Georgie moans and swoons, her eyes quickly growing watery as she bats her lashes at him. “A man who quotes F. Scott Fitzgerald has the power to rule my heart. But it wasn’t that.” She deadpans that last sentence before popping a pumpkin spice mini muffin into her mouth.
Georgie waves her hand wildly as if she could hardly swallow fast enough to get her next thought out. Her gray mane is somewhat tempered in a loose braid with just enough wiry stragglers loose to give off that mad scientist vibe that I sometimes think she aspires for. The kaftan she’s donned for today’s festivities is orange and yellow with gold threading woven throughout.
It always warms my heart to see that Georgie chooses her wardrobe to adhere to the theme in the world around her. Unlike my own red and black buffalo flannel, dark jeans, and brown suede boots. I’ve always believed in dressing for comfort. Although, I will admit that as soon as Jasper swirled through my mind, I cinched my flannel in a knot high around my waist in an effort to show off my curves.
“I’ve got to make tracks.” Georgie plucks at the enormous yet empty tote bag over her shoulder. “The more people at these events, the more bottles. And judging by all the food trucks and snack shacks, I’m going to hit the glass motherload. I’ve already determined that the mural the city council has commissioned me to do will be made from one hundred percent repurposed glass. No cheating!” She wags a finger at us as if we were about to commit a recycling offense.
Macy offers a tight smile, a sure sign that my spicy sister is about to commission her sarcastic superpowers. “That’s right, Georgie. Stick it to the man anyway you can.”
Wish I could stick it to a man. My sister scours the crowd as if she were looking for a victim right about now. I know for a fact Macy is both lonely and on the prowl. A lethal combination if ever there was one.
Georgie spikes a crooked finger in the air as she takes off. “I fully intend to stick it to the man!”
Dad shakes his head, that perma-smile of his never leaving his face. “And on that note, I think I’d better go off and do something for the environment as well.”
“You?” Macy blinks back with surprise.
My father isn’t exactly known as an environmentalist. He worked in financial management for most of his life, something he still dabbles in on the side. But he’s mostly retired.
“Yes, me.” Dad straightens as he surveys the crowd before us. “I’ve got to mine this place for lonely looking women.” Before I get too lonely myself. He gives a quick wink as he takes off into the thicket of bodies.
Macy groans, “Get ready to meet wife number thirty. Speaking of his wives, I’m texting Mom to see if she’s here with her new beau. Ten bucks says he’s got more hair in his ears than he does on his head—he’s probably got a wart on the tip of his nose, too.”
I scoff over at my sister.
“What?” She shrugs. “It’s almost Halloween. I’m getting into the spirit of things.”
“The evil spirit.” No sooner do I say it than I hear the faint call of my name, and I look up to see Nessa speeding this way with two friendly pooches on leashes as they walk quickly by her side. “Well, if it isn’t the handsome Sherlock Bones and our new little friend, Peanut. Hello, boys! Glad you could make it,” I say, bending over to give Sherlock a quick squeeze and a kiss before picking up Peanut.
Sherlock tips his head over at me. Bizzy, this poor dog is wracked with grief. And he’s fearful he’ll have to live with a witch named Ginger. If there’s anything that can cheer him up, we need to do it—and fast. He did have nice things to say about Fish. Apparently, the cantankerous kitty was kind to him in the night.
Sherlock Bones is a red and white freckled mixed breed about medium build with the tenacity of a bear, the loyalty of a best friend, and a heart of gold. He’s Jasper’s best friend, and over the last month that I’ve come to know them, it’s safe to say they’ve both won me over.
“Oh, Peanut,” I say as I drop a kiss on his tiny brown nose. Peanut has an adorable white line that runs down his face and meanders down one cheek. There’s a general sweetness about him that can’t be denied, and true to what Sherlock says, he genuinely looks as if he’s grieving. “I’m so sorry you’re sad. But you’re safe. And I promise, I won’t let a thing happen to you.” And by thing I mean Ginger.
Nessa gives a pitiful laugh as she scratches the cute babe between the ears. “He cried all the way over. I think you’re right. Getting him out of the cottage was the best thing for him today. Fish really wanted to come, too, and she followed me all the way out to the main road.”
“Thankfully, Fish knows better than to leave the cottage grounds. But there are far too many people here today for a cute little beast who refuses to be leashed.”
Nessa shrugs. “I agree.”
“How are you doing?” I lean her way. “Any whisperings in your social circle on who could have killed poor Shelby?” Peanut flinches in my arms and I feel terrible letting the words leave my lips. “I mean, assuming it wasn’t random.” And judging by the chaos around her that night, I don’t think it was.
Any trace of a smile leaves Nessa’s face. “I don’t have any idea.” She gives a dark look to something or someone in the crowd. “I’ll catch up to you later, Bizzy.”
She takes off before I can stop her, and just as she does, Macy threads her arm through mine.
“Mom called and said they’re here,” my sister grunts. “She says they’re making out by the food trucks.”
I glance to the sky with a laugh in my throat. “She did not say that.”
“Okay, fine. She said it’s time for her children to meet the old goat.”
I know for a fact she didn’t say that either. If Maximus Wilder looks anything like his brother, he’s no old goat.
Macy navigates us to the rows and rows of food trucks to the one marked Maximus and my heart drums wildly at the prospect of meeting Jasper’s brother for the very first time.
“There she is!” Macy squeals with delight as soon as we spot her and gives my arm the death squeeze. “Hey? Look at that hottie behind her,” Macy moans in approval. “Wait a minute—isn’t that your hottie?” She squints as we come upon Jasper’s heart-stopping look-alike. But alas no, it’s not my hottie. It’s his brother. Technically, I haven’t met any of Jasper’s siblings, but I know for a fact he has three brothers and a sister. This particular brother’s name is Maximus and he owns a restaurant in Seaview, which shares his same moniker.
Mom gasps once she sees us. Her hair is coifed and feathered circa 1983, and she’s donned her preppy attire, stovepipe jeans, a coral cable knit sweater with a blouse underneath patterned with pumpkins. Her collar is popped with pride—the only way Ree Baker does it—and she looks amazing.
“You’re here!” She glances back to Jasper’s look-alike. “Max, you must meet my daughters.” She leans our way with sudden death rays shooting out of her eyes. “Tell him my age and I’ll disown you both before noon,” she issues the threat lower than a whisper.
The six-foot-two, stunning wall of muscles steps over and wraps an arm around my mother in a spontaneous show of affection, and my sister all but falls to the ground.
A deep groan comes from Macy as if she were actually mortally wounded by the display of affection.
“Girls”—Mom brims with pride—“I’d like to introduce you to my new boyfriend.”
“Mother?” Macy shakes her head in disbelief. “Please tell me this is his hot, available son and you couldn’t wait to introduce me to him.” She angles her head at the poor guy. “Anyone ever tell you that you look suspiciously like a detective from the Seaview Sherriff’s Department?”
“Max Wilder.” The six-foot wonder laughs as he extends his hand to Macy. “That would be my brother, Jasper, you’re thinking about. And no, I’m not available.” He winces. “I’m actually taken by this girl right here.” He lands a tender kiss to Mom’s cheek, and both Macy and I cringe—for two entirely different reasons.
Sherlock knocks his hea
d to my knee. Why is Jasper kissing your mother? He jumps up quickly. Oh, wait. It’s his annoying brother. Proceed with caution. This one likes to scratch aggressively and tug at tails and ears.
Something tells me my mother will enjoy all of the above, far too much.
Macy stares at Max’s hand as if she didn’t know what to do with it. I bet a part of her wants to smack him with it.
Macy shakes her head. Maybe I should slap him with it? Maybe I should smack myself with it?
A small laugh bubbles from me. “Bizzy Baker,” I say as I shake his hand and position the sweet pooch in my arms better so they can see him. “And this is my new friend, Peanut.”
Mom coos and scratches a finger over his head, and Max is quick to gift him a sturdy pat to the back.
“You’re a Peanut, all right.” Max chuckles. “Reminds me of one of best friends growing up.”
“You had dogs?” I ask.
“No, it was a kid down the street.” He gives a little wink, and suddenly I’m starting to see a stark difference between him and Jasper. “And would you look at this?” He bends over and wrestles playfully a moment with Sherlock. “And if it isn’t my favorite nephew. Hey? What are you doing here?” He gifts Sherlock a kiss on the forehead. “Don’t tell me you’ve been dognapped.” He looks up at me a moment. “Wait a minute.” He straightens as a devious smile comes to his face. “You said your name is Bizzy Baker? You must be the girl at the inn my brother can’t stop talking about.”
My heart thumps at the thought. My heart seems to race at any thought of Jasper these days, but to think he’s telling his family about me makes something in my spirit soar.
Max squints over at me. Geez. Jasper wasn’t kidding. She is beautiful. I can tell she gets her looks from this one. He brushes a spontaneous kiss to Mom’s cheek, and something about the action warms me. His mind certainly had the opportunity to wander in the wrong direction and it didn’t. I think that says a lot about him.
Macy groans again, this time with her shoulders sagging as the reality sinks in.
“Nice to meet you, Max.” She smacks her lips at our mother. “I definitely need a stiff drink. Or maybe one of those artisan pickles. How about both.” She wanders off just as a girl who holds the same gray eyes and same dark hair as Max strides up with a hand lying protectively over her distended belly.
“Did I hear you say your name is Bizzy?” She smiles warmly. “I’m Ella Westbrook, Jasper’s sister.”
“The artist!” My eyes brighten her way. “Jasper told me you were having a showing this month.”
“I sure am. And I want to invite your entire family to come out. It’s free.” She flicks her fingers at Peanut as if she were hungry to hold him. “Do you mind? I happen to have a soft spot for adorable tiny creatures.”
Mom and I break out into a warm laugh as I hand Peanut over.
Bizzy, Peanut practically wails my name in fear. Don’t let her take me away. I’m quite comfortable with Fish and you. He lets out a yelp and Sherlock chuckles to himself.
He wants me to bite her ankle. Sherlock nuzzles Ella’s hip in a bid for her affection. I’ll do no such thing. She’s got a pup of her own growing in her belly. My precious niece or nephew.
Mom smiles over at her. “When are you due, Ella?”
“End of March, beginning of April. I’m rooting for March.”
They share another laugh, but I’m stunted into silence. My mouth falls open with pure joy as I see my own six-foot-two stack of muscles walking over with a grin breaking out on his face, but before he can make his way over, Mayor Mack Man-Eater Woods is quick to accost him.
“Oh, thank God you’re here.” Mack presses a hand to her chest as if feigning distress. Mack Woods is never in distress. She causes distress to others—by way of pushing them into a whiskey barrel for example. I would be exhibit A. “There’s a killer on the loose, and I just know a strong, intelligent man such as yourself will quickly apprehend them. I look forward to the public briefing. Maybe we could go for coffee afterwards? I’m sure Bizzy wouldn’t mind if we spent some time together in the Cottage Café?” And I’m sure she won’t mind me helping myself to Jasper as well. She shoots a cutthroat smile my way. But then, you won’t have a say in it. Will you, Bizzy?
Mack has always been an expert at stealing what’s mine—namely the men I’d like to keep for myself. I’ll admit, a part of me is horrified at the thought of history repeating itself.
She stalks off in her high-heeled boots that a very shallow part of me admires and bright orange pea coat pulled tightly over her body. At least she’ll be easy to spot in the crowd. And I will definitely be walking the other way.
Jasper shakes his head, his lips curving right back to a smile. “Bizzy Baker.” He grins as he wraps his arms around me quickly. Jasper leans back and ushers an all too familiar older brunette into our midst, and I recognize her as the woman I ran into once I arrived. “This is one of your newest residents at the inn. Bizzy, I’d like to introduce you to Gwyneth Wilder, my mother.”
I suck in a quick breath at the sight.
His mother’s mouth rounds as her body grows visibly rigid. Horror of horrors. It’s the dimwit who tried to decapitate me. God knows what she’ll be capable of with my son. Let’s hope this is nothing more than a flash in the pan—a rebound I think they call it.
“Mom, meet Bizzy.” Jasper takes a half-step back and I hesitate a moment before extending my hand.
“Pleasure to meet you, Gwyneth.” I never said I was above lying. Granted, she’s in a different environment, forced to move into an inn, and dealing with the crowds at the local pumpkin patch. I think I can let one errant comment slide.
Max steps in with my mother in tow. “And this is the woman I was telling you about. Mom, meet Ree Baker.”
“Excuse me?” Gwyneth shakes her head. “What woman? The new night manager for the restaurant? Please God, let it be the new manager.” My son cannot be dating this relic from an era gone by.
“Mom.” Max breaks out into a belly laugh. “This is the love of my life.”
“Ree Baker?” She winces at the two of us. “Say it isn’t so.”
Mom gurgles a dark laugh.
One thing is for sure, Ree Baker isn’t afraid to go toe-to-toe with anyone.
“Oh, it’s so, Gwyneth.” Mom curls her lips just shy of a smile. “And Bizzy is my daughter.”
Kill me.
Gwyneth looks as green as a gourd.
“Bizzy?” someone shouts my name from behind, and I turn to find Nessa running this way. I quickly excuse myself to meet her.
“What is it?” I ask with Sherlock dancing between us.
“I have a confession to make.” Her brows are furrowed, her lips quivering with fear.
“You’re not going to confess to being the killer, are you?” I tease.
Her lips press tight. “Maybe I am.”
Chapter 5
Autumn brings so much with it, an abundance of flaming red leaves, pumpkins dotting the landscape everywhere you look, and pumpkin spice treats that I look forward to all year long. And yet, this autumn brought something unexpected with it—something very much unwanted—murder.
Just as Nessa was about to fill me in on whatever it was that was stressing her out yesterday at the Haunted Harvest Festival, she caught a glimpse of Jasper and lost her nerve. She let me know in no explicit terms that she would confess everything to me as soon as she got to work tomorrow—which would be today. In fact, Nessa is due to work in just a few minutes.
The Country Cottage Inn is festooned for fall with silk maple leaf garland lining the counters and entry.
“What do you think?” Jordy nods for me to admire his handiwork at the entry to the inn.
Jordy, my best friend Emmie’s brother, is the groundskeeper here at the inn. He shares Emmie’s dark hair and bright blue eyes, and he just so happens to be my ex-husband. It’s a long story not worth telling. We were in Las Vegas, got shnockered off Jim Beam, married,
and had the marriage annulled before you could say happily never after. My brother, Huxley, happens to be a divorce attorney and he helped dissolve the brief matrimonial disaster.
I look up at the fall leaf garland, the spider webs strewn throughout, and the miniature orange twinkle lights and sigh.
“Jordy!” A laugh tickles my throat. “It’s spectacular—and spooky. It’s spooktacular.”
“Glad you like it.” He waves me over to the front doors. “Check out the front.”
Both Sherlock and Peanut follow him as if they were as excited as I am to see it.
Sherlock twists his neck as if beckoning for me to hurry. Looks good, Bizzy! When can I eat them?
Peanut gives a playful growl at his new four-legged freckled friend. Eat them and it will be your last day as a greeter at the inn.
“You got that right,” I whisper with a sly wink their way.
I step around the marble counter and both Peanut and Sherlock follow along. I usually only have Fish with me out on the prowl when I’m working the reception desk, but both Sherlock and Peanut asked to come along this morning. It was either that or they’d be relegated to Critter Corner in the back. And even though Critter Corner is more of a spa than a daycare, they still prefer it out front where all the action takes place—and to be honest, the guests do, too.
“Oh, Jordy, I love it,” I say, admiring the thick ropes of maple garland trimming the enormous double door entry both inside and out. Tiny orange twinkle lights are woven throughout it and it gives off a haunted magical appeal. “Who knew you had a decorator’s touch?”
“Not me—because I don’t have one. Emmie told me to do it. She said she saw it online and she thought it’d be cute.” He says cute as if it were a genuinely foul four-letter word. “I’m spending the rest of the day arranging that load of pumpkins the Montgomerys dropped off. Anything in particular you want me to do with them?”
“Line the cobbled path that leads to the entry for sure. Then stack some on either side of the doors. Oh, and make sure you put some on the periphery of the steps as you come on in. Of course, the café will need some—and outside of the café.”
Dog Days of Murder Page 5
