“Sure,” I say, but he’s already gone.
Something nefarious is going on, all right.
I glance back to where Hadley and the lanky man in the sweater stand, and they’ve been joined with Devan as the three of them sneak glances to where Patterson Higgins lies lifeless. Just past them is that woman with the long silver hair, Liv, standing with her lips knotted up as she observes the scene as well.
Someone is going to have to pay for this. And it won’t be me.
A voice spouts off, and yet I can’t be sure who said it.
Pay for this? That’s a curious thought.
My feet carry me in Liv’s direction as I step up beside her, joining her as we watch the sheriff’s department swarm around a man who seemed perfectly healthy less than twenty minutes ago.
“What do you think happened?” I ask without breaking my gaze from the chaos before us.
“Oh, I think we both know what happened,” she says, nodding to the trio to our right. “Someone finally offed the poor man.”
“What do you mean finally?” I ask.
Her pale eyes glow against her tawny skin and her hair looks as if it’s lit from the inside as well. She almost doesn’t look real. In fact, nothing about this night feels real.
“You know.” She gives a casual shrug. “Patterson had a few friends, but he had far more enemies. Then again, rumors of a heart attack are swirling.”
“I’ve heard the same. You don’t believe them, do you?”
She shakes her head. “Perhaps I would have if it were anyone else. Not for him, though. Never him.” She cinches her tote bag over her shoulder. “I guess he won’t be at the next meeting.” She takes off for the refreshment table, and I’m left stunned in the wake of her callous words.
On second thought, I can’t judge her. I can’t judge anyone’s thoughts or words at a time like this. Everyone is in shock. Nobody is themselves when faced with a body in the room, whether a natural death occurred or foul play was involved.
I take a few steps over to Hadley, Devan, and the lanky man ensconced between them.
Is it possible to hate someone twice as much for dying? one of them says, and I take another step closer.
I give it twenty-four hours before news of his demise spreads. We all knew this was coming.
It’s finally happened. Patterson Higgins gets his just desserts, and I get to witness it firsthand. Life couldn’t be better. Death couldn’t be sweeter.
It wasn’t some run-of-the-mill heart attack that did him in.
It was murder.
Chapter 4
“Blueberry pancakes, lobster roll, lobster pie, clam chowder, crispy clams, clambake weekends. And for dessert, I say we focus on several flavors of whoopie pies,” Emmie says as we stand on the sprawling patio just outside the Country Cottage Café. Fish and Sherlock are taking Clyde for an afternoon run up and down the sandy cove, and they have about twelve different children running along after them.
It’s April, spring is here, the air is warm, and the cove is brimming with tourists in bathing suits as the scent of fresh grilled burgers competes with coconut-scented suntan lotion.
Emmie heads up the café for me, and since I firmly hold the reins to the inn now, we’ve decided to make a few changes, one of which is a total revamp of the menu. Not only that, but I splurged for an entire outdoor grilling area that was recently installed as a way to feed those guests who are far too sandy and wet to venture into the café.
The Country Cottage Inn is a tall, stately building constructed primarily of blue cobblestones, much like the ones that snake around all of the arteries leading to and from the inn. Although it’s hard to tell what color the inn is considering it’s nearly camouflaged in ivy. The property is set on a vast acreage, and there are more than thirty cottages we rent out. Jasper and I happen to live in one, Emmie lives in another, and Georgie lives in one as well.
There’s a pet daycare center in the back of the inn that caters to both the guests and the townspeople of Cider Cove called Critter Corner. I had come up with the idea because I didn’t have the heart to turn away guests with pets. And thanks to my love for all things furry, the inn has been voted the most pet friendly resort along the coast of Maine.
The inn butts up against a sandy cove that stretches out in either direction. But the real star of the show is the gorgeous Atlantic Ocean, with its powerful navy waves and the never-ending spectacle of whitewash slapping against the shore.
“Yes to all of it,” I say to Emmie as we go over the prospective menu options we’re thinking about implementing. “What about crab cakes?”
“I knew I was forgetting something. Of course, we’re serving crab cakes.” She quickly jots it down. “And you’re okay with lobster in its every iteration?”
“I’m more than okay with it. Maine catches ninety percent of the country’s lobster. We practically owe it to our guests to serve it in its every iteration. And as soon as you whip up a lobster pie, I want the very first bite.” I wrinkle my nose at the row of thatched umbrellas dotting the sand and the rows and rows of blue and white striped lounge chairs set out for the guests to enjoy. “Although, my appetite is waning.”
“You’re still hung up on that Hadley woman, aren’t you?”
“Do you realize she played Esmeralda in Esmeralda the Teenage Magician? She’s a star, and she’s beautiful, and—she and Jasper spent all night arguing about who knows what.”
She winces. “Leo filled me in. He said Hadley and Jasper were pretty serious for almost a year, but that it ended abruptly. I guess that was before Camila. I’m sorry, Bizzy. I can imagine Camila’s glee when she told you about that whole one that got away thing. So what did Jasper have to say for himself?”
“Nothing yet. He came home at three-thirty in the morning and was out the door before I got up. He said we’d catch up on everything tonight.”
Fish, Clyde, and Sherlock scamper in this direction as both Fish and Clyde jump right into my arms before a gaggle of kids can snatch them. But Sherlock isn’t that lucky, he’s mobbed in an instant.
“I got this,” Emmie says. “Hey kids?” she shouts. “Who would like some free cookies?”
The crowd of pint-sized hellions screams with delight as they follow her to the café.
“That was a close one,” I say, giving both Fish and Clyde a kiss in turn.
Last night when we got back to the cottage, Clyde told us all about the fact she was born in a field nearby and that she and her siblings all had to fend for themselves. Considering the fact she’s not at all scrawny, I’d say she was excellent at keeping her tummy full. But regardless, she has an appointment with the vet in an hour, and I’m making sure she keeps it. But I haven’t said a peep about it to the furry among us. No sooner do I say the V word than both Fish and Sherlock start shivering like a leaf—not to mention they go into hiding and make it impossible to catch them.
Clyde mewls up at me and her eyes shine like cobalt. The little one with pigtails wanted to take me home! she snips it out rather incensed.
“That’s because you’re so cute.”
Fish lets out a hearty meow. It’s because she’s playful. I’m sorry to tell you, Bizzy, but she clawed her way up the curtains this morning before you woke up. I tried to stop her.
I suck in a quick breath. “You don’t want to do that, Clyde. You could fall and hurt yourself.”
Fish yowls, What Bizzy is trying to say is you could hurt her curtains. The curtains are off-limits, as are the countertops and the table. And don’t even think of using the furniture as a scratching post or she’ll pull out the clippers and cut your claws off.
Clyde hops right out of my arms and lands on Sherlock’s back with a plop. I won’t touch anything of yours, Bizzy, if you promise not to get near my claws. I need them to survive. Besides—she wraps her limbs over Sherlock’s back as if she were holding on for dear life. Mr. Bones here will protect me. Won’t you, sugar? She gives his fur a few quick licks. A big,
strong animal like you could protect just about anybody.
Sherlock makes an odd yelping noise in response. I’m especially protective of cute little kittens such as yourself.
Oh brother. Fish rolls her eyes.
Come on—Clyde spurs him on with a pat of her paws—take me for a ride. Why don’t you show me around this place, big boy?
Fish ticks her head back and scoffs as the two of them lumber on down the cobblestone walk. Would you look at that? She turns her head my way with a jerk. She’s shamelessly flirting with him so he’ll do her bidding. You saw it yourself. Clyde is outright using him.
“I wouldn’t say that she’s using him. I think she genuinely likes him. Besides, Sherlock is perfectly loveable. We can’t blame her for falling head over paws. He’s a cutie.”
He’s an oaf.
A tiny laugh tickles my chest. “Yes, but he’s your oaf.”
Fish moans. You’re right. We need to send that kitten back into the fields. She’s disrupting the natural order of things.
“Bizzy!” a female voice shrills, and I turn to find Georgie and her sixty-something-year-old daughter Juniper Moonbeam, aka Juni, running down the walkway.
“Speaking of disturbing the natural order of things,” I say as I wave back. “How’s it going, ladies?”
Georgie has on a powder pink kaftan, and Juni is wearing a denim mini skirt with a lime green tank top and slung over her shoulder is a quilted tote bag.
Juni was once my stepmother for all of five minutes, or so it seemed. My father is sort of a bride magnet and she was number three or thirteen, I lost count. I like to tease that I got Georgie in the divorce. Juni looks exactly like Georgie but with less gray hair and a few less crow’s feet. But she has the same wily gleam in her eyes and same wily disposition.
“What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” Georgie says as she gives my hair a quick tousle.
“You tell me,” I say.
Two Old Broads only consists of Mom, Georgie, and Juni. And judging by the fact two of the three employees is here, it’s safe to say they’ve left my mother to fend for herself.
“Let me guess,” I say. “You’re taking a lunch break?”
“You bet your little pink bottom,” Georgie says as Sherlock and Clyde make a reappearance. “Give me this little girl. Come here, Clyde. Meet your Bonnie.” She winks at the cute kitten as she excavates her from Sherlock’s back.
“Juni, I love your quilted tote,” I say, plucking at the cheery blue and pink floral fabric.
Two Old Broads is infamous for selling Georgie’s wonky quilts in every configuration. Georgie came up with the wonky idea last October. A wonky quilt is essentially a quilt with large triangular shapes and frayed edges that can be whipped up quickly—and whipping them up quickly is exactly what they’ve been doing. They’re not only selling them as traditional bed covering, they’ve turned these wonky quilts into tote bags, dresses, pet beds, pet blankets, curtains, and they’re working on a bridal line, too. It’s all been a rather natural progression. Considering the fact Georgie is an artist, none of this surprises me.
Right on their heels I spot my mother, giggling to herself while staring down at her phone. She’s dressed in a cornflower blue sundress and has a striped wide-brimmed hat over her head to shelter her from the sun.
I squint over at her, trying to make sense of this. “Considering the fact all three employees of Two Old Broads are front and center, I take it you closed down the shop for the day?”
“What?” Georgie spins and gags once she spots my mother. “Ree Baker! What are you doing? Who’s manning the store?”
“What?” Mom practically tosses her phone in the sand as she comes to. “How did I get here?” She glances around in fright. “I heard someone say lunch break and I just grabbed my phone and started chatting with Romero. Oh, I’d better get back before we’re robbed blind.” She speeds off toward Main Street and Juni chuckles.
“That’s a lady in love for ya,” Juni says.
“In love?” I balk. “Please. My mother has had a hardened heart toward men ever since my father spurned her. She’s not in love. She hardly believes in that four-letter word. Not romantically anyway.”
“You’re right,” Georgie says while waving at me with Clyde’s paw. “She believes in another four-letter word—lust. I saw the dude’s picture. He could be a cover model on every planet in the solar system. He’s got rock-hard abs and enough biceps to pick up all of Maine. Face it, your mother has a grade A beefcake on her hands.”
Juni grunts, “No wonder she’s losing her mind. The next thing you know, she’ll be losing her knickers.”
“Try grade A scammer,” I say. “My mother had better not lose her knickers. I don’t trust the guy.”
Juni nods. “Guess who else you shouldn’t trust?”
Georgie smacks her. “That was my line, kid.” She leans my way. “Did you happen to catch that latest Gossip Gal episode this morning?”
“Don’t tell me you actually watch Camila apply mascara while dishing on her so-called friends.”
“We don’t miss an episode,” Juni is quick to confess. “And don’t forget the yummy treats she eats while filming.”
Georgie groans. “She inhaled a box of fresh glazed donuts right in front of us and she wasn’t even sorry about it.” She pats her stomach as if she were the one who inhaled them. “You should have seen it, Biz. She talked all about last night’s book club bludgeoning.”
“Nobody was bludgeoned,” I say just below a whisper lest a guest or two pick up on the bloody conversation. It’s bad enough my poor inn is amassing a reputation without Camila’s help, but now that’s she’s pitching in, I have a feeling she’s about to catapult us to an infamous status. Before I know it, all the inn will be good for is Halloween TV specials and homicide hungry lookie-loos.
“Eh.” Juni shrugs. “I don’t think she could find a word that played off of book, and bludgeoning sounded pretty good.”
“Anyway”—Georgie tucks Clyde under her right armpit and it’s a disconcerting sight—“she mentioned that a certain homicide detective from Seaview was reigniting a relationship with an old flame—one that happened to be a hot commodity in Hollywood not that long ago. Sorry to hear it, Biz. I take it Hux will be handling the divorce.”
“What?” I squawk. “This is the first I’m hearing of a divorce.”
“Who’s getting a divorce?” a deep male voice calls from my left and I turn to see both my brother, Huxley, and his relatively new bride, Mackenzie Woods.
“Hey, Hux,” I say as he gives me a quick hug and both Fish and Sherlock a quick scratch between the ears. “Hello, Mayor Woods.” Even though Mackenzie has been my official sister-in-law for a couple of months now, I still prefer to call her by her formal and civic-minded moniker.
A million years ago Mackenzie and I used to be best friends right along with Emmie. But then she pushed me into a whiskey barrel full of water and held me under, thus sponsoring this mind-bending, mind-altering, mindreading ability of mine.
I may have had the telesensual tendencies in me since birth, but Mack’s foray into attempted homicide sealed the deal. She also made quick work of giving me a few phobias that fated day as well—to both large bodies of water and confined spaces. Suffice it to say, I don’t venture into that Atlantic bathtub very often beyond my big toe.
“How are you feeling?” I give Mackenzie the once-over. She’s as gorgeous as she is blunt with her long dark hair, almond-shaped eyes, and perennial glowing tan. Although today she looks a little pasty, her hair is a bit mussed, and she’s not wearing her typical power suit. Instead, she’s donned a sage empire waist dress, which shows off the budding little pouch in which she’s housing my niece or nephew. Mackenzie announced she was three months pregnant as soon as they came back from their shortened honeymoon. Their little bundle of joy—or if it takes after Mackenzie, bundle of terror—is due to arrive in September. And I can’t wait to cuddle with it.
“
I feel great,” she says. “In fact, I’m here to have lunch with my handsome husband. Sorry to hear about the implosion of your marriage, Bizzy. I’m sure Hux will be happy to help you out—for half his typical fee.”
“Half?” I stifle a laugh. “I’m sorry, but if I were to get a divorce, I’m sure my brother would help me out for free.”
“Free?” She laughs at the thought. “Sorry to break it to you, Bizzy, but we’re shopping for a house,” she smarts. “And we have college tuition to think about now. I’d suggest if you want to save a dime, you might want to overlook your husband’s philandering ways and give his mistress the boot.”
A flood of words dams up in my throat and I choke on them.
“Jasper is not cheating on me.” I shoot Georgie a look that phrases those exact words into a question. She’s the one who doesn’t miss an episode of Camila’s Gossip Gal hour, not me.
Before Georgie can so much as give me a wink, Emmie appears in our midst holding out a platter of those fresh baked pistachio pudding wonders of hers.
“Cookies?” She extends the platter and Mackenzie groans at the sight of them.
“Why are they green?” Mackenzie no sooner gets the words out than she lets out an egregious belch. And in one quick move she plucks open Juni’s wonky quilt tote and pukes in it.
“I guess she’s not feeling so great after all,” I say as I turn to Hux. “Just a heads-up, our mother might make you want to puke. She dove into the deep end of the cyber dating pool. You might want to check in on her now and again. She’s acting erratically.”
“Good to know,” he says, patting Mackenzie on the back.
“Bathroom,” Mackenzie says as she zips right past us and into the back of the inn.
“Wait!” Juni calls out, holding her bag out before her. “You forgot your breakfast!” She takes off after Mackenzie, and Hux gives a long blink my way.
“I’d better get in there,” he says. “I knew she wasn’t quite up for bopping around town, but Mack wanted to show the townspeople she’s feeling fine.”
Lock, Stock, and Feral Page 4