“Why would he mention Ember? We didn’t talk about her when she was alive. We certainly don’t mention her now that she’s gone.” Okay, so I thought it was strange he didn’t bring her up the very night she was murdered, but I certainly wasn’t going to spoil the mood.
“Macy! You were with him the night that Ember died?” I don’t even bother to hide the fact I just read her mind.
She shrugs it off. “Someone needed to comfort him.”
“Men in mourning!” Georgie spikes a finger. “Why didn’t I think of that? I bet the cemetery is crawling with men looking to have a good time.”
Macy shakes her head. “Try the morgue.”
“Would you two quit?” I step in close to my cold-hearted sister. “Macy, I’d watch out for him if I were you. Flint Butler is—”
“Right here!” Her voice climbs an octave as she dives forward and falls right into his arms.
“Ladies.” Flint offers both Georgie and me a nod as he wraps an arm around my sister. He’s wearing a wool coat with a thick brown knotted scarf and looks happily cozy—as killers who think they’re getting away with murder are prone to do.
Sugar Shack is introduced, and the crowd goes wild. Soon the melody of their most popular song filters through the speakers, and suddenly I wish I had Jasper here to sway to the music with.
“Detective Wilder.” Flint tips his head up a notch, and I glance back to see the exact man I was hoping would materialize by my side. “Just in time for the concert, I see. Something tells me you always have impeccable timing.” Flint sheds an apprehensive smile. Which reminds me to avoid this man like the plague. And why is he suddenly always around? Is he onto me? Is this about Laurel or Ember?
A breath hitches in my throat. “Sugar Shack just started,” I say with every intention of pulling Jasper off to the side and filling him in on Flint’s nefarious and obviously guilty thoughts.
“Actually”—Jasper’s brows hover over his pale eyes—“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay for the concert. I’m here on official business. There’s been a development in the case. I’m here to make an arrest.”
Flint’s eyes widen a notch, and his face turns as pale as the sand on the beach.
Jasper nods. “I’m sorry, Macy. You’re under arrest for the murder of Ember Sweet.”
I knew it! Spice yelps as she does her best to jump out of my papoose.
Cookie lands her paw onto my chest. Oh, I could have told you she was the killer. Look at those teeth.
Pumpkin mewls, The better to eat men with. She’s a killer, all right.
My sister is not a killer.
Now to prove it—to these cats—and to my husband, of all people.
Chapter 12
Macy Baker has been arrested for the murder of Ember Sweet.
Arrested. For the life of me, I can’t wrap my head around it. Yesterday, after my own husband all but slapped the cuffs on my sister, utter chaos ensued. Huxley, my mother, and I drove down to the Seaview Sheriff’s Department and watched helplessly as they processed my rather furious sibling. Macy put up a fight, and it was nothing short of a riot. They had to put her in restraints, and then when that wasn’t enough, they threatened to mace her.
My mother was irate—Ree Baker saves her tears for the pillow. She managed to get herself kicked out of the precinct within a half an hour. My brother did his best to keep his legal wits about him, but according to his thoughts—which were many and rampant—he feels as if he’s way in over his head.
Poor Hux began doubting his ability to save Macy from the electric chair—yes, he went there. As it turns out, we’re waiting for Hux to get the issue of my sister’s case before a judge so bail can be set.
As for Jasper, I’m not upset with him as much as I am upset with the situation. I know justice will prevail, even if I have to bring it about myself.
However, life goes on.
The inn is bustling this morning, sans any sign of a wonky quilt takeover.
Grady, Nessa, and I have been working nonstop processing guests who are coming and going. It’s not until noon do we even catch a breather.
Fish hops along the creamy marble counter.
If we’re done here, I’d like to visit Auntie Macy in the slammer before Jasper has her shipped to Timbuktu.
I bite down on a smile. Fish may have been privy to a small argument Jasper and I had last night. Mostly it was me arguing and Jasper reassuring me that my sister wasn’t being shipped off to the aforementioned destination. Georgie was kind enough to take the kittens from me yesterday when all heck broke loose, and they ended up spending the night at her cottage.
Sherlock barks up at Fish. It’s not permanent. Jasper made that clear. His head twitches my way. Bizzy, if I may suggest, I think a little bacon could make this all go away.
“I wish,” I whisper as Nessa nods over to me.
“I heard what happened with your sister.” Nessa gives a quick glance around before stepping in close. “You must be frantic. But don’t worry. The same thing happened to me, remember? And you really saved the day. I have no doubt you’ll pull your sister out of the pokey in no time. So who’s your next suspect?”
“I think I’m going to circle back to one I’ve already questioned.” I don’t dare even whisper Flint Butler’s name in a lobby full of people. The man has a seat down at city hall. A rumor like this could spread like wildfire and could land me in court for libel. “I’ll need to speak to Marigold first before I go charging in. But if I’m right, there could be an entirely different arrest taking place in just a few hours, and my sister will be back to her ornery self. Not that she’s any less ornery now. Has either of you seen her come down for breakfast?”
“Marigold Sweet?” Grady squints at the computer screen in front of him. “She checked out this morning, just a few minutes before you came in.” He steps my way with a stern expression. “She wanted to apologize for not thanking you for the room herself, but she said she couldn’t stand another minute in this haunted hotel. Her words, not mine. And when I asked her if anything new had happened, she said that her window kept opening and shutting on its own all night. She said she was so afraid she locked herself in the bathroom and fell asleep in the tub.”
My hand presses to my chest. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I give a few quick blinks, unable to process the thought of it actually happening.
Grady nods. “I know. I didn’t believe it either—until the guests from the room on either side of hers reported hearing violent thumping all night long. She’s been coming in late all week, so I thought maybe that’s what the other guests were hearing, but they confirmed the thumping was going on right up until the sun hit the horizon.”
Nessa groans. “I’m sorry, Bizzy, but I don’t do ghosts. Either you get this place cleared of its supernatural visitors or I’m walking.”
“Good Lord, I might just be walking, too.” I scoop up my things in haste. “Grady, did Marigold say if she was heading home?”
Fish lets out a yowl. I bet her husband is back from his trip. If Marigold thinks she’s being haunted, I doubt she’d want to go back to the big house she was trying to avoid in the first place.
I nod her way because she’s most likely right.
Grady thinks about it for a second. “She mentioned something about an inn south of us.”
“The Blue Horse Inn!” I belt it out as if I was giving the winning answer on game night. “I have to get out of here,” I say, circling around the counter and practically bumping into Emmie while she does her best to pull a tray brimming with apple cider mini donuts out of my way.
“Whoa, where’s the fire?” She takes a step back and examines me. “You’re off to see another suspect, aren’t you?”
“You better believe it. I’m going to do everything I can to pull my sister out of the cell they’ve got her locked up in. Grady, would you mind watching Fish and Sherlock for me?”
“I’m on it.” He mock salutes me. “Half the time I feel a
s if they’re the ones watching me.”
Fish belts out a sharp meow. Bring back a killer, Bizzy!
Sherlock jumps side to side. Jasper is not going to be happy about this. I distinctly remember him saying to leave this one to him. I’d put some bacon in your pocket if I were you, Bizzy. You might need it just to settle him down if you get caught. That is, if the killer doesn’t catch you first.
“I’ll be fine.” I give Sherlock a quick pat before stealing a donut from Emmie. “I’ll see you all in a bit.”
“I’m coming with you.” Emmie slaps the platter onto the reception counter.
“Fine,” I say. “But let’s keep this little adventure to ourselves. Jasper wouldn’t be all that thrilled to know I was heading down there. But it’s just Marigold. And I have a feeling she might just point us directly to the killer.”
Emmie pretends to zip her lip. “It’ll be our little secret.” She looks back. “Nessa, can you let the kitchen staff know I’ll be back in a few hours?”
Nessa shoots me a look. “Fine. Just try not to get yourselves killed. One of these days, Bizzy Baker, you’re going to run into some real trouble.”
“It’s Bizzy Baker Wilder,” I call out as Emmie and I dash out the front doors of the inn, only to run into Georgie with a pumpkin patchwork wonky quilt strapped to her back and a smaller version strapped to her chest with three fuzzy little cuties peering out at me from inside.
“Where’s the fire?” Georgie holds out her hands and staggers from foot to foot.
“South at the Blue Horse Inn,” I say, whisking past her. “I have to ask Marigold what she knows about Flint.”
Georgie clasps onto the kittens. “Hear that, girls? We’re going south, and I bet we’re going to catch a killer!”
That would be great. But right about now, I’d settle for catching a clue.
The Blue Horse Inn is located just below Seaview in a sleepy beach town called Willow Bay. The inn has a larger-than-life powder blue stone horse that stands proudly right outside of the establishment. The building is massive in both girth and width, and could easily dwarf the Country Cottage Inn twice over. There’s a ritzy fountain just outside its doors, similar to the one my own inn has, but this one is made of gleaming white marble and the bottom tier is so large it could double as a swimming pool.
Emmie, Georgie, and I storm the entrance, and inside it looks stately, with its white polished walls and glossy white floors. It looks more like a swanky hotel you might find in Manhattan rather than a cozy seaside resort, and I’m glad about it, too. I’ve been meaning to come down and check out the competition. I mean, I’ve seen pictures of the place online, but there’s a sterile air to it only the real deal could provide.
The Blue Horse Inn butts up against the beach and has a dining room attached that overlooks the water. But whereas the Country Cottage Inn has a simple café, they have a full-blown restaurant and bar. The entire inn is geared for another type of clientele entirely, so I’ve never felt as if we were truly competitive in any respect.
Emmie grunts as she looks to the long steel reception counter.
“Not a complimentary donut in sight.” She sniffs.
I shake my head. “It’s almost Thanksgiving, and I don’t see a single pumpkin, turkey, or cornucopia in sight. I’m guessing it doesn’t fit with their color scheme.”
Georgie snorts. “And not a single pooch or cool cat here to greet you either.” She gives the kittens in her quilted pouch a jostle. “Looks like a BYOK kinda place to me.”
Emmie gives her the side-eye. “BYOK?”
“Bring your own kitten,” I say. “I’ve been around Georgie long enough to know how she operates.” Mostly.
Georgie hitches her thumb my way. “That’s why you’re the lead detective of the Seaview Sheriff’s Department.”
“That would be my husband,” I say.
“Yeah, right.” Georgie elbows Emmie in the ribs. “The next thing she’s going to try to tell us is that he’s the one that wears the pants in the family.”
Emmie cackles right along with Georgie while I make a run for the front desk. Each employee here is wearing a black suit with a red and white dotted bowtie, the only color in this rather monochromatic world.
“Excuse me,” I say, getting the attention of a blonde with her hair knotted up at the neck. I get the feeling hair is off-limits for the employees here, too. Maybe for the guests as well. “I’m supposed to be meeting with Marigold Sweet for lunch,” I say, crossing my fingers and toes. As much as I don’t like even the tiniest lie, I’m hoping to make that lunch date a reality in less than ten minutes. “Do you know where I can find her?”
The blonde’s fingers dance across her keyboard as she looks to the computer screen in front of her.
“She is a guest,” she says. “I can’t tell you which room she’s in, but you could try the Marblehead Lounge if you want to find her. It’s to your left and toward the water. Enjoy your time at the Blue Horse Inn.” She gets right back to tapping away at her keyboard while I lead Georgie and Emmie in the direction she pointed us to.
One of the kittens peering from Georgie’s quilt squeaks out a tiny mewl, Bizzy, since Sherlock Bones isn’t here, we’ve decided it’s only fair we have his bacon.
Another kitten pokes her head out. Leave her alone, Cookie. Can’t you see she’s about to nab the killer? Her little nose twitches. Ooh, I smell something delicious. I’ll have a helping of whatever that is.
The third one mewls in agreement, and soon they’re going off like a choir.
“They’re hungry,” I say before quickly relaying their message.
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” Georgie reaches past the quilt draped over her and into the pocket of her kaftan. “It’s raining bacon,” she says as she sprinkles bits of salted meat over the kittens’ heads and they go wild with delight while fighting for it.
Emmie reaches over and snatches a few pieces right out of the air.
“Don’t look at me like that, Bizzy,” she says. “I’m not above bacon.”
“Neither am I.” An elastic smile glides across my face as I help myself to a piece.
The three of us come upon the Marblehead Lounge and crane our heads in every direction at once. It’s dark inside. Loud rock music rattles our bones and thumps through our chests. The scent of grilled peppers and onions lights up our senses as a waitress walks by with a sizzling order of fajitas—and what I wouldn’t do to sink my teeth into that platter right about now. The windows have a dark blue tint to them, giving the place the feeling it’s midnight out. The lounge is spacious with the bartender to the left and small tables set out over the expanse. The floor and tables consist of dark-stained wood, and the entire place is nearly at capacity with bodies—each of them already with a drink in hand as they sway to the music.
“Boy, Bizzy”—Georgie shakes her head—“this makes the café look like a greasy truck stop in the middle of nowhere. No wonder vacancies are up. Our guests have headed for bluer pastures.”
Emmie nudges me with her elbow. “There she is! She’s seated at the bar. What’s our cover?”
The music picks up, and Georgie begins to clap wildly.
“Conga line!” She grabs ahold of a stranger, and soon an entire human chain is linked to her as they run around the dance floor screaming cha cha cha at the top of their lungs. Every eye in the place is on them, including that of Marigold's.
The brunette does a double take my way, and I waste no time heading in her direction.
“Bizzy?” Her mouth falls open with a dull laugh. “What are you doing all the way out here? I didn’t leave anything behind, did I?”
“Just a ghost,” I say, falling into the seat next to her, and Emmie takes the one next to me.
“Our crazy friend is here for the entertainment,” Emmie says, ticking her head toward the dance floor where those poor kittens are being jostled to the rhythm of Georgie’s happy hip tossing.
Marigold belts out a laugh. �
�Well, at least she knows how to live it up. I’ll tell you right now, that’s exactly what I hope to be doing at her age. Let’s just hope I don’t break a hip doing it.”
I nod. “Let’s hope Georgie doesn’t break a hip doing it. So I heard about the ghost incident.” I cringe as I say it. “That’s pretty scary. I’m sorry you had that experience. And I wish I had a reasonable explanation. The only thing I can think of is maybe one of the shutters outside of the windows came loose?”
“Nope.” She shakes her head emphatically as she takes a sip from her fruity drink. “The window was physically rising and falling. I’m telling you I couldn’t believe it myself.” She shudders just thinking about it.
Marigold is dressed in a black sequin blouse that catches the light every now and again and has a small matching clutch with her that probably costs more than my car. I’ve never been one to spend big money on purses, but it sure doesn’t stop me from admiring them.
The bartender comes by, and both Emmie and I order a virgin strawberry daiquiri.
Georgie swings by with that howling line of humanity behind her and dumps the kittens into my lap.
She bumps her hip to mine. “If the kittens can’t take the heat, they must take a seat!” She kicks out her hip and cha cha chas her way clear across the room in seconds as the crowd snakes along with her.
Marigold shakes her head at the sight. “I can see why she likes it here. She’s Ms. Popular.” Her expression melts as she spots the blue-eyed cuties in my lap. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, you sweethearts are so cute you should be illegal. Come here,” she says, plucking one out of my lap and Emmie takes another. “What are you going to do with them, Bizzy?”
“I’m sure I’ll find a good home for them, but until then they’ll continue to stay with me. My pets love them. How about you? In the market for a kitten or three?”
She tosses a glance to the ceiling. “I wish. But as soon as I saw them, I knew I couldn’t get near them. I’m highly allergic.” She makes a face at the one she’s holding. “And that’s exactly why I need to give you right back.” She hands the little cutie pie my way and almost instantly her eyes are watering, and it looks as if she’s been sobbing.
A Frightening Fangs-giving Page 12
