Country Cottage Mysteries Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

  “I’m Ginger King.” It comes out curt and a touch snooty as if her name should say it all—and oddly enough, tonight, it does just that. Her lips pull into a tight line as she examines me. Good thing I’m here. A mousy girl like this needs all the help she can get in the male department.

  A breath hitches in my throat as I try not to audibly gasp.

  That’s the thing about reading minds. You never really want the general public to know what you’re capable of.

  I can’t help but take umbrage at the thought. I certainly don’t need help in the male department as she called it. I just so happen to be dating a brilliant homicide detective—and Jasper Wilder is a gorgeous one at that. In fact, he’s right upstairs helping his mother get settled in. Her townhouse suffered an unfortunate plumbing issue and she’ll be staying at the inn for some time. I’ve yet to meet her, but I just know it will be the highlight of my night.

  An instant frown takes over my features as I study the beautiful, yet demeaning redhead before me. That adorable puppy tucked in her arms shivers and whimpers, and I can’t help but feel sorry for the poor creature, considering who’s holding him.

  I try to pry into the poor pooch’s mind, but there’s nothing but static going on in there. Most likely a sign of fear.

  Knew it. Ginger here is nothing but a detriment to the poor thing.

  My head tips up a notch because I have a feeling I’m about to take it on the chin.

  “How can I help you, Ms. King? I’m Elizabeth Baker. Please feel free to call me Bizzy.” I force a smile.

  Ginger King, self-help guru, blogger, and influencer extraordinaire, happens to be the grand dame of tonight’s flirtatious festivities. And seeing that I’m the manager of the Country Cottage Inn, it’s my job to ensure all of her deepest, darkest, perhaps even shallowest desires are met. I have a feeling her desires are far more familiar with that last category the most.

  “Help me?” She blinks back with a laugh caught in her throat. Please. As if I would take a word of advice this frazzled thing could offer. “Why, I’m here to help you—help you both.” She chortles away as she looks from me to my co-worker, Nessa Crosby, as we stand at the reception counter.

  Ginger flashes her jewel-tone emerald eyes at Nessa and me. “I’m here to ensure you that every staff member interested in joining my seminar tonight will have free all-access entry. I’ll make sure to let the girls working the registration tables know.”

  Fish jumps onto the marble counter, traverses a few tiny pumpkins we have on display as an homage to fall, and ambles up next to me. I’d steer clear if I were you, Bizzy.

  I give a tiny nod to the cute little cat. Fish is my sweet black and white long-haired tabby that I found a few months back near my sister Macy’s soap and candle shop, Lather and Light. Of course, I can read the minds of animals, too, almost always better than I can with people. They always have fascinating things to say. And I have a feeling Fish is right. I should definitely stay away from anything Ginger has to offer. Have I mentioned Fish is full of sage advice?

  “Free all-access pass?” I’m almost amused. “Wow, that’s wonderful, Ginger.” I shrug. “I appreciate all you’ve done for the inn already.” It comes out lackluster, but I couldn’t help it. All she’s done is cause outright chaos, but I subscribe to the golden rule in business. The customer is always right. “Would you like me to watch your dog while you give the presentation? We have a wonderful pet care facility, right here on the premises.”

  She jerks the puppy away as if I were ready to snatch it. “Heavens no. Peanut never leaves my side. He’s my baby, if you know what I mean.” She makes a face at the pudgy little angel. This bag of fleas isn’t my anything. He’s Shelby’s problem. I’m just thankful all I need to do is hold the mutt for an hour. Shel was right. Having a creature glued to my side makes the masses gravitate to me all the more. She rolls her eyes at the thought, and my mouth rounds out in horror.

  I clear my throat. “Well, my kitten is my baby as well, so I know what you mean.” That is, if you meant what you said. “What kind of a dog is he?” Whoever this Shelby person is, she’s insane for giving custody of her tiny treasure to this monster for five minutes, let alone an hour.

  She glances to the ceiling. What did Shel say again? She snaps her fingers my way as if her scripted answer was coming back to her.

  “French Bulldog mixed with terrier,” she’s quick to blurt it out. “I don’t do breeders. I get all of my dogs from the pound.” It comes out wooden like a bad actress reciting her lines. “I’m a rescuer at heart.” As if. “Which brings me to my next point. I’d like to rescue every last female employee of this dreary inn”—a maniacal grin threatens to break out over her face—“from their equally dreary love lives.” And that is indeed the truth.

  A jumble of words catches in my throat.

  First off, the inn is far from dreary—with the exception of the coastal fog, which most people, including myself, find just delightful.

  The Country Cottage Inn just so happens to be set on beachfront property in cozy Cider Cove, Maine. The inn has been one of the state’s official premier destinations for fun and relaxation going on four years now—the exact amount of time that I’ve been running the place. Coincidence? I think not.

  Second of all—what makes her think our love lives are so dreary? I don’t see a hot detective attached to her side. I’m getting the feeling Ginger here is a know-it-all. And if she really knew it all, I think she’d see there’s more to the world than meets her beady little, narrow-minded, far too judgmental eyes.

  And there’s definitely more to that sweet little peanut in her arms than meets the eye. I think the dog’s owner was afraid to tell her the tiny pooch might be a Pit Bull mix. I have a feeling Ginger would drop him like a hot pooch-tato if she knew. What most people don’t realize is that Pitties make excellent pets.

  “Rescue me!” Nessa gives an animated squeal, and I can’t help but frown over at her. “I just can’t believe the Ginger King is here!” she riots it out as if the words were begging to burst from her all along. “You’re really here! Standing here at the reception desk of my dreary little inn. And you’re so right about the dreary thing. We hardly ever see the sun in this part of Maine. And I just know you’ll be right about everything you’re about to say tonight, too. I wouldn’t miss it. In fact, I’ll be taking copious notes. Oh, who am I kidding? I’m so in love with your little Peanut. I doubt I’ll take my eyes off him.” Nessa does an odd little hop. “I can’t believe you’re letting us in for free.” She grabs ahold of my hand and gives it a death squeeze. “Can you believe it, Bizzy? It’s our lucky night!” She sucks in a quick breath as she reverts her attention to the charlatan at hand. “Can I get you to sign a copy of your book for me? I loved every page of How to Snag a Man as Fast as You Can. And I love the tagline, too—Face it, honey, you’re not getting any younger. I brought my copy with me tonight, and I’ve read it cover to cover twice now.” She winces. “Okay, so I might have read it more like twelve times, but I’m determined to follow all of your principles and land the very best man that I can. I’m especially interested in those that fall under the category of men of a certain caliber.”

  Ginger smirks over at poor Nessa who seems to have unraveled at the seams in a fit of unwarranted adulation.

  She shakes her head. Oh, sweetie, I have a feeling you’ll have to read it fifty times, if not one hundred, to even hope to stand a chance with a man of a certain caliber.

  My mouth falls open at her brazen—albeit private—insult.

  Ginger twists her crimson-stained lips. “It will be my pleasure to sign the book for you, Nessa.” She turns my way. “Of course, I’ll gift you a signed copy as well.” And I have a feeling if Bizzy here put the whole book into a blender and drank it, there would still be far too much work to do. God knows I don’t specialize in miracles.

  A choking sound emits from my throat. “That’s very kind of you to offer,” I say. “But I already h
ave a man of a certain caliber.”

  Fish nods as if agreeing. You tell her, Bizzy. And tell her I’ve got a dog of a certain caliber, too! We don’t need her or her silly book to rule our lives.

  And that dog that Fish is so quick to claim is Jasper’s pooch, a sweet mixed breed named Sherlock Bones. Fish and Sherlock didn’t always see eye to eye, but they’re definitely coming around.

  Nessa shakes her head my way. “No, I don’t think you do, Bizzy. Jasper is just a detective. I’m pretty sure detectives don’t earn a seven-figure income. Face it, he’s not a man of a certain caliber.”

  Oh—that caliber. I get it.

  I openly make a face at Ginger. A man of a certain caliber is code for a man of a certain financial standing.

  Ginger laughs as if it were the funniest thing in the world, and her green dress sparkles in the light. Obviously, the color represents greed.

  I cast a quick glance at the throngs of beautiful young women streaming in at an unimaginable pace. My God, they’re both man and money-hungry. And ironically, they’re about to be swindled out of a hundred and twenty dollars a pop.

  Honestly, when I heard Ginger King wanted that much money for a person to sit and listen to her man-trapping tips, I thought she might garner an audience of twenty if she was lucky. I’d better call the café in the back and let them know to amp up production for the refreshment table. After Ginger attempts to hypnotize the masses, there will be a reception to follow.

  Ginger leans in toward Nessa. “Not to worry. Income was simply a footnote as far as any of the categories went.” Heaven help her if she believes that. If I had my way, any tips about income should have been highlighted and printed in bold.

  I crimp my lips at her for the thought. I figured as much. Ginger is nothing but a gold digger, and she’s happily selling picks and shovels to help others follow along in her gold-digging ways.

  “A footnote?” Nessa looks crestfallen at the thought. “Oh well, I’m still shooting for the green gold.” She gives Ginger a cheeky wink. “Don’t tell anyone, but I highlighted those passages and they’re some of my favorite lines from your book.”

  Ginger laughs once again—just the way she’s laughing all the way to the bank.

  “Don’t you tell anyone”—she leans in and whispers—“those are my favorite lines, too. Don’t be late to the seminar. Afterwards, there will be drinks with Carter O’Riley and men from the O’Riley Organization. What’s better than a handful of strappy, beefy singles ready to mix and mingle?” She pauses to look my way. “I can’t teach these ladies to fish and not offer a few sexy men in a barrel.” She cackles once again. “Remember”—she points a blood red fingernail at Nessa—“a man isn’t off the market until he’s got a ring on both your finger and his. If you find a piece of prime meat you want to sink your fangs into and he has a loose attachment, you keep right on biting in his direction. That’s still fertile ground, I tell you.”

  “A loose attachment?” I shake my head at all the loveless lingo. “Like a tool belt?”

  Both Ginger and Nessa share a laugh at my expense.

  Nessa doesn’t waste a second before shoving her elbow into my rib. “A loose attachment is a girlfriend, Bizzy. Get with it.”

  “A girlfriend?” I gasp at the thought. This shyster is teaching women to steal other women’s men! That is so not okay.

  Dear God. Is it too late to give Ginger Gold Digger King and all her money-grabbing minions the boot?

  I glance to the stairwell and can’t help but feel as if Jasper is in more danger than I thought. Something tells me a drop-dead gorgeous homicide detective could be a rather hot commodity in a room full of wedding-hungry women—seven-figure income or not. And apparently, girlfriend or not, too.

  Hey? Maybe I can convince him to stay in his mother’s room for the night.

  “I’ll see you ladies inside.” Ginger gives us a three-fingered wave as she takes off in the direction of the ballroom.

  “Wait!” Nessa sags with defeat as Ginger is quickly mobbed by the crowd. “I didn’t even get to tell her I went to college with her friends.” She tosses a hand in the air. “Kevin Bacon was right when he said there was less than six degrees of separation between us all.”

  “I don’t think Kevin Bacon actually said that.” I crane my neck in an effort to get a better look at the stairwell once again.

  Jasper’s probably about done with helping his mother settle in. I’ll admit, I’m not too thrilled with the idea of my drop-dead gorgeous quasi-boyfriend roaming the ground while this place is crawling with desperate women—who, by the way, are encouraged to sink their fangs into any man without a ring.

  The nerve.

  If I had known about these less than savory dating shenanigans Ginger is pushing, I wouldn’t have agreed to book the seminar in the first place.

  “Bizzy!” My best friend, Emmie, trots this way, dressed a little fancier than usual for her job as the manager of the Country Cottage Café. It’s a large restaurant in the back of the inn, attached with a sunroom that looks right over at the Atlantic.

  Emmie leans in with her wavy shoulder-length dark hair and her frosty blue eyes shining like beacons. Emmie—short for Elizabeth—Crosby and I have been friends as far back as I can remember. Seeing that we had the same first name, we decided to stick with our nicknames, and that’s all we’ve ever been known as ever since. Emmie and I share the same dark hair and pale blue eyes, which often prompted people to believe we were sisters. We are sisters—just not blood-related.

  “Bizzy, I left the kitchen going with a skeleton crew. One of Ginger’s assistants just came back and let us all know we were welcome to sit in on the seminar.” She sings that last part. Emmie is prone to sing when she gets a little too excited. “I hope I can get a refund on that ticket I bought.”

  “You bought a ticket?” I squawk. “Emmie, this woman is a scammer. You wouldn’t believe the terrible things I just heard her say. I’ll make sure you get your money back.”

  Nessa all but muzzles me with a hiss, and Fish hisses right back at her as if coming to my defense.

  “Oh, stop.” Emmie wrinkles her nose. “I need a man, Bizzy. And believe me, I’m doing all the research I need in order to get one.” She flattens her hands over her little black dress. “Word on the street is, she’s supplying a buffet of fresh meat after the event. I gotta run.” She backtracks a moment. “Oh, and Fish?” She gives my little kitten a sly wink. “The chef may have spilled a bag full of trash behind the building. Cod was on the lunch menu,” she trills as she takes off. Even though Emmie has no idea I can read minds, nor that I can communicate with my sweet cat, it hasn’t stopped her from talking to Fish herself.

  Fish hops off the counter and makes a mad dash for the exit.

  “Fish!” I call out. “You don’t eat trash!”

  I do when there’s cod involved.

  And just like that, she’s gone.

  Fish has a brass nametag around her neck, yes, in the shape of her playful moniker, and she’s well-known as the inn’s pet mascot. I’m proud to say that the Country Cottage Inn is a pet friendly establishment, and we even have a fully functional pet sitting facility out back known as Critter Corner.

  An older woman with long gray hair and a flowing purple kaftan runs up looking every bit frazzled, and yet adorably so. The woman in question just so happens to be Georgie Conner, a familial castoff from one of my father’s many divorces.

  Nathan Baker’s vast collection of wives has come and gone, but for some reason, this once upon a mother-in-law has stuck around in our lives, and I couldn’t be happier about it. In fact, I let her stay in one of the over three dozen cottages that belong to the inn.

  Georgie Conner is the only living being I’ve told about my ability to pry into other people’s thoughts.

  “Bizzy Baker.” Her steely blue eyes narrow to slits. “How dare you not tell me there was a portal into the male mind afoot this evening.” She shakes a crumpled flyer for the ev
ent my way. “I happened to find this on my doorstep on my way to break a bag full of bottles.” Georgie is an artist who specializes in glass mosaics. In fact, the Cider Cove City Council has hired her to do a giant mural along the north side of Main Street, and she’s been happily smashing glass ever since.

  I can’t help but make a face. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think you’d be interested.”

  “Oh, I’m interested.” She pulls out a tube of lipstick from her purse and gives her mouth a quick swath of purple. “At my age, you need all the help you can get.” She dashes off before I can remind her she looks great for her age, despite her insistence to reek of questionable patchouli products procured from my sister’s shop.

  Speaking of my sister, both she and my mother stride my way looking as if they were about to paint the town red with regret. Macy has dyed her dark locks blonde and wears it in a bob that just dusts her neck. Macy is older than me by a year and has always been far more cunning and quick to employ her sarcastic superpowers on whomever she chooses.

  A small rush of patrons head this way simultaneously and Nessa begins processing them in haste. I’m guessing her need for speed has everything to do with the fact doors for the seminar will be closing soon.

  Macy widens her eyes a moment as she looks my way. “You have to get someone to cover and join us.”

  Mom offers a furtive nod. “This is going to be big, Bizzy.”

  “This is going to be a disaster.” I frown over at my mother. My mother, Ree Baker, is a beauty queen at any age with a svelte figure that can rival either of her daughters, dainty cut features, and warm blue eyes. But she’s as fierce a businesswoman as they come. She just retired from her real estate empire not too long ago, but rumor has it, she still does her best to nosey around the office. Currently, she’s making it a practice to help my sister out at Lather and Light, the aforementioned shop Macy would rather burn down than run. But it fell into my sister’s lap when she needed it the most, so she continues to slog along. Macy has always been better suited for Wall Street rather than Main Street.