“I agree.”
She lifts her chin toward the sea of bodies. “I’ll let Hollis know to destroy the tape.”
“Oh no, don’t do that. In fact, excuse me for a moment.” I thread my way through the melee just as an onslaught of sheriff’s deputies arrives on the scene, and along with them is Leo Granger. I track him as he heads over to speak with Jasper off to the side.
“Jasper,” I pant as I grasp onto his arm. “Fern suggested they destroy the footage, and I told her not to do it. You’d better talk to Hollis and get a copy of it in the event there was something nefarious going on.”
“I’m on it.” Jasper takes off and I step in close to Leo.
“Leo,” I say. “Why in the heck does this keep happening? You don’t think I’m some sort of a murder magnet, do you? Does this have anything to do with the fact I’m transmundane?”
He winces. “I don’t think so. I’m transmundane. Although I guess you could argue that I’ve been at the scene as well.”
I shake my head. “But I’m the one either finding the bodies or having them fall to my feet.”
“My aunt’s transmundane, but she’s never so much has been to a funeral. I’m sorry, Bizzy. I don’t see the connection to our abilities.” His chest expands with his next breath. “But I won’t lie. I see the connection to you. Don’t worry. We’ll figure this out. I’d better go comfort Emmie.” He takes off and I try to process his words.
Leo sees the connection to me.
I see the connection to me.
And I’d be fooling myself not to think the rest of the world will catch on soon, if they haven’t already.
Mom, Macy, and Georgie head this way and I promptly scoop Fish out of Georgie’s arms.
“Another one?” Mom hisses as if this were all my fault, and believe me, I’m beginning to think so. “Wait until your father hears about this!”
“Mom, that threat hasn’t worked on me since I was six.”
My father just so happened to acquire a brand-new wife on Valentine’s Day. I’ve lost count which number she would be, but if I had to take a stab at it, I’d say she was number thirty. I’m positive that’s in the ballpark. But that’s not the strangest part. Nor was it strange that my father and my brother Huxley had a double wedding on that heart-shaped day. The strangest part is that my father chose Jasper’s mother to be his new bride. God forbid this ends in disaster. And knowing my father, that’s exactly the direction this matrimonial express is headed in.
Macy swats me on the arm, and Fish yowls at her.
“Oh hush, both of you,” Macy snips, unafraid to include my sweet cat in on the reprimand. “How dare you kill the star of my favorite show, Bizzy. This is the last time I bring someone I cherish to your haunted inn. I should have known this would end in tragedy.”
“Macy.” All I could muster is her name. I’m so incensed she could even go there, and yet I’ve sort of gone there myself.
Fish lashes me with her tail. I’d ask to claw her eyes out, but Macy does have a point.
“Et tu Fish?”
Georgie sags like an old pillow. “I’m sorry, kiddo. But now you know how your mother and I feel. The shop is losing momentum and now the inn will, too. Face it, Biz, no one is going to want to stay in this haunted place. The Grim Reaper is lurking, just waiting to pick us all off, one by one. ”
Mom nods. “I feel like I’m playing Russian roulette just standing here. Unless”—she raises a finger in the air—“do you know what we need?”
“A margarita night?” Georgie doesn’t miss a boozy beat.
“No.” Mom shoots her a look. “We need a rebranding expert to come in and tell us what to do.”
Macy shakes her head. “I’d stick with Georgie’s idea. Besides, the problem with your shop is that you don’t sell any consumables, you sell quilts. Take my shop, for example. The Lather and Light sells soap and candles. People buy my soap and candles at the exorbitant prices I lay out for them. They use up the soap and candles they purchased, then they come back and purchase more at my exorbitantly marked up prices. You need to think cyclical consumables. Put your gray noggins together. I’m sure you two old broads will come up with something.” She winks their way with the play on the name of their shop.
“As for you, Bizzy,” she continues. “Face it, you’re doomed. The inn was nice while it lasted. But unless you turn this place into a haunted funhouse, your homicidal days in Cider Cove are numbered.” She glances at her phone. “Look at the time. I’d better get back to my shop. Unlike you ladies, I have a successful business to run.” She trots toward the door, and I spot Colt Avian, Morgan’s boyfriend, intercepting her. They share a few words before Macy glances this way and pulls him out the door with her.
I’ll have to ask my feisty sister what that exchange was about. But I’m thinking I already know. Macy has never been one to see a handsome man go to waste.
“Consumables?” Mom tosses her hands in the air. “Why didn’t we think of that, Georgie?”
“Because we haven’t had our margaritas yet, honey,” she tells her. “But once I get one or two pitchers down the hatch—watch out.” She taps her temple with her finger. “Don’t worry, Preppy. I’ll take care of everything.”
Mom groans. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Colt steps back into the room, and I quickly excuse myself as I make my way in his direction.
“Colt,” I say as I attempt to garner his attention. “I’m sorry about your loss.”
His eyes dart over to the scene then back my way.
“Oh right. Yes. I suppose I’ll be hearing a lot of that now.” He shakes his head as if he were stunned. His eyes are clear, no sign of a single tear, but truthfully, he looks as if he were just struck over the head. “Morgan had her whole life ahead of her.” He takes a quick breath. “We had our whole lives ahead of us.” No point in outing the fact we were on our way down. Morgan and I officially ended today. And if anything calls for a drink, that does. Sorry, Morgan. Can’t say I’m all that sorry. Some things are simply for the best.
My mouth falls open. “Um, Colt? Did Morgan have any underlying medical conditions that you know of?” We may as well start there. Although I’d like to move to his incriminating thoughts next.
“Maybe.” There we go. Let’s keep the medical momentum going. In fact, a medical malady could explain a lot about Morgan in so many ways. “Come to think of it, I think she mentioned something about a food allergy once or twice.” Or never, but it makes sense, and I need to hang onto anything that might make sense right about now.
“I see.” I can’t help but frown up at him. “You should probably let the sheriff’s department know about that.”
His lips pull down as he glares over at the thicket of sheriff’s deputies gathered around the poor girl.
“I will.” So much for steering clear of the authorities. Let’s hope this is the beginning and the end of it.
Colt takes off and Camila appears in his place. She’s donned a tight red dress that screams look at me, and I can’t help but scowl because it’s most likely her everyday wear down at the sheriff’s station where she does her best to remind my husband of what he might be missing out on—not that he cares. I hope.
“What are you doing here?” I snip without meaning to. Okay, so I meant to. Camila and I made amends more or less, but there are times where it sure doesn’t feel like it.
“I’m here for the taping.” She cranes her neck past me. “I’m here for Hollis Carrington specifically. Everyone knows if you have Hollis behind a production, it ups your social media value. She could be the key that takes me to the next level.”
“Next level of what?” I’m almost afraid to hear the answer.
“If you must know, I was thinking of starting up my own show. Something that puts me out there in the public eye,” she says, tugging down the hem of her dress.
My eyes dip to her bulging cleavage. “You’re already out in the public eye. If you were any mo
re out, you’d poke out an eye.”
“You’re a riot, Bizzy.” She glowers my way a moment. “Anyway, I’m about to go in. Wish me luck.”
She starts to take off, and I pull her back.
“Camila.” I choke on my next breath. “You can’t just go up to Hollis and ask her to help your next career move. That’s in poor taste. She’s grieving a friend.”
And Camila is right back to glowering at me.
From seemingly out of nowhere, the blonde in question materializes before us.
Hollis gives a quick blink. “I’m sorry, but I could have sworn I heard my name.”
Both Camila and I gasp in unison.
“Actually”—I’m about to tell her the truth before deciding on the opposite—“we were just about to find you and tell you how very sorry we are that everything turned out so terribly.”
Hollis takes a breath as she glances over her shoulder.
Terrible was Morgan’s middle name. Her lips curve for a moment. “I guess it is what it is.” She blows out a breath at the two of us. “I’ll miss Morgan something awful.” More like the money she owed me. She makes a face. “Say, Bizzy, would you be open to doing some filming here at the inn?”
Camila grunts as if she were mortally wounded. Figures. I’m here to get my life on track and all of the opportunities fall into Bizzy’s lap. She narrows her eyes over mine. And I know you heard that!
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” I shake my head at the blonde before us. “The last thing I want is to bring any more negative attention to this place.”
“We can spin it any way we like.” Hollis’ eyes widen a notch as she does her best to pull me onboard to her diabolic scheme to tank the inn once and for all. “Think on it. In fact, I’ll try to come up with a few ideas as well. We’ll talk.” She gives Camila a short-lived smile before heading back to her crew.
“Now look who’s in poor taste,” Camila snips. “Oh, and by the way, don’t think I won’t be here with bells on the day you’re filming. Be a friend and keep me in the know.” She glances back at Hollis. I’ll be in the spotlight yet.
She takes off, and the rest of the afternoon, the rest of the day is a blur.
I stick around the reception counter until about ten o’clock that night before putting up the sign that gives guests my number in the event of an emergency. Fish, Sherlock Bones, and I head back to our cottage and I jump into my flannel pj’s, pull on my favorite pair of fuzzy socks, start up a fire, and curl up with a book on the sofa in an effort to escape the murderous chaos the day had to offer.
Jasper said he wouldn’t be home until midnight. He’s having toxicology run every panel known to man on Morgan Buttonwood’s body. He wants answers, and he wants them fast. And without Jasper here, I know I won’t sleep a wink. It’s already panning out to be a long night for me.
No sooner do I crack my book open than a quick knock erupts at the door.
Sherlock goes straight into barking mode, and that alone clues me in on the fact it’s not Jasper.
Stranger danger! Sherlock bellows. Stranger danger!
Fish yowls, Oh hush, you. Don’t be alarmed, Bizzy. It’s probably just a guest. But in the event it’s not, Sherlock, prepare to attack.
I head over to the door and glance out the peephole to find a woman with dark hair pulled into a bun, wire-rimmed glasses, and a rather friendly looking dog by her side that looks like a replica of Emmie’s labradoodle, Cinnamon.
“You’re right, Fish,” I whisper. “She’s probably just a guest.”
I swing open the door and offer up a bright smile.
“Hello, can I help you?”
The woman takes a breath before freeing her hair from her bun and shaking out her long dark hair. She whips off her glasses, and I gasp because I suddenly recognize her without a doubt.
“Hi, Bizzy. My name is Morgan Buttonwood, and I think we need to talk.”
Without hesitation, I grab her by the wrist and pull both her and her dog into my cottage.
And then I seal the door shut behind us.
Chapter 4
“Speak quickly,” I pant as I stare at the woman before me in disbelief. “You’re not a ghost, are you?” I’m not even sure why I posed the question, but seeing that I’m prone to supernatural oddities, I’m not ready to sweep the idea off the table.
“No.” She inches back as if I’ve lost my mind. “I’m Morgan, the one who was supposed to film that segment of my show with you today. And this is my dog, Acorn. He’s the reason I wasn’t there.”
Fish yowls and hisses as she jumps by my side, I don’t like the sound or the look of this, Bizzy.
Sherlock gives a sharp bark. First, call Jasper! Then I suggest we run to the café and eat all the bacon we can find. It might be raw, but tough times call for tough culinary circumstances.
“This is my cat, Fish.” I sigh. “And my dog, Sherlock Bones.” I take a moment to frown over at the woman. “She was your twin, wasn’t she?” Suddenly all of those remarks that Morgan made about her “sister” make perfect sense.
Acorn whimpers. And here Morgan was afraid no one would believe her.
“Boy, you’re good.” Morgan wrinkles her nose as she inspects me. “Did you know I had a twin? I mean, most people don’t know outside of those who were close to us. It’s not something I’ve ever mentioned on my show.”
“I just figured it out.” I examine her features a moment too long, and from what I can gather, they were identical. “Let’s take a seat, and please tell me everything, because I have a feeling your sister didn’t die of natural causes. Did she have any allergies?”
“Nothing serious,” she says as we both make ourselves at home on my yellow and white checkered sofa. “And she didn’t have any food allergies. She wasn’t sick. Bizzy”—she scoots my way a notch—“I think my sister was murdered. And the kicker? The killer thinks it’s me they offed.”
“What happened? Why weren’t you at the taping today? And what’s your sister’s name? Do you do this switch often?” A million more questions beg to pour out of me, but I bite my tongue in an effort to give her a chance to catch up.
“Her name is—was…” Her chest bucks, and for the first time I can see that her eyes are swollen and red as if she’s spent the day lost in a river of tears. “Her name was Mabel Buttonwood. She and I ran the shop my father left to us when he and my stepmother passed away over a year ago. The Haunted Book Barn out in Glimmerspell. That’s actually where I film my show most of the time. We run a small coffee shop out of it. There’s a full working kitchen and we sell sandwiches and whatever I feel like baking. She was the bookworm. She did all the managerial stuff by hand and she loved every minute. I was the baker who loved a good murder or two—I guess I still am.” She pulls a tissue from her pocket.
I can’t help but note she’s dressed conservatively in a pink dress shirt buttoned to the neck, a navy sweater over that, and a winter coat with patches of snow over it. I take it the two of them were opposites in a lot of ways.
“I’m sorry about your sister. Why was she at the inn today?”
“It’s because of this guy.” She reaches over and gives the tawny-colored pooch a quick pat. “He got into some chocolate muffins I had lying around and chocolate could be lethal for dogs, but thankfully, he’s totally fine.”
Sherlock barks at the brown-eyed cutie. Hey, buddy, are you okay? I know that dark stuff looks tempting, but when in doubt go for the bacon.
Lesson learned, my friend. Acorn barks back. Lesson learned.
“Anyway”—Morgan blows out a breath—“Mabel was thinking about starting her own makeup tutorial channel, and we’ve been planning a switch for a while to get her feet wet before she committed. Only we had planned the switch for a couple of months from now—June. Mabel wasn’t nearly as impulsive as I could be. But when I thought Acorn might have accidentally poisoned himself, I begged her to take this one. I didn’t want to lose the interview with you, Bizzy. I might have a suc
cessful show in some people’s eyes, but I knew an interview with a sleuthing queen like you could easily put me over the edge as far as viewership goes.”
My cheeks heat with the compliment.
“I’m no queen,” I’m quick to correct her. But something doesn’t sit right with me. “Why didn’t Mabel take Acorn to the vet?”
“Two reasons.” She nods. “Acorn is my baby. If he was going to bite the big one, I wanted to be right there with him. And the other reason? Acorn was her singular allergy. She didn’t mind Acorn roaming around in the Haunted Book Barn, but she couldn’t spend hours with him next to her. And she wouldn’t be able to comfort him.”
“What an unfortunate event for her. And a rather fortunate event for you. Any idea what could have happened? Or who could have done this to you?”
A horrible moan comes from her. “I think she was poisoned.”
I give a quick nod. “I agree, she didn’t choke on a cookie. She didn’t even put one in her mouth. Barring any surprise allergy or an unexpected bodily malfunction, I’m almost certain she was poisoned, but with what and how?” Morgan crumbles as she sobs into her tissue and I feel like a monster for sounding so clinical. “Maybe we shouldn’t go there just yet.”
“No, we need to.” She pulls her phone out and wags it my way. “We switched everything this morning right down to our phones. We didn’t tell anybody about the switch because Mabel thought it would be easier for her to be on camera if everyone around her thought she was me. And shortly after the tragedy unfolded, Fern, the production assistant, reached out to me—or to my sister she thought. Then, my boyfriend Colt did the same. They both basically said they were sorry, and that if I needed any help in making arrangements, they would be there for me. Imagine learning about your own supposed death and knowing it was your poor sister.” Tears spill down her cheeks at an alarming rate. “Bizzy, I’m not switching back until I get a full report from the coroner. If my sister was poisoned, that means someone out there was looking to put an end to me. I feel so bad that Mabel got caught up in something so dark. Mabel was the purest person I knew.” She sniffs hard. “And how I hate talking about her in the past tense. But Bizzy, if my sister was murdered, I want you to help me track down the killer.”
A Winter Tail of Woe Page 3