Morgan laughs at the thought. “My recipe is as good as your recipe, Emmie. Bake your little heart out.”
“Thank you! And oh! I almost forgot. I just had the name of the inn printed on these.” Emmie jumps as she tosses a bright red apron to both of us and we quickly hustle to put them on. How’s that for a little free advertising, Biz? She gives me a sly wink.
“Quiet on the set!” Fern shouts. “We’re on in one minute!”
And I have a feeling it will be the longest minute of my life, followed by the longest hour of my life.
Morgan might be wondering what she’s gotten herself into—odd, seeing that she has over two dozen of these shows under her belt already—but I’m beginning to wonder what in the heck I’ve gotten myself into.
Murder is on order for the next hour straight. Let’s hope a homicide doesn’t materialize behind the camera as well.
But then, you know what they say, life imitates art. And I have a creaky feeling in my bones someone in this room is in a killer mood.
Chapter 2
“Three, two, one.” Fern Tuttle slaps a clapperboard shut in front of my face. “Action!”
Morgan Buttonwood thrusts back her dark hair and takes a few quick gulps of air. You know what they say, fake it till you make it. Only I don’t plan on making it. It’s one and done for me. I just need to do a whole lot of faking it until this entire nightmare is over. Here goes nothing.
What does she mean by one and done? One and done at the inn? I’m certainly not opposed to that. Lord knows I won’t be signing up for this torment again any time soon either.
“Hey there, sleuthers!” Morgan gives the camera a cheeky grin. “Welcome to another episode of Murder, Mayhem, and Baking. I’m Morgan Buttonwood, and I’ve got a murderously special guest host with me today, the fabulous Bizzy Baker Wilder who not only runs the Country Cottage Inn, but owns it, too.” She waggles her brows at the camera before turning my way. “Bizzy, why don’t you tell us a little about yourself and the inn?”
“Oh, sure.” I take a deep breath and every muscle in my body freezes as I look right into the camera.
“You can look at me.” Morgan gives a tiny wave and a giggle.
“Thank you.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m not actually used to any of this. I’m Bizzy. And yes, this is my inn. It wasn’t always my inn. I worked for over half a decade as just the manager here. But a couple of months ago, the owner was murdered, and well, he left the inn to me in his will.”
“Murdered, huh? Boy, they weren’t kidding when they said death tracks you like a bloodhound on the trail of a three-day old corpse.” She chortles at her own rather disgusting analogy. Now that sounds exactly like something Morgan would say.
I blink over at her, but she’s already pulling forward the mixing bowl in front of her. I’m so nervous, I’m sure I misheard her.
“Bizzy, before we get started on the dessert of the day, tell us a little about the history of the inn.”
“Oh, well, the inn is actually set on acres of land, and aside from having countless rooms here in the inn proper, we have over three dozen cottages dotting the property. I happen to live in one, along with my new husband Jasper. He’s a homicide detective at the Seaview County Sheriff’s Department. Anyway, the inn butts up to a sandy beach right here in Cider Cove, and we’re pet friendly. We’ve been voted the most pet friendly resort in Maine for the last five years in a row. We even have a pet daycare facility in the back for use to our guests or the townspeople.”
Morgan sheds an easy laugh once again. “That’s all great, but I was talking about the rather dark history of the inn. I did a little digging and discovered there were quite a few homicides right here on the grounds. But before we dig into that murderous history, let me introduce today’s sweet treat.” She looks to the camera and flashes a toothy grin. “Since it is the dead of winter, and the snow outside doesn’t seem to be letting up, I thought we’d bake our own versions of the white stuff—snowball cookies. They’re sort of my take on Mexican wedding cake cookies, or as some call them, Russian teacakes. They’re just as light and delicious, and because they’re bite-size you can have a whole handful and not feel bad about it. I’ve got one cup of softened butter and half a cup of powdered sugar that I’ll cream together while Bizzy tells us about the bizarre happenings at the inn.”
“I don’t know if they’re bizarre.” I swallow hard.
Why hadn’t I thought this through? I could just kick myself for agreeing to do this. There has been an entire string of homicides here at the inn, but it doesn’t mean I want to advertise the fact. The last thing I want is a bunch of haunted house seekers flooding the place. This is a family resort. And no thanks to this little stunt I let my sister talk me into, my inn might just be the next one to be murdered—financially, that is.
Morgan beats the butter and powdered sugar with a fork, and I’m tempted to mimic the action once I get Macy alone.
“And”—she pulls a small brown bottle toward her—“I’m just going to add in a dash of vanilla. I’m not big on measuring things, so I’m just going to eyeball it—just a teaspoon or so.” She splashes in what looks to be a decent amount and the scent of vanilla warms the air. “What was the first murder that took place on the grounds?”
“That was years ago. It was a woman who worked here. Unfortunately, she was knifed down in the sand right off the outdoor patio.” If I’m going to sink the ship, I may as well go all out.
“And was that your first case?” she asks, getting right back to stirring.
“Technically, yes and no. I mean, I’m not the detective in the family. That would be my husband.” As if right on cue, a tall, dark-haired god with eyes the color of summer rain steps into view wearing his signature dark suit and that devilish smile he reserves just for me. Jasper had to head to the office this morning but promised he’d be back before filming, and it looks as if he’s made good on his word. The whole sheriff’s department has been pulling all-nighters trying to bust a drug ring called the Backwood Boys out in Edison, a dicey town just to the west of us.
“I’m more of an amateur sleuth if anything,” I say just as a woman with long chestnut hair, the face of a supermodel, and a body that just won’t quit steps up beside my husband. I can’t help but frown over at her.
Camila Ryder is Jasper’s ex-fiancée. I’m still not entirely convinced she’s over him. She’s finagled her way to sit right beside him for eight hours a day as the secretary to the homicide division, and I don’t think for a minute she won’t try to finagle her way into other parts of his life as well.
Camila gives a two-fingered wave my way. Don’t worry, Bizzy. I’m not here to cause trouble. She winks at me with the thought.
Camila used to date Jasper’s best friend, Leo, who just so happens to be engaged to my bestie, Emmie. Anyway, Leo is transmundane like me, or further classified as telesensual, and well, while they were dating, he spilled the supernatural beans. But I, however, have never shared my strange quirk with Camila. I’ve fessed up to a handful of people, but Camila isn’t one of them. Let’s just say she’s an awfully good guesser.
Morgan pulls forward another mixing bowl. “I’ll be the last to disparage amateur sleuths.” She nods to the camera. “In a new mixing bowl I’m going to blend together two and one-fourth of a cup of sifted flour and a quarter teaspoon salt. And while Bizzy is telling us the tried-and-true tactics she utilizes in tracking down killers, and exactly how many killers she’s tracked down, I’m going to slowly add the butter mixture to my dry ingredients. Go on, Bizzy.”
“Right.” I glance up at Jasper and he bounces his brows my way. “The inn has had a number of unfortunate events on site. So many, in fact, I’ve lost count.” Lost count? Way to shoot myself in the foot. “But I want everyone to rest assured none of the cases were connected, and each and every killer has been brought to justice.”
“And before you tell us how you did that, I’m going stir in three-quarters of a cup of
chopped pecans into the mix. You can use walnuts or even almonds if you like, but I like to toast some pecans for this cookie. It just gives it that sweet nutty flavor that marries so well with the butter.” She does just that before motioning for me to continue.
“That’s about it. And I didn’t bring down the killers all on my own. I mean, the Seaview Sheriff’s Department certainly played a role in cuffing and carting the perpetrators away.”
“You’re too humble, Bizzy. You did the dirty work. The Seaview Sheriff’s Department might cart the suspects away, but you’re the reason they were caught to begin with.” She looks to the camera. “Now that our dough is ready, we’re going to form them into walnut size balls and place them onto a parchment lined cookie sheet.” She looks my way. “Bizzy, I can’t tell you how jazzed I was once I started digging into your investigative history. You might be too modest to share the stats, but I’m certainly not backing off from touting your accolades. In the last two years, you’ve singlehandedly brought down thirteen killers. That alone is astounding, but if you count the fact that statistically speaking at least half of those would have gone on to be cold cases—it’s a bona fide miracle. If I were the Seaview Sheriff’s Department, I’d be kissing your feet.”
I glance over to Jasper and his lips twitch. I’ll kiss your feet among other body parts later tonight.
I bite down on a smile as my cheeks heat as hot as that oven behind me.
Morgan nods. “And it’s all because of you, Bizzy, that those cases are solved today.” She rolls the last of the ball of dough and sets it onto the cookie sheet. “And now these will go into a preheated oven at four hundred degrees for ten to twelve minutes. “Bizzy and I will take a short break and we’ll be right back.”
Fern jumps into the frame and snaps that clapperboard once again. “And out.”
The room buzzes back to life as bodies swirl back and forth.
“You are a natural, Bizzy.” Morgan laughs as she scoops up her water bottle and downs it to the dregs.
Hollis hops forward. “I’ll take that and make sure it’s refilled for you,” she says as she takes off deep into the kitchen.
Morgan makes a face my way. “I guess she’s a nice girl.” More like a she-devil. I can’t believe my sister has been putting up with that.
“Morgan?” The tall, dark-haired man with the goatee nods her way. “You mind if we have a word?”
Her face goes pale. “Colt, have you met my guest, Bizzy?”
“Nice to meet you,” he says it flat as he nods my way. “Morgan? A minute, please?”
She swallows hard as they take off.
That wasn’t awkward at all.
I make a beeline for Jasper and fall into his strong arms as his familiar spiced cologne envelops me.
“You’re amazing.” He brushes his finger over my cheek. “I’m proud of you.”
Jasper is stunningly comely, so much so that half the women in the room are openly ogling him. But I’m used to that, and for darn sure he is, too.
“Thank you, I think,” I say as I steal another kiss. “My nerves are jangled. I can’t help but think this was all a big mistake. I never thought that the inn would suffer. Jasper, we can’t take another financial hit.”
He grimaces a moment, and that look tells me everything I need to know.
“Don’t worry.” He lands a quick kiss to the tip of my nose. “We’ll figure it out. If you can catch a killer, you can hatch a plan to pick up revenue. Spring is just around the corner. We’ll be booked solid again before we know it.”
“Here’s hoping. Any luck with that drug ring? I’d like to see my husband for more than just a few hours a day. How’s the investigation?”
“It’s still going on.” He ticks his head to the side. “And unless there’s another homicide to keep me occupied, I’m tied to tracking down the Backwood Boys.”
“I still think it’s a funny name for gangsters.”
“That’s what they’re known on the streets as.”
“They’ll be the Busted Boys if I ever get ahold of them. I don’t like missing out on my late night snuggles. Or my early morning cuddles.” I give his tie a light tug. “Or the afternoon—”
Fern Tuttle claps her hands over her head. “All right, places, everyone! Let’s wrap up the second half.”
I steal another kiss from my handsome hubby before I make my way back around to the other side of the island. Colt hands Morgan her teal water bottle, giving her a sharp look while doing so before she takes her place by my side.
I take it their conversation didn’t go well, but he did come in guns blazin’.
“Morgan”—Emmie says as she lands the platter of fresh oven baked snowballs down in front of us—“I was sort of hoping you would have brought Acorn today.” Her eyes dart my way. “Acorn is her sweet little labradoodle.” She looks back at Morgan. “And Acorn is the exact same age and color as my labradoodle, Cinnamon. Aren’t they just the best little dogs?”
“Aw, that’s great, and they are. They’re so smart, too,” Morgan coos before downing half her water bottle. Acorn is the best dog, but it’s entirely her fault that I’m here cutting my teeth today when my sister knew I wasn’t ready for this. I’m worried about filming again. I guess I’m just not cut out for this.
My lips part, and I can’t seem to hide the curious expression on my face. This isn’t Morgan’s first rodeo, but to hear her private musings you’d think it was her first time out of the gate.
“And action!” Fern snaps the clapperboard once again, and soon Morgan is smiling at the camera.
“How about these beauties?” she coos as she picks up a sifter already brimming with powdered sugar. “Now comes my favorite part. Bizzy? Would you like to do the honors and make it snow all over these scrumptious looking treats?”
“You bet,” I say as she hands me the sifter. “Now this is something even I can do.” I shake out a generous dusting of confectioner’s sugar over all of the cookies on the platter and send up a plume of powder right into our faces.
Morgan turns her head and coughs. “Boy, you really did a number on those cookies,” she teases as she coughs into her arm. “Now let’s dive in before we get to dissecting and discussing one case in particular that’s of interest to me, and that’s the murder of the man who used to own this very inn.” She coughs into her shoulder once again as she says it.
Great. Just what I wanted—to focus on the inn. If my bookings weren’t already on the decline, they will be now.
Morgan continues to cough up a storm, and selfishly I hope she won’t be able to stop and we’ll have to scrap the entire episode.
Morgan clears her throat as she pulls the platter toward us.
“Maybe we should pause a moment to indulge. Shall we?” She picks up a snowball and I do the same.
I’m just about to do just that when Morgan sucks in a quick breath. Her hand comes to her throat as she swipes the platter right off the counter and sends snowballs flying every which way.
“Morgan?” I jump back as she thrashes and flails before looking right at the camera and lifting a finger.
Her mouth opens as if she’s about to say something when she drops in a heap on the floor.
Jasper runs over and quickly checks her vitals before shaking his head my way.
Morgan won’t have to worry about taping another episode.
Morgan Buttonwood is dead.
Chapter 3
“She’s dead?” Fern Tuttle shrieks, and the entire room breaks out into gasps and screams.
Jasper holds his badge straight up in the air. “Nobody leaves the room!” his voice thunders so loud the windows rattle. “Until we can determine there’s been no foul play, I’ll need a list of names and numbers of everyone here.” He steps my way. “I’m calling this in. Bizzy, seal off the inn.”
“Of course.” I quickly pull out my phone and text my employees at the front desk to do just that.
My hands are shaking, and my breathing is er
ratic. Not one part of me can believe this is happening again. It’s as if no sooner does one nightmare dissolve than we’re immediately thrust into a new one.
Fern heads this way with her red hair mussed and mascara running down her face as tears stream from her.
“Fern.” I step her way and hold her by the arms. “I’m so sorry. Did Morgan have any allergies that you knew of? That cough seemed to come up out of nowhere. Was she allergic to any of the ingredients?”
She gives several hard blinks and her pale eyes look illuminated from the well of tears in them.
“No, I don’t think so. I mean, she’s used nearly all of those ingredients in other recipes before. But Bizzy, I didn’t see her take a bite out of that cookie, did you?”
“No, but I guess she could have had some dough while we went on break, or even eaten one when they came out of the oven.”
Fern glances down at Morgan lying helpless on the ground with her eyes partially opened, and she quickly turns away.
“I can’t stand this.” Her chest bucks with grief. “Maybe she had a heart attack or a stroke? Or maybe she had something in her mouth and she choked on it?”
“I don’t know. But the coroner will get to the bottom of it fairly quickly, I’m sure.”
Coroner? Her shoulders shiver. That sounds so horrible. So official. This is a disaster.
She leans in a notch. “I don’t think the show is going to run. I’m sorry, Bizzy. But we’re going to have to scrap the taping. Morgan would never want her viewers to see her like that.”
A Winter Tail of Woe Page 2