Felines and Fatalities (Country Cottage Mysteries Book 6)

by Addison Moore

  Pancake growls. Wait. Carlotta’s not a ghost, is she?

  I grimace before spilling it all out there, and Carlotta suddenly remembers she’s got a dentist appointment and bullets out of her chair.

  “Dentist appointment?” Georgie lands Waffles in Lottie’s lap before she bolts for Carlotta. “I’ve lived here for half a decade, and I’ve yet to see one of those money-grubbing tooth yankers. Is he cute?”

  They disappear and Lottie blows out an exasperated breath.

  “I’m sorry.” Lottie kisses each of her boys one more time before looking my way. “Thank you, Bizzy. Anytime you want to help these cuties communicate, I’ll appreciate it. Now”—her hazel eyes sharpen over mine—“it looks to me, we have two suspects. Which do we question first?”

  “Celine Harrison said she’s never missed a Lobster Festival and she wasn’t about to break with tradition.”

  She sucks in a quick breath. “Do you really think she’d show just a couple days after her husband died?”

  “I don’t see why not. She was furious at him.”

  Lottie pulls Pancake and Waffles close. “But was she furious enough to kill?”

  “That is what we’re about to find out.”

  Chapter 5

  The Lobster Festival is an all-out hit as evidenced by the fact the entire Eastern Seaboard has descended upon the cove. From what I’m hearing, you might as well park in Bangor and walk. Every parking spot is taken, and double parking is no longer frowned upon.

  The salty air is hot and humid. The music from the live band is so ungodly loud the sand is vibrating under my feet, and there’s a man wandering around with a yellow boa constrictor draped over his shoulders, which just adds to the carnival appeal.

  It’s wall-to-wall bodies—and only a handful of them are cordially dressed. The rest of the crowd, Lottie Lemon included, is clad in bathing suits, some with cover ups, most without. There are at least a dozen beach balls springing through the air at any given time, but it’s the scent of the boil taking place at the far end of the cove that has my senses sitting at attention. Just about every seafood vendor in all of Maine has sprouted a tent and is busy shucking their mouth-watering wares. And that’s exactly where Lottie, Everett, Noah, Jasper, and I are headed—toward the Holy Land, food.

  “So what did the coroner say?” I give Jasper’s hand a quick squeeze as we thread our way through the sea of bodies. He just got back from Seaview and his hair is slicked back, still damp from the shower he just took, and that dark shirt he’s donned makes his eyes glow like silver flames. With Everett and Noah in our entourage, the women at the Lobster Festival have been gasping in our direction nonstop. We might just have an unsafe level of exceptionally potent testosterone in one concentrated space. In fact, I know we do.

  Sherlock skirts by, chasing a poodle with pink fur and a sparkly tutu.

  Fish thankfully isn’t here. She asked if she could stay with her boyfriends today. She says she’s taking a page out of Lottie’s polyamorous playbook. And since it was fine by Lottie, it was fine by me.

  Jasper pauses, and so do the rest of us.

  He glances around at our small circle.

  “It’s not official,” he says, “but it looks as if Trevor died of anaphylactic shock.”

  “What?” I shake my head. “You mean it was an allergy?”

  He gives a simple nod. “Looks like Trevor was highly allergic to bees.”

  “Bees?” Lottie scoffs. “I didn’t see any bees in the ballroom.”

  Everett leans in. “Maybe he was stung before he came in?”

  “No way,” Lottie insists. “Trevor Harrison was murdered. If he had an anaphylactic response to bee venom, it was very much administered.”

  “I think you might be right.” Jasper takes a breath.

  Noah doesn’t look convinced. “You do? So I’m guessing the coroner didn’t find any indication of a sting?”

  Jasper shakes his head. “Not a mark.”

  The picture is starting to come in clear.

  “The killer administered it,” I say. “Like a poison.”

  Jasper flashes those silver eyes my way. “Like a poison. Forensics says the killer might have used royal jelly, a substance secreted by honeybees to feed larvae and queens. The last thing he was eating was one of your cookies, Lottie. It looks as if that might have been the mode of transportation.”

  I blink back at the thought. “Could a person allergic to bees have a fatal reaction to royal jelly?”

  He nods. “They can if the allergy is severe enough.”

  “Well, look who’s here,” a bright and cheery voice calls from behind and we turn to find Jasper’s sister, Ella, her husband, Marcus, and their adorable brand new baby.

  “Willow!” I beam as I pick up the tiny tot’s hand and coo her way. Willow was born just over a month and a half ago with her mother’s dark hair, serious silver-gray eyes, and dimples that dig in deep on either side of her cheeks with or without a smile.

  Ella hands the baby to Jasper and he gladly takes his niece.

  Lottie moans, “She is adorable! How old is she?”

  “Seven weeks.” Ella presses her hand into the small of her back. She’s bounced right back into shape, but I’ll admit she looks a bit exhausted. From what she’s shared with us, baby Willow isn’t exactly fond of sleep—or blinking for that matter.

  “Seven short weeks,” Jasper muses as he drops a kiss to his precious niece’s forehead before handing her back to her mother. “And yet, I can’t imagine how we lived in a world without her.”

  Ella and Marcus share a laugh.

  “Isn’t that the truth.” Ella gives us a wave. “We’re taking our lobster to go and heading home. We’ll see you two later.”

  They take off and Macy crops up in our small circle and every one of us grows tensely silent. She’s donned a tiny pink bikini top that consists of microscopic, strategically placed triangular squares and dental floss. Thankfully, she’s wearing a pair of shorts—ultra short—more of a belt, really, but a far cry from the bottoms that most likely belong to that bikini top.

  “So Noah.” She comes shy of winking while cradling the fruity, and I’m sure leaded, concoction in her hands. “If a horrible accident were to befall you, do you think your hot brother, Alex, would come rushing to your side?” She manufactures a quick grin. “Asking for a friend.”

  I groan at the quasi-threat just issued by my sibling.

  “Noah, feel free to pull your weapon whenever you need to. My sister could use a good tasing, or something a little more—”

  Lottie pulls me to the left before I can finish my sentence.

  “Carlotta, Georgie, situation at nine o’clock.”

  And just like that, Lottie and I are twirling through the crowd until we come upon two yellow kaftan wearing lunatics who are doing their best to sling a lobster back into the ocean.

  A couple of strong men with determined looks on their angry faces shuffle over and I practically toss myself between them and the yellow-bellied lobster emancipators.

  “I got this!” I shout. “I’m the manager at the inn and these are my—victims.” I was going to say employees, but something more akin to the truth just blurted out of me.

  The men walk away, muttering an entire slew of salty sayings as Lottie and I descend upon the senior set.

  I pluck the lobster out of Georgie’s hand. “What in the world are you thinking?”

  She grabs it right back. “We’re shedding light on the inhumane treatment of crustaceans. I just heard they’re going to boil these little guys alive!”

  “My God, Georgie, these are already cooked!”

  Carlotta clucks her tongue my way. “It’s the principle that counts.” She ticks her head at Georgie. “But since the deed is already done, I say we get some butter. We can upcycle the claws and turn them into earrings.”

  Georgie examines the poor creature in her hand. “You know what? I think we can sell them for fifteen bucks a pop!” S
he sluffs forward, kicking up sand in her wake. “And to think we were going to bare our breasts for the cause.”

  Carlotta gives a wistful shake of the head. “Nobody said we were taking that off the table. We’ll see you girls later.”

  Georgie glowers at the two of us for a moment. “Try to stay out of trouble, would you?”

  “Us?” Lottie swallows down a laugh.

  “Don’t bother getting worked up over it,” I say as we watch them thread back into the crowd. “I have a feeling, we can’t win with them.”

  Lottie shudders. “All we can do is wait for them to get arrested and hope we can find a good bail bondsmen.”

  I spot a familiar dark-haired woman walking with a tall blonde who looks decidedly out of place—if for no other reason than the fact she’s simply here. She’s donned a white dress that flashes like lightning when she moves and I’m a bit shocked she doesn’t mind that she’s causing a minute scene.

  “Lottie, look,” I all but whisper.

  “I see her. Wow.” Lottie expels a breath. “I can’t believe she showed. I mean, her husband just died. But it looks like you were right. Celine Harrison didn’t want to break tradition.”

  “And it looks like Melina is by her side. According to the thoughts she was having the day of the bake-off, she wasn’t too sorry to see Trevor go.”

  “Maybe we should talk to her? I mean, sure, one of his ex-wives seems like a logical answer as far as the killer goes, but maybe Everett is right. Maybe the killer was trying to bait us to head in the wrong direction.” She gasps. “Bizzy, I see Delora!”

  “Delora? As in the woman who currently is shy of one corporeal frame? Where is she?”

  “She’s…” her voice trails off. “Oh, wow. It looks as if she’s got an arm slung around both Celine’s and Melina’s shoulders. She’s waving our way. Now she’s pointing at something down on the ground, somewhere to my right.” Lottie glances that way, and I follow her gaze.

  “I don’t see anything,” I say.

  “Oh, it’s right there.” She points over to a patch in the sand that seems to be forming tiny little impressions all on its own.

  “Sand crabs?” I ask.

  “You mean you don’t see it?”

  “See what?”

  “Bizzy,” she pants my name as if she were about to pass out.

  “Lottie, what is it?”

  “It’s a pig.” Her shoulders hike an inch. “A big, pink and brown spotted pot-bellied pig with a pink snout and a rather friendly looking smile.” She looks my way. “I think we’d better get back to the boys. I think there’s trouble afoot.”

  That’s it.

  Without hesitating, I take Lottie by the hand and whip us through the crowd. I could walk this cove in my sleep, but Lottie could easily melt into the crowd, never to be seen again, and I have a feeling time is of the essence. And just as I’m about to lead us toward the food lines, a man inadvertently blocks our path with a tray in his hands, holding what could very well be the world’s biggest lobster.

  “Would you look at the size of that—”

  Bizzy, this is no time to inject innuendoes into a crusty situation. It’s him! It’s that guy from the ballroom! The best friend.

  My eyes drift north, and sure enough I’m staring into the face of, “Julian Morgan,” I say it out loud without quite meaning to.

  He squints over at me a moment. “Ah, yes, the killer bake-off.” He sheds his signature soft smile, his dark hair hidden under a baseball cap.

  Lottie gasps. Did he just make light of the fact his so-called best friend was murdered?

  I give a slight nod. “Yes, that’s where I know you from. I manage the inn. It’s sort of a job requirement for me to memorize the guests that come through it. That’s quite a lobster.” I pause a moment. “Um, and I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “What loss?” he looks truly baffled. “Ah, right, Trevor.” He grimaces a moment. “The guy was a walking time bomb. All the stress of running a million-dollar company—I guess it got to him. Happens.” He shrugs. “I’ll see you ladies around.”

  “Enjoy the food,” I shout as he quickly dissolves into the sea of bodies.

  Lottie leans in. “It’s as if he didn’t even care that his best friend was slaughtered.”

  “I’d care if my best friend was slaughtered.” I crane my neck into the crowd on the hunt for Emmie. “And if I didn’t care, I’d probably end up on the suspect list.” A thought runs through my mind. “The afternoon of the bake-off, Julian said something about being put on blast by Trevor—for stealing, I think. Of course, it was all in his mind. And that he wasn’t going down without a fight. Something was definitely up between those two. I bet you Celine would know.”

  “Or we could ask his other wife, Anna.”

  “But Celine is right here in front of us.”

  “So is Anna.”

  “What?” I follow Lottie’s gaze, and the dark-haired woman is standing by the booth, selling grilled corn on the cob, and she just so happens to be nodding over at a redhead with glasses. An unexpected prickling rides down my spine.

  “She’s here, too. How odd. I guess neither of the ex-Mrs. Harrisons could resist a good Lobster Festival.” I get the draw to the savory treat, but if Jasper died, I couldn’t bear leaving his side at the morgue until they ripped him away from me. I certainly don’t think I’d be pondering hot buttered corn.

  “Who’s the girl?” Lottie asks.

  “I saw her at the bake-off. She’s here for the festival.”

  We watch as they part ways and, try as we might, Lottie and I end up losing both Mrs. Harrisons.

  Instead, we come upon Macy and Noah who look to be at a standoff near the condiments.

  “Down, Macy,” I say. “You may not hurt Noah in hopes of meeting his brother.”

  Noah takes a deep breath. “Macy, how about you head over to Honey Hollow any time you want? I can practically guarantee you a date with the big guy on night one. And I don’t want to scare you off, but my brother is rather loose with his morals.”

  Lottie scoffs. “I’ll say. He’s easy.” Lottie wraps her arms around Noah and they look every bit like the couple they are.

  “Easy, huh?” Macy is instantly starry-eyed by the prospect of men with loose morals. “Why do I get the feeling I’ve been living in the wrong state all my life?”

  “Because you’re easy?” I tease. “Sorry, but you walked into that one.”

  A strange warbling sound comes from Lottie, and she all but throws Noah at my sister.

  “Noah”—Lottie says his name in a panic—“Macy needs your help getting back to the inn. She’s blitzed out of her mind, and I need to help Bizzy get the cookies out of the oven!”

  Lottie takes me by the hand, and this time I’m flying behind her like a kite in flight.

  “Where are we going?” I shout.

  The sound of the crowd is quickly replaced with the roar of the wind as we sail down toward the row of evergreens that lines the edge of the cove.

  “We’re following the pig!” Lottie shouts back.

  “The pig?” That’s right. Lottie saw a non-existent pig. And it suddenly occurs to me this entire scenario is far too gone for my mostly normal mind to comprehend.

  Soon the woods surround us, and the only sound we hear is our own frantic panting.

  A wild snort comes from the right and we head that way.

  Both Lottie and I gasp at the very same time.

  Sprawled over the ground with a gunshot wound through her heart, one of Lottie’s maple white chocolate chunk cookies clutched in her hand, is Celine Harrison.

  “Lottie!”

  “Bizzy!” a couple of deep voices roar, followed by thunderous footsteps as Everett, Noah, and Jasper arrive on the scene.

  The five of us all steal a moment to take in the horror that lies before us.

  “Celine is no longer on the suspect list,” I say.

  Celine Harrison is dead.

  Chapter
6

  People hold it. Some people nurture it. Some people loathe it. Some people find the ability to let it go. No one ever really forgets.

  I found another one. Another odd riddle was staring me in the face as soon as I got to the reception counter. Both Nessa and Grady swear they didn’t see anyone leave it. The note simply appeared out of the blue as if a ghost had left it. And considering the fact there very much is a ghost at the inn—two apparently—it doesn’t sit well with me.

  Jasper and I stare at the blue paper, no bigger than a playing card, an inordinate amount of time just as Lottie, Everett, and Noah rush down the stairs and head this way. There’s a faint intricate pattern on the back of the tiny paper that weaves back and forth like a lattice. And what looks to be the letter H sitting right in the middle of it.

  Sherlock lets out a sharp bark. No offense to your new friends, but trouble seems to follow them wherever they go. And I hate to break it to you, but I think the older woman stole Georgie. Not to mention, I’ve hardly seen Fish since those fuzzballs came to visit. I say kick the entire lot of them out on their ear.

  I shake my head over at him with a slight smile. Although, he might be right about Georgie stealing Carlotta.

  It’s almost evening, and we are all just about to head out for that traditional Maine seafood dinner Jasper and I keep promising them. After last night’s grisly find, none of us were able to enjoy the crustacean feast awaiting us in the cove. Instead, we were locked in sheriff’s department procedures for most of the night.

  Earlier today, Lottie, Noah, and Everett enjoyed a sunny day out on the beach along with Evie. I haven’t seen Carlotta or Georgie since last night and, honestly, that worries me almost as much as this creepy note.

  “It’s another love letter from the killer,” I say.

  Jasper ticks his head. “We can’t be sure the killer sent this.” He pulls out a plastic bag to secure the evidence.

  Maybe Jasper can’t be sure, but once I found the powder blue paper floating over my desk, I didn’t dare touch it in the event it had the killer’s prints on it.