“I get it.” Mom is quick to shove her off. “Jasper, you have to help me. I have twenty-four hours, you saw that yourself.”
“Can I use your computer?” He nods to the desk next to the register. “And I’ll need to get into those emails you were exchanging with Romero.” Lord knows which will be worse to look at, the nudes or the emails. He winces my way. Sorry, Bizzy.
I shrug up at him because he’s right.
A sickly moan comes from my mother. Good grief. How can I show anyone those steamy email exchanges, let alone my son-in-law?
Fish yowls as she heads my way and I scoop her up. This is going to be damaging, isn’t it?
Sherlock barks. Yup—to Jasper’s psyche.
“Okay, fine.” Mom tosses her hands in the air and nearly sends Clyde flying. “But you have to promise me not to read them.” She navigates us over to her laptop, and no sooner does she open it up than both Hux and Macy speed their way over.
“What the hell is going on?” Hux bellows as he and Macy appear next to me.
“The fun’s about to start,” Juni says as she elbows Georgie. “I’ll go get the folding chairs from the back.”
“Good thinking,” Georgie says. “And I’ve got a batch of those green cookies back there that I swiped from the café this morning. Bring those, too. We’ll need something to munch on.”
“Green cookies?” Mom balks. “I think I’m going to be green.” Hey? If I lose my lunch on the keyboard, maybe this laptop will blow up and so will the internet?
She opens her laptop and a picture flashes over the entirety of the screen with far too much flesh and far too many curves.
An entire chorus of screams goes off, and Clyde bolts from my mother’s arms, stepping on her keyboard and inadvertently launching an entire montage of horrifying pictures of my mother.
Tasteful, my foot—and how I wish it was only my mother’s foot we were seeing.
“All right,” Jasper shouts, holding up a hand in my brother’s direction. “You’re clearly too close to the situation for this. I’ll look at the pictures myself.”
“What?” Huxley thunders as he gives Jasper a firm shove.
Macy gasps as she scoops up Clyde. “They’re going to fight! No offense to Jasper, but my money’s on Hux. He might just kill somebody today.”
Fish mewls, Sorry, Bizzy, but I’m siding with Macy. It’s Huxley’s mother, after all.
True.
Georgie claps up a storm. “Isn’t this great, Preppy?” She’s quick to goad my mother. “You’ve finally got two men fighting over your naked body. It’s as if all of your fantasies are coming true today.”
Mom glowers over at her gray-haired business partner. “You know what else I fantasize about? Wrapping my hands around your neck.”
“All right,” I shout. “Nobody kills anyone.” I quickly fill Hux and Macy in on the threat my mother received.
“Knew it,” Hux growls as he rolls up his sleeves. “All right, Jasper. We’re going in and we’re going to nail that bastard to a wall. Romero or whatever his name is—he’s going to do some prison time over this.”
“What?” Mom squawks. “No, no, no! Romero is innocent in all this. I spoke with him this morning and he said his computer must have been hacked. He says it’s a common but unfortunate occurrence.”
“He’s not wrong.” Jasper gives her an affable yet short-lived smile, the same one he uses when he’s trying to defuse a situation. “All we need to do is speak to him ourselves. I have a few questions to ask him that might lead to the true perpetrator, and since time is of the essence, I suggest you give him a call right now.”
Mom’s mouth opens and closes. “I can’t just call him out of the blue.”
“You just said you spoke to him this morning,” Macy is quick to point out.
“I did, on the internet. We converse through emails and text messages. Besides, I don’t even have his phone number.”
Jasper fiddles with her phone. “And I’m calling him.” He holds up the phone and puts it on speaker.
“What?” Mom sounds terrified by the prospect. “But I don’t even have his number.”
“You’ve been texting him,” Jasper points out. “You may not have realized it, but you definitely have his number.”
Two solid rings drift by.
“Wait a minute.” Mom looks panicked as her fingers drum over her throat. “He’s in France. They’re six hours ahead of us.”
Hux nods. “And that means it’s eight at night. I highly doubt he’s in bed yet.”
It rings two more times and Mom gives an exasperated sigh.
“Of course, he’s not picking up,” she says. “He probably doesn’t recognize the number.”
But before we can offer a rebuttal, the phone stops ringing as someone picks up.
“Hello?” the curt voice of what sounds like an older woman answers.
“Yes.” Jasper pulls the phone close. “May I please speak to Romero?”
The line goes dead and nobody breathes.
“There you go.” Mom shoots Jasper a look as if it were all his fault. “You probably called the wrong number.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Macy says as both Jasper and Hux head back to the laptop. “But you’re being catfished. That woman? That was probably Romero. And I’m guessing she’s mighty miffed she’s not getting her twenty-five grand.”
“Oh, I’m paying,” Mom says it with such conviction it’s frightening. “There’s no way I want my face or any other part of me out there for the world to see. I’ll just chalk it up to an expensive life lesson. Those are my pictures, and I want the rights back.”
“You tell ’em, Toots,” Georgie shouts while noshing on one of Emmie’s pistachio pudding cookies. “Nobody puts your derrière on a T-shirt but me. Don’t you worry, sister. I’ll make sure our line of your nudie pics is nothing but top quality. And we’ll charge a premium for them, too. People appreciate art more when there’s a hefty price tag attached.”
Sherlock barks my way. You should do it, too, Bizzy.
“No way,” I say to both the pooch and Georgie.
You should, Clyde insists. Sherlock always has the best ideas, she mewls as she jumps down and begins rubbing her face against his leg. And maybe you could sell them in the gift shop at the inn?
Gift shop?
Fish mewls up at me, Oh, why didn’t we think of that, Bizzy?
“I’m not selling nude pictures of myself to boost sales at the inn,” I say a touch too loud and everyone in here looks my way.
Jasper sheds a devilish grin. If you change your mind, I’ll be happy to play the part of photographer.
Hux shakes his head at my mother. “Way to be an example for your daughters.”
Mom balks, “I never wanted them to see those naughty shots, let alone emulate them. Besides, I got the idea from Macy. There was no way I could think of this on my own.”
My sister tries to bury a giggle fit with her hand. “Mom walked into Lather and Light last month while I was having a rather lively exchange with one of those men you were investigating.” She gives me the side-eye. “Speaking of which, I’d better text James back.” She takes off toward the corner and starts tapping away into her phone.
Hux and Jasper settle in behind my mother’s laptop, moaning and groaning as they pilfer through her emails and crass photos. Something tells me I’ll need to figure out a way to disinfect Jasper’s mind afterwards.
“All right, Biz.” Georgie slings her arm over my shoulders. “Where to? I can’t sit here all day looking at nudie pictures of your mother. I’ve already seen ’em all. She would have done better by adding a little banana pudding to the mix, if you ask me.”
I nod. “In the least used a few well-placed cookies.” I think about the case for a minute. “Devan and James are both prime suspects, but I’m not ruling Hadley out yet either,” I whisper so Jasper won’t hear.
“Don’t let her off the hook, Biz,” Georgie growls. “I read chapter fifte
en twice and that woman has a diabolical mind.”
I make a face. “I’m never finishing that book.” Okay, fine. I read a few more chapters since I’ve last closed it. She’s a good writer, but I can’t get over how many times Lady Haddie had to get down and dirty with my husband. “Hey, wait a minute. Devan mentioned something the other day about Liv being upset the night of the murder. And I distinctly remember her having a tense conversation with Patterson the night he died. I say we pay Liv a little visit.”
“I know just where she is.” Georgie gives a wink.
“I know where she is, too. She told me herself she works down at the library,” I say. “How do you know where she is?”
“I’ve had a few granny gigs at the library this week.” She makes a face. “If the demand keeps up, I’m going to have to triple my fees.”
“What are you charging?” I ask and Fish meows in my arms.
If I know Georgie, she’s asking for bacon.
Sherlock barks. I want to work with Georgie!
And I’m going wherever Sherlock goes. Clyde doesn’t waste any time glomming on to her favorite four-footed friend.
She shoots the three of them a look. “I charge in donuts. Don’t knock it, Biz. One day you’ll be old and broke and you’ll wonder where your next donut is coming from, too.”
“Lovely,” I say. “I guess we’re off to the library. And maybe we’ll get your cholesterol checked out on the way back.”
Sherlock barks once again. I’m going with you and we’re not coming back unless we’ve got donuts.
Georgie gives him a quick scratch. “We’re on the same wavelength, kiddo. And the best part? They sell donuts now with bacon.”
Georgie may not be able to read minds, but she always seems to be in tune with the animals.
Both Georgie and Sherlock howl in unison, and Clyde joins in on the fun.
Don’t worry, Bizzy. Fish looks my way. They can focus on stuffing their faces. We’ll focus on tracking down the killer. I have a feeling we’re getting close, Bizzy.
“I think so, too,” I whisper.
Whoever killed Patterson Higgins had better soak in the last moments of their freedom.
They won’t be free for long.
Chapter 12
The Cider Cove Public Library sits nestled between the distal edge of Main Street and where the first tract of homes begins.
This veritable warehouse filled with portals to another world is set in a widespread wooded area. The building is a knife-sharp rectangle with tall windows filled with artwork from the local elementary school. The entire library has a modern flair to it, but try as it might to give off a cold feel, it’s most certainly homey with the pine trees snuggled up against it and the cheery burnt orange hue of its walls both inside and out. The library is built against a steep slope, and the back has a porch that enables you to look down and see all of Cider Cove at a glance. It’s an expansive view that I always make a point to enjoy when I’m here. But by the looks of things, I don’t think I’ll be heading inside today.
An entire section of the parking lot has been marked off, and there’s a huge tent to the right laden with chairs and plenty of people filling them, and according to the banner strewn across the tent, we’re just in time for children’s—
“Story time!” Georgie shouts as she jumps around and ends up getting tangled up in Sherlock’s leash in the process.
Oh goodness, Clyde mewls as both she and Fish poke their heads out of the kitty carrier. True to Georgie’s word, she quickly had her quilting minions whip me up a wonky carrier in sweet floral prints of every pastel shade, and I couldn’t love it or its contents more if I tried. Should Sherlock be twisting his body that way?
Fish gurgles out what sounds like a laugh. Only if he knows what side his bacon bit donuts are buttered on.
“And if he doesn’t want Georgie’s footprints all over his back,” I add.
A warm breeze blows past us and I turn my face toward the library, only to see rows and rows of tables set out, laden down with boxes. People are swarming the area, and a piece of cardboard with the words used book sale lets me know exactly what they’re here for.
A woman with long silver hair catches my attention, and I quickly tap Georgie on the arm.
“There she is,” I say with a touch too much excitement. I can’t help it, I’m secretly hoping Liv will be the key that unlocks the door to the killer. “Come on, let’s go.”
Georgie gasps as she looks that way. “It’s the day I wait for every month!”
Clyde spikes up so far and fast she practically leaps out of my pouch. Free bacon day?
“Dirt cheap books, sister.” Georgie cinches her tote bag over her shoulder. “And don’t worry your furry little heads. I’m getting one for each of you today, too. A book on mice for Fish, a book on salted meat for Sherlock Bones, and a book on how to land a handsome hairy dog and get him to do your bidding for you, little girl.” She traipses over and scoops Clyde out of my wonky pack. “Come on, kid, you’re coming with me.” She takes off with Sherlock wagging his tail alongside her.
Don’t worry, Bizzy, Fish mewls. We don’t need them. Let’s go straight for the attack before the perp spots us and decides to run. Just let me know if you need me to claw at her while you call for backup. We’re a team, you know.
A tiny laugh bubbles in my chest. “A rather violent one it sounds like.”
I snake my way through the sea of tables, and on the way I can’t help but get distracted by all of the yummy, delicious, ultra-cheap books. And have I mentioned they cost next to nothing?
“Oh, Fish, look,” I say, pulling a tattered paperback out of a box. “The Secret of the Old Clock! I just love Nancy Drew. I must have read all of her books one summer. They’re what got me hooked on mysteries. And would you look at the price? That can’t be right. They only want a quarter for it.”
A quarter? Maybe it’s missing a digit in the front.
“One would think. Why would the library give these away for free? And, oh my word—” I stop short as I scoop up a handful of pastel covered books. “Why, they’ve practically got the entire Sweet Valley High collection! You probably won’t believe this, but I spent every Friday night and all weekend reading these books growing up. Emmie, Mackenzie, and I used to pass them around like literary candy—they were just that good. Scoot over, would you? Make some room in there,” I say, stuffing as many gently, and some not so gently, used paperbacks into the carrier with her just as a box to my right filled with hardbacks catches my eye. “A dollar?” I muse at the price boldly written on the side.
Back away, Bizzy, Fish scolds. I know that look in your eye, and you’re hungry enough to scoop up every last one of these books. Think of the cottage. There’s hardly any room now that Jasper and his beast have taken up residence. You really should think about becoming a two resident home. And before you frown at me, it was Macy who suggested it the last time she visited. She was just being practical. And oh—she moans as I stuff a smaller Christmas themed hardback next to her—Bizzy. Now stop that. You know that there’s no place to put these.
“I’ll always find a place for books.”
I know you will. I’ve seen them eating up the shelves in that speck of a closet of yours.
“And don’t forget in those upper cabinets in the kitchen. I can hide anything up there and Jasper will be none the wiser.”
That’s because all he does in the kitchen is wait for you to make him a sandwich.
“Fish.” I laugh. “You’re awful. I love to make Jasper sandwiches. It’s our thing.”
Really? And how about washing his dishes? And his clothes? Are those your thing, too? Because you’ve doubled your chores since they’ve moved in, and you can’t argue with me on that because I’ve seen it.
“True. But Jasper leaves early for work and comes home late. And he’s got a commute going both ways. But don’t you worry. He’s grateful.” And he loves to show me just about every night how grateful h
e is.
Well, I do know he cares for you deeply. I’m glad about that. And I know Sherlock cares for you deeply. And well, he doesn’t even seem to notice me these days. It’s Clyde this, Clyde that.
“Fish Baker Wilder.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “You are so adorably jealous. Don’t you worry. No one can ever take your place in Sherlock’s heart. And Clyde, well, she’s completely gaga in love with the big lug, but could you blame her? Jasper is right. He’s sort of a chick magnet.” A book with a cover of a mouse on it catches my eye. “Look at this”—I’m quick to show Fish—“Of Mice and Misfortune,” I read. “A cozy mystery caper. I’ll get it for us to read by the fire.” I squeeze the book into the wonky quilt carrier and it nearly ejects Fish by proxy.
A couple of regency romances catch my eye and I pick one up. The redhead beauty on the cover suddenly looks as if she’s morphing into Hadley, and that dark-haired Lord looks an awful lot like Jasper from the back.
I can’t help but make a face at the cover.
“Not your cup of tea, I take it?” a friendly voice chirps and I turn to see Liv Womack grinning at me while holding out a plastic tote bag my way. “And your books are about to knock your cat right out of that backpack. You might want to use this instead.”
I laugh as I take the bag from her. “Thank you,” I say, quickly taking the books out of my carrier, much to Fish’s relief.
Leave the one with the mouse in here for me, Fish mewls. I rather like the company.
I do as I’m told and quickly smile back at the woman before me.
Liv’s wild gray hair looks like strands made from the finest silver as it shines in the sun, and her skin looks bronzed, leaving her teeth glowing back at me.
“No to the regency books?” she muses.
“I’m just starting out in the genre,” I tell her. “Actually, someone I know wrote a regency romance and used my husband as her muse.”
“Ah.” She tips her head back. “Hadley. So you went to the Writing Wenches meet-up? Hadley’s been penning that book for a while now. She talks about it now and again—she told the group the male lead was inspired by one of her exes.” She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. “She’s sort of the honorary nutjob of the group. Sorry if she’s your friend. I don’t mean to insult her.”
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