Murder Bites

by Addison Moore

  “You bet,” I say before giving him a quick pat between the ears. I’m about to head on in when Fish jumps in my path.

  One more thing, Bizzy. Her whiskers twitch. I have a very dark feeling about tonight. I don’t know why, but I feel as if something sinister is afoot.

  “A dark feeling?” I whisper.

  I’m about to reassure her everything will be just fine when I pick up an errant internal voice.

  It’s happening. And it’s happening tonight. And once they’re gone, I won’t have a single problem in the world.

  I straighten and quickly scan the area, but the crowd is so thick it could have come from anyone. I try my hardest to look directly at the crowd and try to pry into their minds, but most of them are mentally sizing one another up, wondering when the night will end and whether they’ll end it alone.

  I knew I’d be a lot of things… The voice goes off once again and I’m having a hard time deciphering if it’s from a man or a woman. Unless they’re standing right in front of me, they sound more or less monotone. But I never thought I’d have the nerve to eliminate someone from the planet. I guess that will make me a killer.

  My heart seizes as I look into the sea of people congregating in the ballroom.

  Fish is right. Something sinister is afoot, and unless it’s stopped, it just might mean murder.

  Chapter 2

  The ballroom at the Country Cottage Inn is glammed up and ready for its close-up with Cupid. Despite the fact I’ve spent the majority of the day helping with the decorations, the sight of all the love-inspired grandeur takes my breath away.

  An entire sea of white twinkle lights is strung up above. The chandeliers that dot the cavernous ceiling are dimmed just enough to give the place a romantic appeal, there are long-stemmed red roses on the refreshment tables, and everywhere you look there are pink and white metallic heart-shaped balloons.

  I spot my best friend, Emmie Crosby, across the room, and I’m about to head that way when a mop of gray hair in a red sequin kaftan accosts me.

  “Georgie.” I laugh as her firm embrace keeps me from falling.

  “Bizzy Baker, you’ve outdone yourself.” She holds out a hand to the crowd of couples who are mingling and laughing while soft rock music plays through the speakers. “The photo booth is a hit. And nice touch having riding crops and fuzzy pink handcuffs as parting gifts.”

  “What?” I squawk in horror. “I would never have handcuffs and riding crops as parting gifts.” I scan the area and, sure enough, I spot a handful of women playfully swatting away at their partners. “Elvis must have brought them.” I’m not sure I would have okayed the event had I known there would be a decidedly naughty slant to the evening. Heck, I wouldn’t have invited my own mother to participate.

  Speaking of which, I spot her over at the refreshment table loading up on the sweetheart punch. Hopefully, she’s not the one spiking it. Although I wouldn’t put it past her.

  Georgie waves it off. “Elvis said he had nothing to do with those kinky trinkies. He thought it was a nice touch from the venue. Besides, we can’t put those fuzzy handcuffs back in the can. Macy is out there giving them away as we speak.”

  “Macy.” I close my eyes at the mention of my sassy big sis. “Never mind. I know exactly how those handcuffs and riding crops ended up here.”

  And just like that, my blonde sister pops up with a knowing smile spread over her face.

  “You owe me three hundred dollars.” She gives a sly wink. “These naughty little bobbles didn’t come cheap, you know.”

  Macy is older than me by a year. She’s chosen to dye her dark hair blonde and wears it in a long bob around the base of her neck. She has pretty blue eyes, and each one sparkles with its own special brand of mischief. She owns a soap and candle shop just down the way on Main Street called Lather and Light. It’s not the be-all and end-all for her, but it spits out a shiny dollar now and again, thus keeping her content enough to live in Cider Cove at the moment.

  Macy winks over at me. “Don’t worry, little sis. I’ve got you and the big, bad detective covered. You can take home the surplus. That way, the two of you can play good cop, bad cop all night long.”

  Georgie howls with approval. And I won’t lie, there’s a naughty part of me that wholeheartedly approves, too.

  Macy glances around the vicinity. “Where is Detective Wilder, anyway? I’d keep tabs on him at an event like this. He’s a hot commodity and he’s not wearing a wedding ring. I’m sorry, Bizzy, but he’s still fair game.”

  I’d roll my eyes if a tiny part of me didn’t believe it was true.

  “He’s out helping his mother check on the progress of her condo.”

  “Bizzy!” Emmie runs up and offers me an impromptu hug. Emmie Crosby has been my best friend ever since preschool. We share the same dark wavy hair that hits just below our shoulders and same icy blue eyes. In fact, we share the same first name, too—Elizabeth, thus we’ve each opted to go with the nicknames our families have given us.

  “Bizzy. The men are h-o-t!” She gives a little hop, a daring feat in that tight pink dress she’s wearing.

  Georgie taps her elbow to Emmie’s side. “Yeah. And rumor has it, they can s-p-e-l-l, too.” She wrinkles her nose at my bestie. “Hey, wait a minute. I thought you were dating one of those h-o-t Wilder brothers?”

  It’s true. Emmie was dating Jasper’s brother, Jamison, for all of a hot Wilder minute. It’s a trend Macy started when she decided to date two of Jasper’s brothers virtually back to back, Jamison and Dalton. But after she gave them the old college try—and I mean that in the drunken sorority girl party sense—she unceremoniously dumped them.

  Of course, Emmie was more than eager to pick up one of Macy’s leftovers, but she and Jamison have been hit-or-miss ever since. And don’t get me started on Jasper’s brother, Maximus. He not only owns a hot piece of real estate out in Seaview, a trendy restaurant that bears his moniker, but he owned my mother’s heart for a few solid weeks, too. Thankfully, they’ve decided to part ways. I’ll admit, it was a wee bit horrifying hearing all the heated stories Georgie pulled out of her. I’m all for my mother finding love and engaging in many more horrifying heated adventures so long as they take place outside of the Wilder family ecosystem.

  Emmie shakes her head. “Nope. Jamison and I have taken a step back.” She shrugs my way. “It looks as if you’re the only one having a wild Wilder time.” She leans in. “Please tell me you’re having a wild time. That man is a god among men.”

  Macy offers a mischievous grin my way. “I’ve got just the thing to assure you have a wild time,” she says, plucking the riding crop out of the basket and handing it to me. “And on that note, I have to get back to work. I’m the self-appointed Valentine’s fairy.”

  “I thought that was Cupid’s job,” Emmie calls out as my sister gets right back to distributing her naughty knickknacks.

  “Cupid’s stupid!” Macy shoots back, and at least ten different people laugh and raise their glasses full of sweetheart punch as if toasting the notion.

  Speaking of things we’re serving.

  “Emmie,” I say, glancing back at the dessert table. “Those raspberry cheesecake bites look amazing. Remind me to give you a raise.” Emmie is the manager of the Country Cottage Café and she also happens to be the head baker.

  You would think that since Baker is actually my surname, I might be pretty decent at wielding a whisk, but the opposite is true. As much as I long to create a scrumptious dessert that’s more than mildly palatable, I burn everything I touch in the kitchen. And no matter how hard Emmie has tried to teach me her Zen cooking ways, I find a way to turn even the simplest baking task into a marked disaster.

  Ironically, it’s the only thing I long to do—bake something edible that, for once, doesn’t send someone to the emergency room. Although, in my defense, that was just once and my mother is just fine.

  “I’ll take the raise.” Emmie gives a little hop on the balls of her feet. �
�I’d better bring out the reserves. They’re going fast.” She takes off and Georgie elbows me in the ribs.

  “You know what else is going fast?” She furrows her gray brows my way. “Your relationship with that vampire you’re seeing.”

  The vampire in question would be Jasper.

  Emmie and I might have started the trend of referring to Jasper as a vampire, albeit innocently enough. It stemmed from our love of a book series that centered on sexy undead night dwellers, and well, Georgie is slow to let the supernatural reference die.

  Not that I mind. Jasper makes one heck of a hot vampire, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to looking forward to those neck bites he doles out on the regular.

  I wince her way. “Would you think less of me if I confessed that Jasper and I weren’t moving fast at all?” It’s true. In fact, we’re moving at a glacial pace. If we move any slower, we’ll have to reintroduce ourselves.

  Georgie narrows her gaze over me. “I wouldn’t only think less of you, Bizzy Baker, I’d be wildly disappointed. See what I did there?” She elbows me again. “See that? See that?”

  Before I can say a word in response, Elvis Hendrix himself steps into our midst. Elvis is about my father’s age, maybe early sixties, has a full head of dark hair and deep-welled laugh lines when he smiles. There’s a loveable quality to him in general, aside from his cheesy moniker, and people seem to gravitate to both him and his app—as evidenced by the outrageous turnout here tonight.

  “Elvis.” I offer a cheery smile. “Can you believe this crowd? I guess Cupid has his work cut out for himself.”

  He belts out a warm laugh. “If I have my way, he’ll be out of a job. I aim to please.” He pulls Georgie’s hand forward and kisses the back of it.

  I don’t know if I should coo or puke. And just before I can decide which way my emotions want to run, Elvis flags someone down as a younger man about my age flashes a toothy grin as he leads an older woman this way.

  “Well, look who finally decided to show.” Elvis pulls the young man in and offers him a slap on the back.

  It’s only then I notice the adorable coffee-colored curly-haired puppy in his arms.

  Georgie and I break out into a choir of admiration for the tiny little sweet potato.

  Believe me, I’d much rather coo for the furry little angel than I would over the fact Elvis here aims to please Georgie with his hand-kissing innuendos. I don’t object to the fact he’s younger than her; I object to the fact he’s weirder than her. And with Georgie that’s hard to do. I love her weird—his weird? It weirds me out just a little too much.

  The younger man bounces the dog in his arms.

  “This is Cinnamon,” he says. “She’s the newest addition to my household. A friend of mine had a litter of labradoodles and I took the runt of the bunch. Don’t tell her, though. I think she’s perfect.”

  The tiny pup lets out what sounds like a groan. If I had a biscuit for every time he says that joke, I’d have a box full of biscuits. And I’d prefer them to his jokes.

  I bite down on a smile. She’s just so cute I can’t stand it. I’ll make sure to dig up a dog treat for her before the night is through.

  Georgie claps her hands. “Come on, don’t forget to introduce your mother.” She gives a wink to the older woman standing next to the man holding the dog. “They think they can forget about us just because we’ve ripened. But once we hit the dance floor, we’ll show these ageist elitists. Ain’t that right, toots?” Georgie bucks her hip into the woman’s thigh, and Dear God Almighty if it wasn’t a power thrust liable to break a pelvic girdle or two.

  Elvis gives an odd little grimace. “Georgie, this is my co-designer of the app, Lad Warner, and his fiancée, Emily Carter.”

  Oh my stars above Cider Cove.

  If ever there were a good time for the earth to have one of those spontaneous sinkhole moments, it would be now. There just isn’t an elegant way to come back from that granny-based faux pas. Georgie didn’t just put her foot into her mouth. She somehow managed to invert her entire body.

  Emily Carter is a tall woman, unafraid to stand erect, with short silver-blonde hair and a series of soft lines around her eyes as she pulls a tight smile with her cardinal-colored lips.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not easily offended.” She nods to Georgie. “And since Lad doesn’t like to dance, I’ll take you up on the offer. I agree. We need to show these ageists what we’re capable of.” Or kill them—Lad specifically for not defending me.

  My mouth falls open because innately I know I need to say something—something clever perhaps—but the only thing that’s currently emitting from me is a steady series of choking noises.

  Cinnamon yelps and squirms.

  “Here, let me,” I say, quickly taking the puppy into my arms. “Oh, you’re so soft. I just love you.” She gives my face a quick lick and a squeal of a laugh evicts from me. “I think we’re going to be good friends.” I look up at Lad and smile. “So you helped develop the app?”

  He winces. “You could say I’m the brawn. Elvis is the brain.”

  Elvis rocks back on his heels with the accolade. If by brawn, he means dead weight, then he’s got that right.

  Emily nods to Lad. “And I might just invest in the app myself. I’m here to see what all the excitement is about. I have no use for the app itself since Cupid has already done his dirty work on me.”

  She holds up a sizable engagement ring and Georgie and I gasp at its sheer girth.

  I offer Emily an approving nod. Good on her for finding a decent man to spend the rest of her life with. Who cares about the age difference? Nobody batted a lash when my father married that twenty-two-year-old a few years back. With the exception of my mother, of course. And I do believe there was a bat involved in there somewhere—it got her banned from the wedding, too. Typically, my mother attends those splashy soirees that feature my father. She always says it’s a great way to have a free meal with her children. She isn’t wrong.

  Emily winks at Georgie. “We’re still capable of plenty. What do you do, Georgie?”

  Georgie nods. “I’m an artist who specializes in mosaics. I’m reconstructing the face of Main Street, right here in Cider Cove. Just because we’re over eighty doesn’t mean we need to curl up and knit.” She winces before leaning my way. “Which reminds me, I’m all out of that skein of lavender yarn I’m using to make your wedding blanket.”

  “I didn’t know you knew how to knit,” I say.

  “I don’t, but I figure by the time you get hitched I’ll have plenty of time to master the art.”

  “Thank you, I think.” Why do I feel as if there was a slight in there somewhere?

  I turn to Emily. “I’m Bizzy Baker, and this is my friend, Georgie Conner. I’m the manager here at the inn.”

  Emily’s brows rise a notch. “That’s wonderful. I happen to own the Carter Art Centers. If you ever want to hold a class here at the inn for your guests, I would love to send over an instructor or two.”

  I take a quick breath. “Carter Art Centers? Wow, you’ve got a center in just about every other town. Hey! You do those couples’ classes, don’t you? The sip and paint and those spicy drawing classes? You’re really big.”

  A soft laugh bubbles from her. “That’s right. We’ve just opened our fiftieth store, and we’re franchising nationally as well.”

  Lad wraps an arm around her waist. “Carter Industries is looking to hit the three million dollar mark in sales this year.”

  Elvis bucks. “You’re sweeping the nation. Congratulations.” Another crowd moves in through the door and Elvis looks that way. “Excuse me. I’d better get out there and make sure things are moving and grooving in the right direction.” He takes off swiftly.

  “If you don’t mind”— Lad looks back at the crowd himself and does a double take—“I’d better do the same.” Great. It’s all about timing, and Colt has none.

  He takes off with a marked look of anger on his face.

  E
mily nods. “I’m off to the little girls’ room to powder my nose.” And maybe hike my skirt a notch or two. I may be a woman of a certain age, but I’m not afraid of a little leg. And by the looks of it, neither is any other woman in this room. Excpet for Paige, of course. It would kill her to show a little skin.

  No sooner does she leave than the woman I saw earlier strides after Emily.

  “Oh,” I say. “I totally forgot there was a woman asking to see Lad. Oh well.” I shrug over at Georgie. “She’s found Emily. That’s close enough.”

  Both Emily and the young woman begin to argue and bicker right there in the middle of the room.

  I glance to the door and spot Lad talking to a man in a dark suit, neatly trimmed hair, and their conversation looks rather heated, too. Lad gets right in his face before giving the man a hard shove to the chest, and I give Cinnamon a protective squeeze.

  Lad turns and assesses the room until he spots Emily going at it with the younger woman and his features harden as if he were fit to kill.

  Something tells me tonight will have more hostility than it ever will love.

  And if we’re not careful, Cider Cove just might have another homicide on its hands, too. I head over to the dueling divas just as the lights dim a notch and the music grows livelier. A disco ball begins to spin overhead and sprays the room with metallic pink and red beams of fragmented light.

  “Excuse me, ladies.” I raise my voice just enough for them to hear me, and then a touch louder than that so they know I mean business. My hand lies protectively over the shivering pooch in my arms, trying my best to assure her she’s not the one in trouble here. “Is there something I can help you with?” I look to the two blondes and their resemblance is striking.

  “Bizzy”—Emily leans in—“this is my daughter, Paige.”

  I straighten and force a smile.

  Her daughter? Isn’t this the same woman who was internally threatening to kill someone when she barreled into the place? I try to rewind my mind, but the music and the lights are making me feel dizzy. Wait, wasn’t that someone Lad?