A Frightening Fangs-giving

by Addison Moore

  A Frightening Fangs-giving

  Country Cottage Mysteries 11

  Addison Moore

  Bellamy Bloom

  Contents

  Book Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Recipe

  Books by Addison Moore

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Copyright © 2020 by Addison Moore, Bellamy Bloom

  Edited by Paige Maroney Smith

  Cover by Lou Harper, Cover Affairs

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This eBook is for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase any additional copies for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Copyright © 2020 by Addison Moore, Bellamy Bloom

  Table of Contents

  Created with Vellum

  Book Description

  The Country Cottage Inn is known for its hospitality. Leaving can be murder.

  My name is Bizzy Baker, and I can read minds. Not every mind, not every time, but most of the time, and believe me when I say, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

  It’s time for Thanksgiving in Cider Cove, and when another body turns up, I’m suddenly not feeling so thankful. Our little town is turning one hundred and we’re celebrating Founders’ Day for the entire month of November. But when one of my sister’s so-called friends opens up a copycat of Macy’s soap and candle shop, directly across from hers, tensions flare and threats are made. Murder is being served up cold, and my sister, Macy, is looking pretty guilty.

  Bizzy Baker runs the Country Cottage Inn, has the ability to pry into the darkest recesses of both the human and animal mind, and has just stumbled upon a body. With the help of her kitten, Fish, a mutt named Sherlock Bones, and an ornery yet dangerously good-looking homicide detective, Bizzy is determined to find the killer.

  Cider Cove, Maine is the premier destination for fun and relaxation. But when a body turns up, it’s the premier destination for murder.

  Chapter 1

  Two hours from now…

  “Donuts! Thank you.” I snap up a handful of the mini apple cider creations and gulp them down. “Donuts have always been my downfall.” I glower at the beast in front of me. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I just want you to be happy. And if these donuts make you happy, by all means have as many as you want.”

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” I say, taking another handful. “You know, for someone whose life I’ve worked to make a living hell, you are being awfully nice to me today. What do you want?” I give a little wink when I say it. “I’ve always been in the driver’s seat in this relationship, and no matter what you’re up to, I always will be.”

  “Who cares what I want. It’s all about what you want, isn’t it?”

  “You’re not wrong. And don’t you forget it. This day, this life is all about me. How does it make you feel that I practically own you?” A laugh quivers through me, but my throat closes off and it can’t quite initiate. “I think I need some air.”

  “Let’s step outside.”

  We head for the back of my shop and I speed into the alley where the icy autumn air cools me instantly, but I can’t seem to catch my breath.

  The sound of kittens mewling catches my attention, and I spot three small cats in a plain brown box yipping and squirming.

  I try to take a step in their direction, but I end up staggering to keep from falling.

  “Something’s wrong.” I claw at my neck as my vision blurs and my throat catches fire. “Help me.” I turn to the creature next to me. “Don’t just stand there. Call for help. I can’t breathe.”

  “You can’t breathe, can you? And soon you’ll have taken your last breath. I heard you threatening to haunt someone a few minutes ago. Now you’ll have your chance. Don’t ever say I didn’t do anything for you. But then again, in less than a few minutes, you won’t ever say anything again. Goodbye. Sleep tight. You certainly won’t be missed by anyone—least of all not me.”

  “You did this?” My voice comes out in less than a whisper.

  My knees give way as I fall hard to the ground. Those cruel eyes, that ghastly grimace watching from above is the last thing I see.

  “Happy haunting,” are the last words I hear.

  The present…

  “I’m going to kill her.”

  “I wouldn’t say those words in Cider Cove,” I say to my sister while we both stare out at the melee across the street. Macy and I are standing right outside of her soap and candle shop, Lather and Light, while witnessing the unveiling of a brand-new business, directly across from hers, who just revealed their signage and opened their doors to an entire herd of enthused customers. The name of the shop in question just so happens to be Suds and Illuminations, and if the name suggests anything, my guess is that my sister is very much going to be capable of a homicide by the end of this day.

  My sister’s quaint little shop has been a staple here in Cider Cove for years. It’s light and bright inside with its buy-one-get-one-free candle display that hits you as soon as you step inside, and there’s even a large wisteria tree with lavender leaves set in her window. Every branch is wrapped in twinkle lights, and it gives off a homey yet enchanted feel.

  I can’t imagine what Ember Sweet was thinking when she decided to open up a shop right across the street, selling the exact same products with a near identical name.

  It’s a windblown November in our little corner of Maine, and it just so happens to be the one-hundredth birthday of our cozy little town. All of Cider Cove has gathered right here on Main Street to celebrate the kickoff to the Founders’ Day Festival, a month-long extravaganza that will culminate on Thanksgiving Day with a parade that boasts to rival anything New York has to offer. There will be festivals and celebrations going on all over Cider Cove throughout the month. And the cozy little inn I run happens to be playing host to the official Founders’ Day concert in a little over a week.

  Sugar Shack, a huge country band, is set to perform down at the cove that butts up to the inn, and even though I’m responsible for overseeing the event, I’m just as excited as any groupie.

  My name is Bizzy Baker, and I can read minds. Wait, let’s do that again. My name is Bizzy Baker Wilder, and I can read minds. Not every mind, not every time, but it happens, and believe me when I say, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Like now for instance.

  Of course, Bizzy doesn’t want me to say those words out loud. My sister muses while scowling at the shop that’s threatening to take down her business. Once Ember’s body turns up, she’ll be forced to turn me over to the sheriff’s department. Lord knows the entire town has lost count of how many corpses she’s stumbled across in the last year alone. Sh
e’s practically a corpse magnet. I won’t need an alibi when I off Ember. I’ll have my trusty little sis to take the heat for me.

  I pull my sister close by the arm, our eyes still glued to the heresy playing out. The scent of sugary baked goods enlivens my senses, as just about every food vendor in town is hocking their wares out in the streets today. The inn is giving away complimentary apple cider mini donuts down by the gazebo in Town Square, and my stomach is growling just thinking about them.

  “Come on, Macy. You grew up with Ember. We should go say hello. And look, Georgie and Juni are already there.” I bet they’re not contemplating murder either.

  “Because they’re traitors.” She doesn’t miss a beat.

  Macy and I do our best to navigate the thick crowd while Fish, my sweet long-haired black and white tabby, sits in the tote bag I’ve cinched to my shoulders with her cute little head poking out as to not miss any of the action. I’ve got my dog, Sherlock Bones, on a leash, and he’s just as anxious to get through the crowd as we are. Sherlock has the most expressive button brown eyes and smiling face. He’s a red and white freckled mixed breed that actually belonged to my husband first.

  My husband—those words still sound like a dream. Jasper Wilder and I tied the knot back in September, and we’ve yet to come down off cloud nine. Nor do we plan to. He’s still finishing up at work, but should be joining us at any minute. And after what Macy and I just witnessed, it can’t be soon enough.

  Jasper is the lead homicide detective at the Seaview Sheriff’s Department, and if my sister gets her way, there will most certainly be a homicide today.

  Don’t get me wrong. Macy Baker is no killer. If anything, she’s always been far more cosmopolitan than Cider Cove allows. We’re both in our late twenties. We share the same dark hair and denim blue eyes, but she’s taken to dyeing her locks a severe shade of platinum. She’s donned a black leather jacket and dark jeans, which are artfully yet nonsensically shredded, along with a pair of cute leather boots. The entire outfit is essentially her uniform, everyone knows that. But I’ll admit, those boots had me wincing once I saw them. The boots themselves are lovely. It’s the five-inch heels that had me cringing. They look far too torturous to wear on any given day, let alone this one where walking up and down Main Street is practically required.

  But Macy has never been practical, as evidenced by her inch and a half long acrylic nails. They’re painted a glittery shade of amber that shimmers when it catches the light. And they add the perfect decorative touch for fall.

  In fact, the entire town has been decorated for fall, with its thick strings of silk autumn leaves and tiny orange twinkle lights that run along Main Street, giving our sweet coastal paradise a magical appeal. Fall is my favorite time of year, with its plethora of pumpkins, the apple cider, the leaves changing colors—not to mention the cozy coats and boots I can finally mix into my wardrobe. And this year, the Founders’ Day Festival was something I was particularly looking forward to, right up until this moment.

  Fish jabs me in the chest with her paw. She’s not really going to kill someone, is she, Bizzy?

  Yes, I can read the minds of animals, too. And believe me, I often prefer their thoughts to that of humans. Both Fish and Sherlock Bones know that I can understand them, and somehow they seem to understand each other, too. Only a handful of people know about my strange ability, but my sister isn’t one of them. Not that we’re not close, it’s just that some horrible secrets are better kept hidden in order to avoid unnecessary family drama and potentially lengthy stays in psychiatric hospitals.

  Sherlock lets out a sharp bark. If Macy does the girl in, the case will be easy to solve. But we’re not really going to turn Macy in, are we? I’m sorry if it ruins your track record. But for the sake of family unity, I say we let this one slide, Biz.

  I shake my head over at Sherlock as if to answer his question. But he’s not wrong. I’ve got a track record, all right, for both stumbling upon a body and hunting down the killer. I guess you can say getting wrapped up in a homicide investigation is my second odd quirk. But that odd quirk happens to be how I met my gorgeous husband, so I’ve chosen to overlook the murderous patina and embrace it as my strange gift.

  “Bizzy Baker Wilder!” Georgie Conner, an eighty-something gloriously happy hippie whom I consider to be family, waves me over in her direction where she stands wearing an orange kaftan as bright as a traffic cone. “Guess what?” she chirps. “I’ve got the hot new shop in town to agree to sell a few of my quilts!”

  “That’s wonderful!” I grin at the news, right up until I realize she’s talking about the questionable shop that just opened.

  Georgie has gray wiry hair that sits at her shoulders, and her eyes are baby blue with just enough mischief in each one to let you know she means business. And standing beside her is her daughter, Juniper Moonbeam, better known as Juni.

  Juni is basically Georgie minus a few gray hairs and wrinkles—and a little more rock and roll biker chick and a lot less happy hippie. Fun fact: Juni was once briefly married to my father. I can’t remember if she was wife number three or thirteen. My father goes through wives like some people go through a bag of chips.

  I’m a bit prideful to say my mother was the first Mrs. Baker, and she lived to tell the tale—or more to the point, she let him live to tell the tale. They’re both wonderful parents, just not while joined in holy matrimony to each other.

  A horrible groan comes from my sister. “Georgie!” she snips. “How dare you sell your crooked quilts at that copycat establishment.”

  Georgie grunts, “They’re called wonky quilts. And when I offered to sell them at your place, you told me to take my bohemian blankets and hit the highway.”

  The wonky quilts are a rather new hobby of hers. Georgie is actually a mosaic artist who specializes in the use of sea glass. But last month after the inn hosted a haunted quilt display—long, horrible story—she basically fell in love with the idea of creating artful bedding. It’s safe to say Georgie has put her artistic spin on these quilts, with their large swaths of fabric pieced every which way and unfinished edges that give them a fringed look. They’re mostly made up of bright random patterns, but the ones she’s been working on lately all seem to have an autumn theme to them with pumpkins and maple leaves in every color.

  Macy nods with an incredulous look on her face. “And when I told you to hit the highway, I said it with love.”

  Juni snorts as she wraps herself in one of Georgie’s wonky quilts, a black and orange design with fall leaves printed all over it. “That’s right, Macy. And then you told her to try her luck somewhere where they might actually buy into daydreams and delusions—and she did. If my mama is anything, she’s tenacious. And now look? The shop has been open for less than a half hour and she’s already sold three!”

  Macy scowls. “That’s because you probably bought them all.”

  “I bought one because it happened to be freezing out.” Juni cinches the quilt tightly around herself before smacking her mother on the shoulder. “I just had a brilliant idea! Three words—wonky quilt jacket!”

  “Yes!” Georgie howls so loud you’d think she won the lottery. “I’ll get right on those, Toots. Oh, we are going to make a killing off of them.”

  The crowd thins and we can see clearly into Suds and Illuminations, causing both Macy and me to gasp at the very same time.

  Much like my sister’s quaint shop, this overnight pop-up has the same buy-one-get-one-free candle display at the front of the store. And sitting in the window is a large lavender wisteria tree strewn with twinkle lights almost identical to the one my sister has.

  A petite blonde steps out of the establishment in question and sheds an easy smile our way.

  “Well, if it isn’t two of my favorite people, the Baker sisters!” It’s showtime! Let’s see how fast I can push all of Macy Baker’s buttons. Here’s hoping for a nuclear explosion on her part.

  She lets out a howl of delight, and before we kno
w it, she’s accosting both Macy and me with an enthusiastic embrace.

  Ember Sweet was one of Macy’s best friends way back in junior high. But they had a falling-out and things were never the same. Ember moved away from Cider Cove for a while, but now she’s back—looking staggeringly like my sister with her short blonde bob, not to mention the replica of my sister’s long established business.

  Ember has a pretty face, full fuchsia lips and tiny turned up nose. And she happens to be wearing my sister’s signature black leather jacket, trendy jeans, and boots. The younger version of Ember Sweet that I remember had stringy brown hair, and there is definitely something off-putting about the way she seems to have crafted herself into my sister’s likeness. Obviously, something nefarious is going on here. Why else would she open up a shop directly across the street from my sister, with the exact same inventory more or less, and show up looking like a living replica?

  Before my sister can get a single aggressive and rather salty word out—and believe me, Macy has an entire cache of salty words in her lexicon—a couple pops up next to us, and I don’t know whether to smile or frown at the two of them.

  “Mayor Woods,” I say as I inspect my longtime nemesis. “Hux.” I pull my brother into a quick embrace.

  “Bizzy.” Mackenzie offers an indifferent shrug my way.

  Mackenzie Woods is basically my Ember Sweet.

  Mack and I were good friends growing up—right up until she pushed me into a whiskey barrel and landed me in the supernatural predicament I’m in to begin with. After nearly drowning, I decided I no longer cared for confined spaces, bodies of water, or Mack Woods.