“What can I say? I’m a rebel. Besides, I would never hold it against you for not having good taste in educational institutions.”
A laugh growls from him. “And she keeps the zingers coming.”
“I’ll get that application to you as well. In fact, I’ll track down her stepsister and see if I can glean anything new.”
“No.” Any hint of a smile dissipates from him. “I meant what I said, Bizzy. Stay away from this investigation. This is not for you.” Don’t even think about it.
I scoff at the thought. “Well, I’m certainly thinking about it.”
He blinks back as if I struck him, and my fingers fly to my lips. I’ve made it a practice not to repeat a thing I’ve heard anyone thinking—except for this instance. But I couldn’t help it.
“Please don’t think about it.” He sighs as if he were resigned to the terrible truth. “I’ll see you later.”
“Enjoy the rest of your day, detective.”
Jasper hops into his truck with Sherlock at his side and they take off.
I don’t need anyone telling me what I can and cannot do.
Least of all a boy from Ward.
I’m going to talk to Rissa McNeil. And I bet I’ll get a heck of a lot further with her than he ever could.
Boys from Ward, indeed.
Chapter 6
The nerve.
The next day, try as I might, I can’t seem to get that ornery detective out of my mind. And, worse yet, in succumbing to his greedy ego’s desire to take over my gray matter, my ability to pry into other people’s minds is on overload.
Here she comes again. Let’s see what fault she can find with me this time. Asher, Jordy’s groundskeeping assistant, glowers at me a moment before offering a seemingly kind hello.
For the record, I have not found fault with him once. I’ve found fault with the fact he’s left the gardening clippings out all afternoon last week for the guests to see and God forbid trip over. I actually enjoy Asher’s company. He’s one of the only people who shares my affinity for hot cider with a dash of cayenne pepper.
“Hey, Asher!” I offer him a friendly wave. “I’ve got a hot cup of spicy cider with your name on it waiting for you in the café!”
His features smooth out as he offers a genuine smile. “Sounds good, Bizzy! I’ll head in as soon as I dump today’s clippings!” That Bizzy—you can’t help but like her.
A smile bounces over my lips. Now that’s much better. The last thing I want is for my employees to see me as a tyrant. I love the inn, but more than that, I love the people who make up the inn.
Fish and I head to the check-in area, where she promptly finds her bed behind the counter and curls up in it.
I make sure the front desk is well-staffed. Both Grady and Nessa, a couple of recent college graduates, are working the early shift with me today.
They’ve both made it explicitly clear that I understand they’re simply slumming at the inn until their real careers kick in.
Grady is a clean-cut, dark-haired playboy with milky white teeth and hypnotic blue eyes that makes all the guests under thirty swoon with his inherited Irish charm. Emmie affectionately refers to him as the eye candy up front.
And Nessa is a gorgeous brunette with skin that nature kissed the color of a perfect latte. She’s smart as a whip but far too obsessed with everything but the inn. Nessa’s older sister, Vera, went to school with me at Cider Cove High. She was pretty much a mean girl who lived to make my life miserable, and it looks as if her sour attitude toward me has trickled down to her not-so sweet little sister. Nessa and Vera also happen to be first cousins with Emmie, hence the nepotism that helped land Nessa the job in the first place.
And in keeping with today’s chaotic theme, they both barrage me with their thoughts at once.
I hope I get tickets to the big game tonight. Man, I live for Sea Raven football, Grady says as he pretends to be intensely studying the daily guest stats on the monitor before him, but I’m guessing he’s on StubHub or Rip Off Seats ’R Us. And if I do get the tickets, I’ll have to call in tomorrow. He glances my way. I feel the stomach flu coming on. She won’t want me here for days. His eyes grow wide at the screen. He shoots, he scores.
I take it he got the tickets.
Nessa smirks over at his screen. Perfect. Once he’s gone, I can finally relax. I’m so tired of him judging me for reading. Who cares if I’m reading on the job? It’s not like there’s anything to do while I wait for the slow trickle of check-ins and check-outs. Besides, my book challenge is to read a book a week. I’ve got other people in my book club who are keeping tabs on me. I need to make this look effortless. She glances my way. What is she staring at, anyway? Creepy. It’s like she’s reading our minds or something.
“You’re both doing a great job,” I say. “Nessa, have you read Where the Apples Fall? It’s the number one pick in the library’s book club this month.” Her eyes widen a notch. “And Grady? My father always has an extra set of tickets for the Sea Ravens. I can get you a set if you like.”
He looks a little green around the gills as he gets back to tapping on the keyboard. I’m guessing he’s gunning for a refund—and I hope he gets it. I don’t mind one bit that Grady wants to head to the game. I’d love to make his dream come true. He’s a nice guy and a hard worker. I’d love for him to stay on staff well into the future.
“Let me know if you’re interested,” I say. “But we’ll need you here tomorrow, if you don’t mind. We’ve got a leaf peeping tour pushing through.”
He perks right up as the screen before him displays the words refund initiated across the top. “I don’t mind at all, Bizzy.” He sighs with relief. “And please thank your dad. I can’t wait to get to the stadium.”
“You bet! I’ll arrange for the tickets to be sent to you in a few hours.”
I take off for the café and pick up on the melee from the customers at the tables.
Darn weather is too cold for me. I knew booking a getaway at the shore this time of year was a lousy idea. Way to waste my money and my vacation days.
The French toast is to die for. I’d give my eye teeth if my wife could make this at home. Hey? Maybe if I ask real nice they’d give me their secret recipe? Doubtful. I’d probably have to throw in a dying mother to sweeten the pot.
I hear there’s mini golf just behind the orchard. The kids would love that. And I’d do anything to tucker them out for once.
Honestly, days like these, when I’m being inundated with the thoughts of the world around me all at once, are rare. It really does take something—or someone as, well, irritating as Detective Jasper Wilder to agitate me just right to initiate this nightmare. And, unfortunately for me, this can take some time to subside. So, I do the only thing I can. I pour myself a pumpkin spice latte and head deep into the kitchen to find my best friend.
Emmie glances up from the island where she’s pouring batter into pans, and from the orange patina of it and the hint of allspice, I’m guessing she’s making her famous pumpkin rolls. They truly do hold the scent of sugar and spice and all things nice. They’re the personification of fall if ever there was one.
“I get first dibs,” I say as the kitchen staff runs to and fro around us, their thoughts in a flurry.
Am I burning this?
Did I remember to make that?
We’re running low on potatoes. We need to beef up the order.
I make a mental note of that last one.
Emmie flashes her baby blue peepers my way. “I’ll give you the whole roll if you give me all the juicy details of your lunch date with the hot resident vampire.”
“He’s all bark and no bite.” I can’t help but scowl at the thought of him. “Can you believe he insisted I stay out of his investigation?” I lean in and whisper, “I mean, Kaitlynn was our friend. She’s just some body to him. He wants her application, and I said I’d give it to him.”
“That’s because you’re a pushover.” She gives a sly grin. “Come
on, Biz. He’s a cop. He doesn’t want you turning up as the next victim. I get it.”
“I get it, too.” Kaitlynn and her beautiful smile come to mind, and it breaks my heart all over again. “But, I’m the one that saw her having a heated argument with her stepsister that night. In fact, I found the body, and I spoke to her friends first. Technically, he’s the one who’s infringing on my investigation.”
“You’re not investigating.”
“I’m not. I’m simply going to track down her stepsister, Rissa, and ask her a few questions.”
She stops mid-flight with a pan in her hands, and I head over and open the oven door for her—that’s about the only thing I can do right in the kitchen.
“What kind of questions?” She drops the pan in with a bang and shuts it.
“Just a few basics like who, what, where, when, and why.”
She makes a face. “And then after you regale her with your basic journalistic skills, do you plan on tazing her and dragging her to the nearest sheriff’s department?”
“No. I plan on dragging her all the way to Seaview and tossing her on Detective Wilder’s desk like the catch of the day.”
Emmie groans, “You never could resist a dare.”
“He did not dare me to find the killer.”
“Not in so many words.”
“I don’t care about words, or about Jasper Wilder. I care about justice. Now, help me track down Rissa or I’ll be forced to employ Georgie in on the effort.”
“Good Lord.” Emmie tips her head back. “Do not drag Georgie into this, or all of Cider Cove is liable to end up slaughtered in their sleep.” She sighs deeply. “Fine. But I’m strictly going to avoid the aforementioned massacre. Do not even think about noseying around with any other suspects. I’m sure Rissa won’t mind too much. We’ll turn over Kaitlynn’s belongings that she left here that night.”
“Belongings? What kind of belongings?”
“A jacket and her purse. Jasper asked about her things that night, but I didn’t know where they were. It turns out, she placed them under the chair in the office. And since he hasn’t asked about them again, it’s only fair we give them to her family.” She makes a face. “Or the killer.”
“Or the killer. Right.” I glance to the office, suddenly itching to get some clerical work done.
Emmie leans in. “How are we going to find Rissa?”
“I’ll try my best to stalk her on the internet. It’s Rissa McNeil.” I straighten as the kitchen staff propels itself around us. “You know, I think I need to beef up the order. I hear we’re low on potatoes.” I smile over at the kitchen staff and they look mildly relieved. I step in close to Em. “And I think I’ll review Kaitlynn’s application while I’m at it.”
I head to the office and shut the door behind me, dragging a filing cabinet over a notch to block the entry. Sure enough, a small navy purse and a jean jacket lie neatly folded under the seat at the desk and I pull them both out. My fingers quickly run through her pockets, nothing but a tissue and a stick of gum still in its wrapper. Her purse is loaded with receipts, mostly to the coffee shop up the way, Espresso Yourself, a few for the Thaime for Thai, Cider Cove’s best Thai restaurant, the Dragon Express, my favorite place for Chinese, and the Breakfast Bender, a diner that specializes in pancakes bigger than their plates and happens to serve nothing but a breakfast menu all day long. It’s a tourist favorite, and it’s nearly impossible to get a seat there without being subjected to an hour-long wait. I’m friends with Clara, the woman who owns it, and she always sends her overflow down to the Cottage Café.
“One thing is for sure. Kaitlynn had a hearty appetite.”
I stumble upon a longer receipt, one for the local library with about ten books that were recently checked out. I should probably give Dawson down at the Cider Cove Library a heads-up that the books may not be coming back anytime soon. Dawson Brawn is a longtime friend of mine. We dated briefly in twelfth grade before Mack decided she could take him farther in his endeavor to lose his virginity. I make a face at the receipt as I study it a moment.
All of these books are how to start up your own business and succeed at it.
Huh.
It looks like Kaitlynn was dedicated to start her own business. I wonder what that could have been?
The door to the office slams over the filing cabinet with a bang and I jump.
“Just a minute!” I call out as if somehow this tiny space had just morphed into a restroom. I quickly rifle through the rest of her purse, unzipping the side pocket and running my fingers along it, and something hard hooks to my finger. I pull it up. It’s a ring, a platinum looking band with an impressive cushion cut diamond set in the middle. This must be her engagement ring. She most likely took it off to work her shift. For sure, I don’t want this to fall into the wrong hands. I should turn this all over to Jasper so Kaitlynn’s mother can sort this out. I’d hate for Rissa to get it and hock it for magic beans.
I snap an empty plastic bag off the floor and pile her things in it before sliding over the filing cabinet, only to find Emmie on the other side of the door.
Her brows hike into her forehead. “I’m not amused. I know exactly what you were doing. Did you find anything?”
“Enough diamonds to send us to Hawaii for three weeks. But don’t worry. My ego has decided to sit this one out. I’m handing this over to Detective Wilder instead.”
“That’s too bad.” Her lips curl on the side, a mischievous look if ever there was one. She wags her phone between us. “I know exactly where we can find Rissa.”
I suck in a quick breath and try to swipe her phone out of her hand, but she pulls it just out of my grasp.
“Where is she, Emmie?”
“You’ll never believe it. Clear your schedule for this evening. We’re going to have some fun.”
I narrow my gaze on her. “What kind of fun?”
“The kind your daddy wouldn’t approve of.” She gives a tiny wink and I try my hardest to pry into her mind, but both it and she are laughing as she takes off.
Great.
It looks as if I’ll be talking to Rissa tonight.
The bag of Kaitlynn’s things burns like a hot coal in my hand, and I decide to quickly drop it off at my cottage. No rush in getting this to that obnoxious detective just yet.
And who knows?
I just might have a killer to deliver along with it.
Chapter 7
Apple walnut cinnamon rolls are a good and wholesome treat to gift to anyone for just about any occasion, but when I tried hauling them along in an effort to give them to Rissa, Emmie gave a concerning, throaty laugh before announcing, “Trust me, Biz. They don’t need your buns where we’re headed.”
Emmie drives us down to Edison, a town that sits directly west of Cider Cove. I can’t remember the last time I came to Edison for anything as I take in the sights. We drive by the dilapidated buildings and the tired looking shops that line the avenues and a part of me feels a bit sorry for the place. For whatever reason, Edison has always been a touch unkempt and grungy but still maintaining its big city appeal to those who flock to the area. If Edison has anything going for it, the plethora of restaurants and seedy clubs alone have kept the cogs of its big city life wheels turning.
Emmie parks before leading us across the bustling street.
“Where are we going?” I glance up at the row of retail establishments and restaurants until I spot an adorable quilt shop seemingly out of place. “Please let it be the quilt shop. I’m dying to stock up on new bedcovers. And I bet they have cute fall patterns and Christmas prints. You know I can’t resist a good Christmas quilt.”
“Maybe for dessert,” she says, spinning me around until we’re facing the opposite end of the street, and my jaw loosens as I spot a thorny horny establishment called Sweet Cheeks.
A deep groan expels from me. “We’re going in there, aren’t we?”
Emmie slings her arm around my shoulder. “You bet, sweet cheeks.�
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We stride on over to the glossy white building where there’s an outdoor patio brimming with people. The windows are tinted so you can’t quite see in, and as we head inside, the scent of grilled burgers and fries light up our senses. Next to the smell of cookies baking, there is nothing more delicious than the scent of something fresh off the grill.
A bevy of shirtless, quite muscular men wearing red aprons and jeans run around looking hot to trot with any and every one of the female customers, and I can hear Emmie purring like a kitten at the sight of them. The shirtless bonanza is the standard dress code for the establishment, which boasts of its all beefcake waitstaff that are ready and willing to serve up hungry women. Sweet Cheeks is for women what Hooters is for men. It promises a fine dining experience with enough eye candy to satisfy any estrogen-based sweet tooth. The song “It’s Raining Men” is on blast, and I have a feeling they play it on a loop.
A blond hottie with a tray of entrees passes us with a greedy grin.
If I’m lucky, the hot chick in the corner will be giving me the exact tip I’m craving. Her number.
Does anyone eat the pork fest? I don’t even know why it’s on the menu.
One of the waiters, built like a brick wall, glances at my bestie. Check out those knockers.
I make it a point to scowl at him as he glides on by.
“How exactly is this place connected to Rissa McNeil?” I ask, secretly hoping there’s been a serious error on Emmie’s part. I wouldn’t put it past her to take a testosterone-inspired detour on our way to catch a killer.
“She’s the brains to their brawn. She’s the operating manager of this particular location.”
“It’s nice to see we’ve got upper management in common,” I quip.
“And hot men,” Emmie is quick to add. “Don’t forget about that sparkly new vampire fate just threw in your way.”
“He’s in my way, all right.” My entire body tenses just thinking about Jasper, and not in any good way.
A tall, blond slice of beefcake with a nametag that screams MARK in all caps comes up, grinning from ear to ear as if we were the topless ones around here.
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