“Arlene, do you know Emmie?” I ask as I present my best friend like the prize she is.
Arlene squints over at her. “I think we’ve met a time or two.”
Emmie extends a hand her way. “It’s nice to meet you again just in case,” she teases as they shake. “I’ve brought cookies for the occasion.”
“Ooh, yummy.” Arlene rubs her hands together. “Let’s go put them by the counter and you can say hello to the birthday girl.”
“Emmie is getting married in a few weeks,” I volunteer the information, mostly because I’ve grown used to telling everyone and anyone who will listen. Sometimes I think I’m more excited about her big day than she is.
“A wedding?” Arlene presses a hand to her chest. “Do you have a dress?”
“Not yet,” I answer for her. I can’t stand that Emmie thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to pull something out of her closet for her big day. And to make things worse, when I asked her exactly which dress that might be, she said she probably wouldn’t decide until the morning of—as in morning of the wedding.
Emmie has lost her mind, only she doesn’t realize it yet. I’m secretly waiting for a full-blown panic attack to set in—most likely from me.
“You don’t have a dress?” Arlene gasps in horror as if all four walls just caught on fire. “Well, look no further. You wouldn’t believe how many wedding dresses we sell each year. And we have a spectacular selection.” She glances my way. “We even have a gorgeous beaded number that’s rumored to be cursed.” She wiggles her fingers when she says the C word. “It even comes with a warning from the previous owner, a woman by the name of Ophelia. She swears that dress ruined her life. She said she’s tried to burn the dress, bury it, and tear it to shreds, but it’s proved to be indestructible. So she penned a missive that she pinned to it with a word of warning to its next owner.”
“It’s a hard pass from me,” Emmie says. “The last thing I need is a cursed dress.”
Arlene laughs. “Vintage dresses are all the rage, you know. And we have plenty of others. They’re all in the boutique in the back, so please take a look and try on as many as you like.”
“We will,” I answer for Emmie. If anything, this might just put her in the mood.
Emmie frowns my way. I know what you’re thinking. And this is not going to put me in a mood to go dress shopping.
I frown right back at her.
Emmie knows full well I can read her mind. And even though she doesn’t share my strange abilities, she sure hits my thoughts on the nose more often than not.
We come upon the counter lined with cookies and different snacks. And just off to the right, there’s a table housing a pink three-tiered cake with a couple of svelte gold candles sitting over the top in the shape of a nine and a zero.
And standing next to that is the guest of honor herself.
Bea Crabtree may be ninety today, but she looks just the way she did all those decades ago when I met her. She’s tall, slightly hunched over, with thick gray hair swooping over her brows, and she just so happens to be impeccably dressed in a navy floral blouse and tan slacks.
“Bizzy Baker”—she waves me over—“glad you came to see the carnage.”
I laugh as I offer her a quick embrace.
“Happy birthday, Bea,” I tell her. “You don’t look a day over perfect.”
She makes a face. “Your mother raised you right.” She scowls at a trio of people gathered a few feet away stealing glances this way—and if I’m not mistaken, a couple of them look as if they’re snarling. “By the way, your mother and Georgie are here somewhere.” She cranes her neck toward the crowd. “They’re up to no good if you ask me. You’d better find them and set them straight about whatever trouble they’re about to step into next.”
Emmie laughs. “You know them well. Happy birthday, Bea. I think I’m going to check out that boutique your co-worker mentioned.” She whisks off in that direction without me, most likely so she can say she’s seen the inventory and isn’t interested. Not that I expect her to be, but what I do expect her to be is a good sport. Evidently, that’s asking too much.
“I’m sure I’ll find my mother and Georgie soon enough,” I tell her. “Now that Emmie is in the other room, I might steal a second to find a little something for her wedding. I’m still on the hunt for something old and something blue.”
A laugh rattles her torso. “I’d volunteer myself, but you know I don’t do that lovey-dovey stuff. Never have, never will.”
“You mean you were never married?”
“Nope. No handler for this girl. No kids either. But I’ve got my nieces and my nephew to deplete me of my sanity.” Her expression sours as she looks in the direction of that trio of people who keeping swinging their eyes this way. “You know, sometimes I get the feeling they wish I hadn’t had another birthday at all. Follow me, Bizzy. I’ve got just the thing for your something blue.” She gives Sherlock a pat on his head. “And I might just have a treat for you, too, handsome.”
I follow her to the counter, and my heart breaks just knowing that she thinks her family wishes she were dead. It’s most likely not even true. Most people tend to perceive the words of others, and their intentions, in a much darker manner than intended.
I’m positive Bea Crabtree will live to see more than a handful of other birthdays, and everyone here will be glad because of it.
I glance back at that trio next to the cake, and I can’t help but think they look as if they’re glowering at Bea.
As much as I don’t want to think that way, Bea might just be right. Family can be just as cruel as strangers.
Here’s hoping we’re both wrong, and that not a soul in this town is wishing death upon anybody.
She’s already dead to me, an internal voice sounds off from behind, and I quickly turn my head in that direction. When I’m not standing in front of the person whose mind I’ve inadvertently infiltrated, they tend to sound a bit androgynous so I have no idea if it was coming from a woman or a man. Nor do I see a single soul looking in this direction.
Here’s hoping those horrible words were nothing more than a passing thought.
A chill rides up my spine.
For once I’d like to go a year without death visiting Cider Cove.
But deep down, I know I’m not that lucky.
Chapter 2
“Bea!” Arlene sails this way and grabs the birthday girl by the hand. “There you are, being antisocial again. You’ve got a room full of guests. You need to mingle.”
The party is still buzzing all around us at the Second Time’s a Charm Thrift Shop as Bea makes a face at her underling.
Bea grunts at the far too chipper blonde, “I hate mingling, and you know it. Besides, I’m not being antisocial. Can’t you see I’m with Bizzy?”
Snuggles and Bingo hop up onto the counter and Bea quickly scoops them both up, and within seconds Fish is in my arms as well.
“I’m with the cats, too,” Bea snips in Arlene’s direction. “But I suppose you don’t think they count as far as socializing goes.”
Arlene laughs at the thought. “Normally, you would be right.” She winks my way. “But now that we have Fish and Sherlock here, we’ve got a real party.”
Bingo meows my way with his serious glowing eyes. She’s right, Bizzy. It’s a party as soon as you walk through the door with Fish and Sherlock. You should really come around more often.
Snuggles mewls and it sounds as if she’s laughing. You should really come around more often. She does her best to mimic him. Oh, for Pete’s sake, Bingo, everyone knows the only person you hope will walk through those doors each day is Fish Baker.
Fish Baker Wilder. Sherlock barks as he corrects her. Bizzy married my dad.
Bingo gives Snuggles a playful shove over the face. Would you be quiet. You’re embarrassing me.
I won’t keep quiet. Snuggles paws him in the face, right back. Just try to make me.
That I will, Bingo says as both he and Sn
uggles leap from Bea’s arms and dart toward the front of the store, and Fish and Sherlock take off after them.
Bea makes a face. “So much for having a captive audience. Now where was I? Oh yes, Bizzy was looking for something blue. Now I’ve got a pair of blue topaz earrings in the boutique that would be perfect for a wedding. They’re the exact color of summer rain followed by a pristine sky.”
Arlene clucks her tongue. “And I will get them for her later. You have guests to tend to. Come on, Bizzy. You can meet a few of them, too.”
She leads us toward the table with the cake on it, right into the midst of that trio who kept giving Bea funny glances. They all look to be in their late thirties or early forties.
There’s a redhead with a button nose and wire-rimmed glasses. She’s wearing jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt, and her arms look toned as if she hits the gym on a regular basis. The brunette next to her has long glossy hair, full pouty lips, and two-inch long lashes. She’s donned a little black dress and paired it with kitten heels, and truthfully looks like she went the extra few yards to dress for a party. The man with them is tall, with chiseled features and dark hair with blond frosted highlights. He’s dressed in a dark suit with a lemon yellow tie, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s gulping me down with his eyes.
Who knew they grew them this hot in Cider Cove? he muses as he leans back to better inspect me, and instantly his mind goes to white noise.
I suck in a quick breath.
That white noise feature is something I’m entirely grateful for because it seems to cut off a person’s internal dialogue just as their thoughts get a touch too steamy, and judging by that lustful gleam in his eyes, things are heating up to unsafe and unchaste levels in that mind of his.
“Oh, put it in your pants, Ryan,” Bea snaps in his direction. “Bizzy, these are my nieces and my nephew. The one on the end openly ogling you is Ryan Wallace, my sister’s only child, God rest her soul. He’s never married, no kids, and he thinks he owns half of Edison. God knows he’s got the ego to occupy it.”
“Not true.” He shakes his head my way as an affable smile takes over his face. Although good old Aunt Bea pegged me right. I need to put it in my pants. Bizzy is a looker, that’s for sure. I’ll need to get her alone for a moment before she leaves tonight. I’m a sucker for a pretty face. “Nice to meet you, Bizzy. I’m in real estate, which would explain my aunt’s perspective on my ego—which is non-existent I can assure you.” He takes my hand and kisses the back of it.
“Nice to meet you,” I mumble as I pull my hand back.
I won’t lie. I don’t care for men who openly ogle and kiss me. Especially when that kiss landed just an inch from my wedding ring.
Bea touches her elbow to the redhead next to her. “And this is Kadence Crabtree, my brother’s daughter, God rest his soul, too, and that’s her sister, Magnolia.”
“Nice to meet you both,” I tell them.
Kadence sighs. How long is this party going to be again? Why does it feel as if I’ve already sacrificed a decade? Most likely because I spent the afternoon rolling whiskey barrels from one end of the nursery to the other.
Whiskey barrels? Every nerve in my body cinches at the mention of that quasi-nefarious object. If I weren’t dunked into a whiskey barrel full of water all those years ago and nearly drowned like a river rat, I wouldn’t have this supernatural quirk today.
I push the thought out of my mind for a moment.
Bea shrugs. “Bizzy owns the Country Cottage Inn down the street. Bingo is smitten for her kitten, Fish. And Snuggles likes her well enough, too.”
Magnolia groans, Good grief, Bizzy is going to think Aunt Bea is bonkers, the way she carries on about her cats as if they were people. But then, she is bonkers, and if the poor woman didn’t know it before, she’ll be plenty informed of it now. Not only is Aunt Bea your run-of-the-mill crazy cat lady, but she and her cats should probably be locked up for the safety and welfare of others. She’s getting to that age. She treats those creatures as if they were her own children. Bonkers with a capital B, I tell you.
“Fish loves them, too,” I say, looking right at Magnolia. “In fact, I love Fish and my dog Sherlock as if they were my children, so I always love to bring them for playdates with Snuggles and Bingo.”
Magnolia’s false lashes cover half of her forehead as she widens her eyes. Well, there you go. She’s bonkers, too. I guess it takes one crazy cat lady to know another.
My blood pressure starts to spike just hearing the snide comment. I get that pets are not for everybody, but there’s no reason to poke fun at those of us who appreciate them.
“So what do you ladies do?” I ask with a forced smile.
If Bea has to tolerate these people for a lifetime, then I suppose I can do it for a few minutes.
Kadence stretches a short-lived smile across her face. “I work over at the nursery in Rose Glen. You know, flowers, plants, veggies. You want to grow it, we’ll sell it to you.”
“That sounds fun.” And it also explains the whiskey barrels. I glance to the brunette who happens to be examining her nails.
“What?” She snorts my way. “Who, me? I’m doing this and that,” she says, shooting me a look that could eviscerate, and an air of tension grows between us.
“And on that note,” Arlene says as she takes off her scarf. “I think it’s getting stuffy in here.” She pulls off her earrings in one easy maneuver, and I can see that they’re clip-ons. “I think I’ll set these right behind the register. Now go, all of you, and mingle!”
She takes off, as do Bea’s nieces and nephew.
“See what I mean?” Bea grunts as she glowers at the crowd. “They’re sorry they ever had to bother coming today.”
“I’m sure they don’t think that way.” But sadly, she might be onto something.
“It’s the truth, and we both know it. I blame my sister and brother for spoiling their brood. And now the three of them are broke and after my money. It’s the only reason they’ve been suffering with me all these years. Their parents left them with nothing, and none of the above is able to rub two nickels together for very long. They know I’ve got this place. And they know I’ve got a little saved up on the side.” If you can call a cool million a little.
My eyes widen as I take her in.
Does Bea really have a million dollars socked away? Not that it’s any of my business, but I think it’s fascinating.
“Anyway”—she nods in the direction they took off in—“Kadence seems the most normal among them. But she’s got her secrets that are eating her up inside.”
What secret, I want to ask, but I would never try to get Bea to gossip about her family at her own party.
“Then there’s Magnolia, or Mags as she insists everyone calls her. She thinks she’s a socialite but without the finances to back it. And she thinks I don’t know she sells racy pictures to make a living. She only does that because she’s too old and lazy to dance.”
Dance? My eyes widen another notch. Boy, Bea is in top form today. I’ve always known her to be feisty, but she’s a little feistier than usual, but seeing that it’s her birthday, I suppose that’s her prerogative.
“And let’s not forget Ryan. Funny how he mentioned he was a realtor to you. Probably because he’s trying to land you horizontally. Don’t worry. I’m sure he saw your wedding ring, but Ryan doesn’t care. He was born without a moral compass. However, I think it’s funny he always leaves those beauty salons my sister left him out of the conversation—as if they don’t keep his lights on. He hasn’t sold a single property in close to a year. The only thing he does while wearing that suit is sell a bill of goods to women.”
Someone in the crowd shouts her name and Bea grunts, “I guess I’ve got to suck it up and schmooze with the masses. At least I have cake to look forward to.” She stalks off into the crowd, and I do the same on the hunt for my mother and Georgie.
I’d head into the boutique to find Emmie, but I’m pretty sure she’s as fa
r away from those wedding dresses as possible. She’s probably in the kitchen section looking for a new set of dishes. I hardly recognize this no-fanfare version of my bestie.
Bea shouts something at Arlene, and Arlene sheds a sorrowful smile at the crowd. It can’t be easy working with Bea, let alone throwing her a party.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, only to shed an instant smile when I see it’s a text from my handsome hubby.
Hey, beautiful. Did you find someone better and leave me? You’re not at the cottage or the inn.
A laugh ripples through me as I text right back. I’m down the street at Second Time’s a Charm. It’s Bea’s birthday bash. Come on over. You’ll be just in time for cake. I’ve got Fish and Sherlock here, too.
My phone pings again. You had me at cake. Be right there.
I text him back. And for the record, I only have eyes for you. However, there is someone here who might have eyes for me. Hurry, please.
A kerfuffle breaks out just past the rows and rows of clothes sitting on racks, and in the home goods section I spot a kaftan wearing gray-haired granny growling like a bear while shaking a quilt in her hands. And next to her happens to be my mother.
I speed over just as my mother grabs ahold of a quilt of her own and begins to growl like a bear right alongside Georgie.
Georgie Conner is an eighty-something-year-old woman who lives in one of the cottages at the inn. She’s a hippie artist who specializes in mosaics, but recently opened a quilt shop with my mother. Her daughter, Juniper Moonbeam, aka Juni, was once married to my father.
I think Juni was wife number three—or was she number seven?
Raining Cats and Killers: Cozy Mystery (Country Cottage Mysteries Book 17) Page 2
