Lock, Stock, and Feral

by Addison Moore

  “Chanterelles are highly coveted by chefs. They have an airy, fruity flavor, and once you have them, you’ll never want to go back. I take a little home with me just about every night. Now, if you did come upon this in the wild, I wouldn’t pick it. The chanterelles have a twin called the jack-o’-lantern mushroom and he’s poisonous. Not the same mushroom that killed Patterson, but it could do the job. In fact, the rule of thumb is, if you didn’t buy it from a farmer or the grocery store, don’t eat it.”

  “Thanks for letting me know.” I take a moment to examine her, and she looks so open and honest. She doesn’t have a single nerve twitching, despite the fact she’s having her business presently searched by the authorities.

  Jasper ducks to look into one of the racks where the pods are sitting. “So if someone were to grow poisonous mushrooms at home, how easy would that be?”

  “Are you kidding? If you have a front lawn, you already know the answer. It doesn’t take much. No one loves a lawn full of mushrooms, but everyone loves it here. A few months back, we had the Grim Readers here on a day trip, and afterwards I served everyone a big lunch—lots of homegrown veggies and mushrooms—and then we had our club meeting.”

  Jasper and I exchange a glance.

  That could have been the birth of an idea, he says, and I nod his way because I completely agree.

  “Devan”—I lean in—“where would someone get their hands on a death cap?”

  She pulls her cheek to the side as she considers this. “Whoever did this must have done at least your rudimentary Google search. They’re prevalent across Europe and we have some in North America as well. They’re all over California, and here in Maine you can find them attached to pine trees, but our weather is so harsh in the winter it’s hard for them to thrive. Now, there are people who sell stuff like this. So if someone is determined, they could have purchased them.”

  I sigh at the thought. “I guess the world is your oyster if you’re set to commit something nefarious.”

  She nods as she looks to Jasper. “Did you talk to James Foreman?”

  “Yes”—Jasper winces—“but I can’t give any information on how that went.”

  “You don’t have to.” A laugh rises in her throat. “I know exactly what he’s up to. I heard he’s making a bid for Higgins House. And I just can’t see that happening. And it won’t. Besides, his heart’s not in it. Before Patterson passed away, I spoke to James and he said he was thinking of moving to New York and getting into finance with his brother. He said he couldn’t live off of what he was making and something needed to change. I guess things didn’t work out with the brother.” Her phone chirps and she glances at it. “I’m needed in the next building over. Please feel free to poke around here.” She pulls a bag off the counter and a knife. “Go ahead and fill it to the brim. It’s on me. And don’t forget, next book club this Friday night at the library—seven-thirty. Come for the coffee if nothing else.” She takes off with a wave and the door closes quietly behind her.

  “What do you think?” Jasper asks, waving the knife in his hand her way. “Or more to the point—what did she think?”

  I shake my head. “She didn’t have a single errant thought. And she’s sticking to her guns. She thinks James did this. And he did have wine in his hand that night—wine he says he didn’t imbibe.”

  “Okay, we’ll keep trucking. In the meantime, let’s fill up this bag and check the rest of the place out. I believe we have a bakery to get to.”

  We do just that. We fill that bag until it’s brimming and walk around the different buildings on the grounds. Jasper and I wouldn’t know a death cap if we were holding it in a bag, so we take off, pick up a cake before we hit the cottage, and have a party for two.

  Jasper lets me know I’m the only woman he has eyes for, one kiss at a time.

  And a delicious time is had by all.

  Chapter 14

  The next afternoon there’s enough sunshine to power a nuclear reactor, and I’m not complaining. I’ve always felt as if I come alive under the warmth of its healing rays, and trust me when I say, there is nothing better than being out on the cove under an umbrella while reading a good book—or even a really, really bad one.

  “Ugh.” I groan as I slap closed the cover of The Duke and the Lady. “The woman is relentless,” I tell Emmie who’s sunbathing on the next lounger over. We’ve both donned our teeniest bikinis and we’re relaxing just a few feet from shore under the girth of a thatched umbrella, each with a cold, fruity drink by our side. “Not a scene goes by without her getting down to business with my husband.”

  “Why are you doing this to yourself?” she asks without so much as taking her eyes off her copy—which was technically Georgie’s copy, but once Georgie finished it, she lent it to Macy, who lent it to Mackenzie, before it finally made its way to my bestie.

  “I don’t know,” I growl as I watch the waves lap the shore.

  The cove is filled with tourists today, and there are colorful umbrellas staked as far as the eye can see up and down the sand. The scent of burgers and hot dogs on the grill mingles with the salty brine, and summer is well on its way. Kids are chasing one another, mothers are chasing after their kids with suntan lotion in their hands, boogie boards abound in the water, and there is an entire army of people lying on beach towels—and wonky beach quilts as we soak in the first yummy rays of the season. Yes, Mom and Georgie’s quilting endeavor has taken the cove by storm today, and I’m glad about it, too. Not only are their wonky quilts adding a cozy touch to the beach, but it makes me happy to see their business thriving.

  Fish, Clyde, Sherlock, and Emmie’s labradoodle Cinnamon are lounging under the umbrella along with us, playing with the toys Emmie and I brought for them. Well, Fish, Sherlock, and Cinnamon are playing with the toys. Clyde is sprawled out over Sherlock’s back once again. It seems to be her favorite place to take a nap, and don’t think for a minute Fish hasn’t been irritated to no end about it. I’ve never seen her so worked up. She can’t think Clyde is going to swoop in and steal Sherlock’s affection for her. She’s just being irrational.

  “What do you think of the book?” I can’t help but ask Emmie as she continues to bury her nose in it. “I mean, you must like it. You’re turning the pages so fast, you’re creating a breeze.”

  “Bizzy.” A laugh bellows from her, and I won’t lie, I find her joy just a tad bit annoying. “I’m loving it. But only because I’m picturing Leo and me as the main characters. If I think of Hadley and Jasper in those roles, I’d want to vomit. And judging by that expression on your face, that’s exactly what you want to do right now. Do yourself a favor, and don’t read the book.”

  “Ha,” I grumble. “And not find out what happens after that cliffhanger on page fifty-two?”

  “You’re only on page fifty-two? Bizzy, you might want to put that book down. The heat level only goes up from there. Let’s just say, I’m taking mental notes for my wedding night. I might really wow Leo with some of these moves.”

  I openly growl right at her. “Okay, fine. I’ll stop reading. What’s happening with your wedding? The ceremony is all set to take place right here at the gazebo, and then the reception on the beach right after. What about your dress? What about my dress? Let’s talk food.”

  She bubbles with a laugh. “Don’t worry about the menu, and the cake—I’m taking care of all of it. The kitchen is handling it. And yes, Leo and I insist on paying for the food. You’re already sacrificing by not charging for the use of the gazebo and the reception venue. I know for a fact you lost out on paying bookings because of me. As for my dress, I’m thinking about wearing my mother’s dress, or just pulling something out of my closet.”

  I gasp without meaning to. “Oh, Emmie.”

  “No, it’s okay. My mother’s dress is an eighties monstrosity. I gasp when I see it in person each time myself. But I’m in talks with a seamstress who thinks she can get it close to my dream dress.”

  “Aw! The sweetheart neckl
ine with full lace sleeves and bodice?”

  “That’s the one. I feel like we’ve sketched it out on paper so many times, I’m surprised we haven’t conjured it by now.”

  We share a warm laugh.

  “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “You’re going to get your dream dress. And your dream wedding, too. I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure that happens. Just like I’m going to make sure Hadley doesn’t get her dream wedding to my husband.”

  Emmie laughs alone this time. “Your paranoia is amusing. But I can assure you, my wedding will be the only one Jasper will be taking part in this summer.”

  It’s true. Jasper is the best man and I’m the maid of honor.

  Bizzy? Clyde whips her furry little orange tail over Sherlock’s back. What’s a wedding? Do cats get one, too?

  Cinnamon barks. Of course, cat, dogs, and any animal can have one. It’s when two creatures fall in love and want to tell everyone around that there’s no one else for them. What’s his is hers, and what’s hers is his. I’m married to Gatsby. He hates the sand in his fur or he’d be here right now.

  Gatsby is Leo’s golden retriever, and Cinnamon is right. He’s not a fan of the hot sand, or the hot sun. He likes to come out in the evenings and run through the shoreline during the cool of the day.

  Clyde mewls my way, I want a wedding, too, Bizzy! I want to marry Sherlock Bones, and that way no other creature could have him.

  Sherlock barks. That’s a great idea. That way you could give me backrubs all the time and we don’t have to worry about angry poodles trying to chase you away.

  What? Fish screeches. And what about me? What about all the backrubs I’ve given you these past few years? What about curling up at night with me? Why am I suddenly feeling like yesterday’s chew toy?

  An odd vocalizing sound comes from Sherlock. Don’t worry, Fish. You’re still my girl. In fact, I’ll have two wives. What do you think of that, Bizzy?

  “Exactly what I’m afraid Jasper will say to me next.” I quickly relay the conversation to Emmie and she belts out a hearty laugh.

  “It’s funny to you,” I sniff. “Back to your wedding. You’re getting married in June. That’s just two months away.” I suck in a quick breath. “That means next month I have to host a shower.”

  “You don’t have to host anything. Actually, I prefer if you didn’t. My mother has been threatening, too, and I’ve already shut her down over it.”

  “I’m calling your mother, and we’re having it here at the inn. We’ll do high tea with little petit fours, macarons for dessert, and a lush cake, of course, along with lots of pastel balloons. You’d better get online and start creating an inventory so we can navigate the guests in the right direction. I’ll have to send the invites out in a week if I want to pull this off.”

  “Bizzy, don’t you dare. What am I going to do with a service for twelve fine china?”

  “You’re right. We’ll ask for twenty-four. That way if you have an extra guest or break a few you’re covered.”

  She bubbles with a laugh “No, thank you. Have you met me? I’m more of a bring-your-own-food-and-meet-me-at-the-grill kind of a girl. Besides, both Leo and I are already having a hard time consolidating so we can fit into my cottage.”

  “Aw! I’m so glad you’re staying on the grounds. We’re going to do couple things all the time. We should plan a vacation together.”

  “You won’t have to,” a familiar voice says from behind. “You live at a resort.”

  I turn around to see my mother holding a folding chair while wearing a see-through cover-up over her skirted one-piece bathing suit. My mother has always been modest at the beach for as far back as I can remember. Macy used to tease our mother about her mid-thigh-length swim dresses by calling them our mother’s beach formals.

  Georgie is right there with her with a folding chair of her own, but she’s chosen to remain sheathed in one of her famed kaftans, a light blue number today.

  We exchange polite greetings as my mother and Georgie get settled next to us. And no sooner do they sit down than Jordy stakes another umbrella in the sand for them.

  “Hey, Bizzy.” Jordy’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t flash one of his signature smiles my way. He’s got sunglasses on, but I don’t need to see his eyes to know he’s still pretty down about being a suspect in Patterson Higgins’ murder investigation. “Any break in the case?”

  “Not really. But I wouldn’t worry. You’re so far down the suspect list, the only thing killer about you is your looks.”

  “Funny.” He attempts a smile, but it never initiates. “I just can’t wait to have this behind me. And I can’t wait to see who the real killer is. I’m emotionally invested in getting them behind bars. I feel as if they targeted me that night to take the blame. I bet they’d love for me to serve their time, too.”

  Emmy laughs at her brother. “Don’t worry, Jordy. You won’t have a single excuse to miss my wedding.”

  “I’m not missing that bachelor party either.” He mock shoots her before taking off back toward the inn.

  “Speaking of painting the town with banana hammocks”—Georgie starts and Emmie is already groaning—“don’t think we’re going to miss out on throwing you the wildest Irish wake you’ve ever seen.”

  “Irish wake?” Mom balks. “Georgie, that’s akin to a funeral. I’d ease up on those magical brownies you’re eating. You mean bachelorette party.”

  “I’ve been married, Preppy, and so have you,” Georgie says. “I mean wake. But don’t worry, Emmie. The first two or three years aren’t that bad. It’s when he finds a young twenty-something named Tina that it really starts to stink.”

  “Sometimes her name is Juni,” Mom muses while slathering herself with coconut-scented suntan lotion.

  It’s true. Juni replaced my mother as my father’s new bride at some point, but I think she was farther down the matrimonial line.

  “And life gets expensive once you get married, too.” Georgie lifts a brow toward my mother. “And apparently, being single costs a fat roll of nickels, too. Tell ’em what you did, Prep.”

  “Georgie,” Mom hisses while swatting her over her armrest with the book in her hand—a copy of The Duke and the Lady. “You promised you wouldn’t say anything.”

  “I’m not saying anything.” Georgie swats back before scooping up Fish. “I’m letting you do the honors.”

  All four pets are suddenly rapt at attention for whatever is about to transpire.

  “Okay, fine.” Mom tosses her hands in the air and Fish bounces in her lap. “I negotiated with the person who was threatening me, and I got them down to a decent price.”

  “You got them down to a decent what?” I shout so loud half the cove looks this way momentarily.

  “You know they wanted twenty-five grand,” she continues. “And I got all the pictures back for a cool two thousand. That’s a twenty-three thousand dollar negotiation.”

  “You negotiated with terrorists?” I balk. “What does Huxley have to say about this?”

  I won’t even ask about Macy. For all I know it was her idea.

  “Hux doesn’t know, and he’s not going to know. Bizzy, those pictures were humiliating. All that Hux and Jasper were able to do was try to track the pictures and the emails electronically. They admitted it could take weeks if they discover anything at all.”

  “Mom.” I close my eyes an inordinate amount of time. “Please promise me you will never do that again. And while you’re at it, please don’t engage in any more text messages with that Romero person—who as evidenced by yesterday’s phone call is a woman.”

  “Oh, he is not a woman. It was all a mix-up. His aunt picked up the phone while he was in the shower and she doesn’t speak good English. Besides, I won’t have to text him for too much longer. He’s coming here to Maine.”

  Emmie and I exchange a look.

  “Go on.” Georgie motions for her to continue. “Get to the good part, Preppy. The part where you had to sen
d him a couple grand as well.”

  I inhale so sharply I’m positive my lungs are full of sand.

  “Do not tell me that,” I grit the words through my teeth.

  “Fine.” Mom relaxes back in her seat while giving Fish a hearty massage. “I won’t tell you that. He needed a few dollars to make the trip back to the States. Not that it’s anybody’s business what I do with my hard-earned money.”

  “It’ll be my business once you’re bankrupt and living with me,” I grouse.

  “Don’t you put that curse on me,” Mom teases.

  “I won’t have to. That invisible man you’re dating will do it for me,” I say. “When is he supposed to touch down on U.S. soil? I for one cannot wait to meet him.”

  “Saturday.”

  Emmie and I exchange another far more alarmed glance.

  She shrugs my way. “I guess this is really happening.”

  “Maybe,” I say, but I’m not all that convinced. “But first we need to get through one more book club meeting with the Grim Readers.” Tomorrow night.

  And hopefully we’ll all have a killer good time—with the killer I’m about to apprehend, of course.

  Chapter 15

  Evening came, Jasper brought home a pizza for us—he said we couldn’t let Hadley ruin one of our favorite meals, and I agreed so much that there’s none left for a midnight snack. Evidently, I was out to prove a point.

  The sea breeze came in cooler than expected so we built a fire. Sherlock is sitting in front of it watching as Fish teaches Clyde all about the ways of the world—starting with a little thing called monogamy. Too bad Lady Haddie couldn’t be here for the lesson herself.

  Jasper comes back from the kitchen and lands next to me on the sofa with a plate full of the pistachio pudding cookies I brought home from the café.

  “How’s it going?” He nods to my phone.

  I’ve spent the last ten minutes in a group text with Hux and Macy telling them all about our mother’s latest not-greatest misadventures with love and money.