Sealed with a Hiss

by Addison Moore

  How about that?

  Maybe this wasn’t an attempted murder-suicide after all?

  Maybe this was murder.

  Chapter 4

  The inn is quiet, on this, the morning after Chip and Bobbie Buckingham were gunned down in front of the inn—directly in front of my cottage to be exact.

  Jasper was right. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and that’s exactly what has me in the Country Cottage Café this morning, downing coffee as if it were the exact plasma my body needed to survive, and it just might be.

  It’s light and bright inside. The café is an expansive space that’s open to the guests and the general public alike, with its black and white wrought iron bistro tables sprinkled about. Aside from a spacious dining room, there’s a sunroom that overlooks the majestic Atlantic Ocean. And in the warmer months, you can sit out on the covered patio that butts right up next to the sandy cove.

  Emmie has been right here with me this morning, providing me with a steady supply of red velvet cookies, along with her delicious creamy lattes, and my taste buds haven’t complained one bit.

  What’s to become of this mess? Sugar mewls, adjusting herself as she sits in my lap. I have Fish and Sherlock by my feet, and they’re both half-awake themselves. Suffice it to say, no one in that tiny cottage got a good night’s sleep last night. The way those deputies were drumming around, you’d think they were jackhammering the sidewalk.

  “I don’t know what’s to become of anything.” I sigh down at the furry ball of fluff. “But you’ll be safe with me. A part of me wishes you had been around when everything went down. At least then we’d know for sure what truly transpired between Bobbie and Chip.”

  Sugar shudders. I’m not sorry I didn’t see it. I love Bobbie. In fact, I’d like to go and visit her if you don’t mind.

  I shrug up at Emmie. “She wants to see Bobbie.”

  “Aww,” Emmie coos. “I still can’t believe you can talk to animals that way. Can’t you bonk me over the head or something so I can have the same talent?”

  A laugh inches up my throat. “Nice try. But you’re already too talented for your own good,” I say, holding up a cookie and taking a bite as if to prove my point.

  I didn’t always have the ability to pry into anyone else’s mind. But way back when I was thirteen, Emmie and one of our good friends at the time, Mackenzie Woods, went to a Halloween party together and some supernatural melee occurred. It turns out, Mackenzie was dared —by my brother no less—to dunk me in a whiskey barrel filled with water.

  Not only did Mackenzie follow orders, she held me under until I was just about to exit that barrel and my body at the very same time.

  Four things happened that day. One: I developed a fear of confined spaces. Two: I never wanted to see a body of water ever again. My phobia of the wet stuff is all too real to this day. Three: I vowed never to trust Mackenzie Woods again. Although, side note: We stayed friends right through high school where she proceeded to steal my boyfriends.

  That’s when I finally cut ties with the wicked witch. And four: Once I made my way out of that barrel, I had the uncanny ability to hear people plain as day without their lips moving.

  It took me about a day to catch on, but I quickly put two and two thoughts together and realized I was suddenly able to pry into other people’s private musings—the inner sanctum of their beings, their very minds. It’s been an odd adventure ever since.

  But Mackenzie Woods is still very much in my life. Not only is she the mayor of Cider Cove, she and my brother recently got engaged this past Christmas Eve.

  It was the same night Leo proposed to Emmie, and Emmie almost choked to death when she accidentally attempted to swallow her ring. In her defense, it was buried in a delicious slice of chocolate cake. The entire night was one mishap after the other, but I’m more than thrilled Emmie lived to tell about it.

  “I think I’m going to do it,” I say, dropping a kiss to Sugar’s forehead. “I think I’ll head over to see Bobbie. How can I get clearance to bring a cat into the hospital?”

  “You need clearance?” a voice booms from behind, and I turn to find Georgie in a baby pink kaftan as she thumps a wild and woolly looking briefcase onto the counter. “I can get you clearance.”

  “Ugh.” Emmie looks affronted by the thing. “What’s with the luggage? It looks as if it got ran over with a car.”

  A putrid odor hits me, and I could swear I see fumes rising off that hairy scary piece of leather like heat off a New York sidewalk in July.

  “And it stinks.” I fan myself with my fingers. “I think it got ran over with a family of opossums living inside.”

  “Oh pish posh.” Georgie lands the briefcase to the floor, and both Fish and Sherlock wisely move away from it. “I found it in the dumpster behind the bank. I’m having a power meeting with your mama this morning.” She makes a face my way. “And I wanted to look official.”

  “My mother is the last person you need to impress,” I say. “You’re already in business with her. Trust me, Georgie. You’ve got her where you want her.” Much to my mother’s chagrin. “And were you serious about being able to get me clearance to see Bobbie? You know—along with her cat?”

  “Please.” Georgie waves me off before jabbing her fingers in her hair and fluffing up her wiry curls. “I used to date the chief of surgery, Randolph Buggywhip.”

  “Buggywhip?” Emmie shakes her head as if she was unsure about this cerebral journey Georgie is pulling into. “Have a cookie.” She slides the plate full of red velvet wonders her way.

  “Yup, Buggywhip.” Georgie squints at the ceiling. “Or was that just something he asked me to call him? Wait a minute… or was there a buggy whip involved?”

  I’m about to tell her to forget it when I spot my father and Jasper’s mother entering the café.

  “Bizzy Bizzy!” Dad’s entire face brightens at the sight of me, and when my father smiles, every inch of his face smiles along with him.

  He pulls me into a hard embrace, and I take in the scent of his spiced cologne as a mad rush of childhood memories comes back to me. It seems every time my father greets me he says my name twice, and I’m twice as pleased when he does it, too.

  Dad has jet-black hair, light eyes, and deep comma-like dimples that adorn his boyish face. He’s had a bit of an addiction to matrimony ever since he and my mother split. She used to say she was a trendsetter when it came to other women marrying my father. She wasn’t wrong.

  At least she’s able to have a sense of humor about it.

  “Bizzy.” Gwyneth makes a sour face as if she were sucking on a lemon and suddenly felt the need to smile. I’m not quite sure if she likes me or not. But I do know that I’m not her favorite person. I’m certainly not the person she wanted her son to end up with, but if she can’t get past that moot point, then I can’t help her. We’re stuck with each other whether either of us likes it or not.

  “Gwyn, it’s good to see you. What’s going on?” I ask as I inspect the two of them. Gwyn has the same black hair and lightning clear eyes as her son. In fact, Jasper has three brothers and a sister who all look like doppelgängers of one another.

  But the whole Dad and Gwyneth thing still feels new to me even if they have been together a little over a year. And roughly about that same timeframe—within weeks of meeting one another—my father, Dad-the-Cad, proposed to Gwyneth.

  They were going to get married right out the gate, but cooler, far saner heads prevailed and they have wisely opted for a long engagement instead.

  Let’s hope things never get farther than that. If my father decides to send Gwyneth the way of the rest of his wives—via divorce court—things are going to be weird between our families. Believe me, I would have given anything to have had my father stay as far away from Gwyneth as possible. There are plenty of other single fish in the sea that don’t happen to be my mother-in-law.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Georgie.” He pulls her in. “You too, Emmie. You’ve been
like a third daughter to me. We’ve got some pretty big news.”

  “Oh Lord.” That familiar sigh of my mother’s follows those words as I see her walking in with none other than Mackenzie Woods and my brother, Huxley.

  “Hux,” I say as he gives me a hearty embrace. “Geez, Bizzy. Grady and Nessa just filled us in at the front desk.”

  Mackenzie growls my way, “You just had to go and off another guest, didn’t you?”

  About half the patrons grab their breakfast and speed for the back patio. Not that I can blame them. The back patio butts up against the aforementioned Atlantic, and it’s a show in and of itself to watch as it churns out its angry waves like only winter’s fury can produce.

  “Way to clear a room, Mayor Woods,” I hiss as I hold Sugar a touch closer.

  Mackenzie is a stunning woman with chestnut brown hair and eyes that shine with all the wicked intent my brother seems far too interested in. She’s donned her requisite cranberry power suit and heels, the wardrobe staples she claims were inspired by my mother. And that frown on Mack’s face seems to be her go-to expression whenever she’s around me.

  Hux is basically my look-alike in male skin, black hair and same denim eyes. He’s a family practice attorney, and good thing, too—he already has three divorces under his belt. Considering the money he’s saved on the working end of things, I’d say he went into the right profession.

  Mom squints over at my father, and I can’t help but note she’s wearing another one of those wonky quilt dresses, white with red checkered hearts stamped over it. Boy, when she commits to something, she doesn’t quit.

  I have a feeling she thinks her livelihood is tied to advertising those dresses. And she might be right. She sank a good portion of her retirement into her business that caters to old broads—her terminology, not mine.

  “So what’s the big news?” Mom puts down a briefcase of her own on the counter, supple brown leather, not a scratch in sight, nor the carcass of an opossum. I can see why Georgie would want to emulate her. If Ree Baker is anything, she’s immaculately put together.

  Her wonky quilt dress flops off one shoulder, and she grunts as she yanks it back up. But it slides right back where it was, offering us an eyeful of her bosom in the process.

  Okay, so she’s mostly immaculately put together. I have a feeling there’s only one other person she’d like to shove in one of those dresses and it’s Georgie—right after she strangles her and has her fitted for a casket.

  “All right.” Hux holds up his arms and offers one of his charming smiles. “You asked for it, I’ll deliver.”

  “I’m the one with the news,” Dad says with a wink.

  Mack shakes her head. “I can guarantee we’ve got bigger news. You should probably go first.”

  Gwyn scoffs. “I can guarantee our news is bigger. Please, go first. We insist.”

  My father nods. “What she said.”

  Mom averts her eyes. “Oh please, somebody go before I have to go. That shop I own isn’t going to run itself. Especially when both old broads are here watching the four of you argue over who has the bigger news. Now please, somebody spill the beans.”

  Georgie narrows her eyes at my mother. “Who are you calling old?”

  “Oh, would you hush.” Mom laughs. “Come on now. I’ve got a power breakfast to get through with this one.” She motions to Georgie. “Somebody spout something off.”

  “Fine,” Hux says.

  “Fine,” Dad snaps back.

  “We’re getting married,” Dad and Hux blurt out at the very same time right before they exchange slack-jawed expressions. “On Valentine’s Day,” they blurt out in unison once again, and the rest of us hold our breath as if waiting for the punch line.

  Mom tosses up her hands. “Oh for Pete’s sake.”

  “Wait a minute,” I say as I look to the four people in the vicinity intent on making a matrimonial bundle. “You’re serious?”

  “As a heart attack,” Hux says.

  Dad shrugs. “At my age, you don’t say things like that. But yes, we’re serious. Gwyneth and I aren’t getting any younger, and we’ve waited a year just to please all of you. We’re getting married on Valentine’s Day right here at the inn.”

  “At the inn?” My shoulders hike a notch.

  Mackenzie elbows my brother. “That’s what we were thinking. The gazebo was decent when you did it, Bizzy. We’ll take that.”

  “Oh, actually, I don’t recommend it in February,” I’m quick to tell her. “The weather is too unpredictable. I guess we could hold it in the ballroom but—”

  “The ballroom is perfect.” Gwyneth waves me off. “Nathan, let’s get to the jewelers and shore up our rings.” She threads her arm through his. “And there’s the issue of my dress. You can wear what you like, of course, so long as it’s a dark suit with a white tie and patent leather shoes.” She yammers on until they’ve stepped right out of the café.

  “You heard her.” Mackenzie nods to my brother. “We need to get busy.” She scowls my way. “I’ll have my florist contact you. I’d like a string quartet and a light pink aisle runner. No doilies or Cupid cutouts. I’m going for a modern traditional feel, no paper poms, no crepe paper, no confetti.” She yanks Huxley right out of the café, and I’m left choking in their wake.

  “I’m supposed to be hosting a Valentine’s Day dance in the ballroom that night.”

  Mom shakes her head. “Oh, who cares? So they have a few hundred extra guests? It’s not your problem, Bizzy. Not one of them bothered to hear you out. I say they deserve what happens to them.” She looks to Georgie. “And why am I the only one on board when it comes to wearing this contraption you’ve contrived?”

  It’s true. Georgie sort of developed the wonky quilt dress all on her own a few months back, and it’s been a big hit ever since—that is, when women aren’t passing out from heat exhaustion.

  “First thing’s first”—Mom continues—“we’re instating a dress code. And where is Juni? Shouldn’t she be here for our very first employee meeting? Especially seeing that she’s our only employee?”

  Georgie shrugs. “She’s back at her place trying to figure out what to wear when we go out with Bizzy later.”

  “Where are we going?” I dare to ask.

  Georgie knots her lips up for a moment. “According to you, we’re headed to the hospital. And believe you me, Juni won’t be all that thrilled. She was hoping for somewhere a little more exciting, where the men wear less and the women are waving bills in the air. Personally, I like to chuck quarters at ’em. If you aim just right, those boys will dance like nobody’s business.”

  “Why do I get the feeling I’ll get to see this firsthand one day?” I shake my head. “Don’t answer. Today’s adventure consists of a glorified infirmary. If Juni is lucky, there might be a man who’s post-op from open heart surgery. I’d imagine he wouldn’t have a shirt on.”

  Mom chuckles. “And the nurses will be waving syringes at him instead of bills, but boy will he get a bill.”

  “Ooh, needles.” Georgie rubs her hands together. “We might just get lucky yet. It’s been a good long while since I’ve been stuck with some feel-good juice. Don’t worry, Biz. I’ll get you right where you need to be”—she leans in and scratches Sugar on the head—“and your little cat, too.”

  Perfect.

  This is the first homicide investigation where I just might get to speak to one of the intended victims—unless, of course, it’s not a homicide case at all.

  If Bobbie indeed killed Chip, then this investigation might just close before it ever opens, and I should have the answer to that in just a few hours.

  And if not, the fun has just begun.

  Chapter 5

  Cider Cove General Hospital sits just this side of Rose Glen and dutifully serves both communities.

  The establishment is a giant white rectangle that stretches to the sky, and inside it smells of antiseptic and chlorine. A recent renovation has left it with pale laminate
flooring and soft sage walls. People scuttle to and fro with determined purpose as Georgie, Juni, and I make our way to the fourth floor where Bobbie Buckingham currently has a room to call her own.

  It turns out, the chief of surgery, Dr. Buggywhip, is actually Dr. Bernstein. Georgie may have gotten his name wrong, but she certainly didn’t get his affection for her wrong. He was not only thrilled to see her, he asked her out to dinner at some ritzy steakhouse aptly named Ritzy’s.

  Go figure. And here I brought a small plate of Emmie’s red velvet cookies in the event I needed to appeal to his sweet treat-inclined good senses. The only sweet treat he wants is his kaftan wearing ex.

  Sugar mewls from the front-facing carrier I’m housing her in. It’s actually a baby carrier, but since the only difference is that my babies have fur, I didn’t see why I couldn’t use one as well. I’ve long since been toting Fish around in it, and not only does Fish love it, Sugar seems to appreciate it just as much.

  This place is cold, and it smells like feet, Bizzy, Sugar mewls once again while poking her head out of the carrier and taking a look around. And there’s not a friendly face here. Everyone looks so serious. Bobbie is a fun girl. She’s not going to like this place one bit. I’d better hide before someone sees me and they kick both Bobbie and me right out the door. On second thought, she rises up a notch, Bobbie would thank me for getting her kicked to the curb. Maybe I should claw a few eyes out? I bet that would land us out the door all the quicker.

  “Whoa,” I say, giving the fuzzy little kitten a quick scratch as we hop into the elevator. I’m still not sure if Juni is apprised of my supernatural abilities. I never told Georgie that she couldn’t tell her daughter, but believe me, the less people who know, the better. I’d hate to end up in a government-issued cage with probes glued to my temples while a group of scientists try to make me guess a number from one to ten.