed a show, put it out on the internet, and experienced a spike in sales, but that seems to have dropped off, too.

  “Mom”—I gently grip her by the shoulder—“what happened?” I don’t bother telling her that I’ve already texted Macy and Hux. I couldn’t help it. She called in hysterics telling me she was being robbed at gunpoint and that she needed both Jasper and me to get the culprit. Of course, my siblings are going to be concerned. “Just start from the beginning.”

  “Most of this is Camila Ryder’s fault.” Mom gives Clyde a rather furtive kiss on her furry little forehead.

  “What?” Jasper and I say in unison.

  “You heard me.” She looks at Jasper accusingly. “It was that ridiculous show of hers. She’s spotlighted Romero and me twice, calling us the next natural disaster to hit Cider Cove. She’s glommed on to that whole catfishing idea you and your siblings put in her mind.”

  My mouth falls open. “Mom, did Camila rob you at gunpoint? How does she factor into this?”

  “She might as well have.” She scoffs. “After she put out that information, some loon must have hacked into Romero’s computer and then I woke up this morning to this email.” She taps into her phone be
fore handing it my way.

  “Attention, Ms. Baker”—I read out loud for all to hear, and considering there are no customers in here at the moment, nobody is objecting—“I have obtained thirteen nude photos of you. I am sure you would not want these to fall into the wrong hands. That would be very embarrassing for your family and friends. If you were my mother, I would want you to buy them all back. These pictures are safeguarded with me right now. But if you don’t send twenty-five thousand dollars to the email address below, I’ll be forced to sell them to the highest bidder. Pictures of this quality can sell for quite a lot, and since I’ve recently lost my job, my hands are tied. I’ve added the pictures here as an attachment so you can see they are indeed of you. Once someone else purchases these photos, they will be the owner of the content and will be free to distribute them in a wide variety of ways such as postcards, mugs, T-shirts, and blankets. Trust me, you do not want that. Send the money today and put this entire nightmare behind you. Why risk humiliation and entrapment? You have twenty-four hours. Yours coolly, a friend.”

  Jasper groans. “All right.” He takes the phone from me. “We’ve got a cyber division down at the station that I work in conjunction with, but considering the nature of those photos, I think I’ll have to handle this one on my own.”

  Clyde mewls, I think Jasper likes the pictures.

  I shake my head over at the orange ball of fluff. “Believe me, Jasper won’t look at the pictures.”

  Jasper blows out a breath. “Unfortunately, I’m going to have to open them all up if I want to dig into the digital stamps embedded in them. They could point me in the right direction.”

  Now it’s Mom who’s groaning. “Great. Just what I wanted. My son-in-law seeing my good side.” And to think I shaved myself silly for this nonsense.

  Georgie and Juni chuckle up a storm.

  “Look at the bright side”—Georgie steps in close—“if you don’t pay up, and someone makes up some merch, we could buy up the inventory and sell it right here in the shop. Mugs, pillows, blankets. We could advertise at the biker bar out in Edison. I bet we’d sell out like sweet cheeks.” She winks. “Get it? Sweet cheeks?” She gives my mother a swat on her bottom.