Lock, Stock, and Feral

by Addison Moore

  My phone chirps and I pull it out. “It’s a text from Jasper.”

  Georgie leans in. “What does it say?”

  “It says he won’t be home until late.” My lips move feverishly as I quickly read every word. “Patterson Higgins didn’t die of natural causes.” I take a breath and hold it. “He was murdered.”

  “I could have told you that.” Georgie swats me. “What do you think the killer dragged him to the inn for? This is the it place to knock off your enemies. I hope my enemies take note of it.”

  I shake my head down at my phone. “He says he needs to speak to Jordy since he was doling out the wine last night.”

  Hux clucks his tongue. “Sounds as if Jordy might need to lawyer up. I’ll head in and touch base with him. And I’d better find my wife while I’m at it, or I’m the one that might be needing a divorce attorney. I’ll see you ladies later. Stay out of trouble, Bizzy. Jasper was not giving you a license to investigate this case.”

  We watch as he disappears into the inn.

  “The heck he wasn’t,” Georgie says, stealing Fish from my arms. “Now which one of you kitties is coming with us to track down a suspect?”

  Sherlock barks. What about me?

  Georgie rolls her eyes at the sweet cats. “Men. Can’t live with ’em, can’t enjoy bacon without them.” She plucks a handful of salted meat from her pocket and tosses it his way. “So who are we drilling and grilling first, Bizzy? The butcher? The baker? The candlestick maker?”

  “The one that got away.”

  Hadley Culpepper is the very first suspect on my list. I’m gunning for you, Hadley.

  But the real question is, are you gunning for my husband?

  Chapter 5

  It turns out, Hadley Culpepper has chosen to eschew all social media.

  I get it, she wants her privacy after living in the limelight for so many of her younger years—at least she said as much in an old interview I was able to dig up. But it’s made tracking her down nearly impossible. After I drop Clyde off at the vet—and terrify Fish and Sherlock by proxy—I head back to the inn and decide to sort the mail until I can find a way to sink my claws into Hadley—just the way she managed to do my husband last night.

  An entire thicket of people step into the foyer of the Country Cottage Inn and my trusty employees get straight to work checking them in while Sherlock gets straight to greeting them. Fish barely lifts an eyelid their way as she lazily whips her tail back and forth by my side.

  I quickly scan the crowd in hopes by some miracle Hadley has wandered back to the scene of the crime—and by crime, I mean the attempted abduction of my husband—or at least his mind.

  For the life of me I can’t imagine what they were arguing about. In all the while I’ve known that man, I have never seen him that animated. He has never so much as raised a crooked eyebrow at me, let alone his voice. What if he’s got some dark side that only Hadley is privy to? Would I really want to know about that?

  My gut churns as I look to the faces of the guests at hand. Most of them are pink from too much sun, but not one of them belongs to her. My eyes snag on one face in particular, and I drop the mail I’m holding, scoop up Fish, and head toward the familiar woman with the long silver hair.

  “Liv,” I say a bit too cheery as if we were friends.

  Easy, Bizzy, Fish says as she adjusts herself in my arms. You keep squeezing me and I’ll be the next one who needs to see the vet. And don’t think I won’t make my feelings clear on the matter if I get pricked and prodded. It’s a torture chamber in there and we both know it. I may not care for Clyde’s smitten disposition regarding Sherlock, but I wouldn’t wish what that poor cat’s going through on my worst enemy.

  All the way home from the vet’s office I tried to explain to Fish and Sherlock why Clyde needed to be seen. But neither of them was buying that whole it’s for her own good story. And they both demanded treats for the trauma I had imposed on them for bringing them along on the trip. Of course, I caved. Twice.

  Liv turns my way and her mouth opens as she tries to process who I am.

  “I’m Bizzy, the manager—owner actually of the inn. We met last night.”

  “Oh yes.” She squeezes her eyes shut and laughs.

  She’s younger than her silver hair would let you believe, and a part of me wonders if she’s dyed her tresses this color. It’s stunning on her. I’ve seen people my age doing it. And honestly, it’s only a few shades lighter than the platinum color Macy has been dying her locks.

  “You were my hit-and-run of the night,” she teases. “I didn’t leave a bruise, did I?”

  “No.” I laugh. “I fared well. Can I help you with anything?”

  “Oh yes.” She gives Fish a quick scratch. “Actually, I came back for two reasons. One, because I just didn’t feel like I had closure last night. I’m sure that sounds silly. But Patterson was a friend.” Her eyes flit to the library. “And two”—it looks as if it takes herculean strength to pull her gaze back my way—“I have family coming from the West Coast next month. I just visited them a few weeks ago in So Cal so it’s tit for tat. And I can’t house them at my place, so I thought I’d look into your rates while I was here.”

  “Well, for sure I can help you with that last part. In fact, I’ll give you the friends and family discount, which is almost half off our summer fares. I feel just terrible about what happened. I’d invite you to go back into the library, but I’m afraid the sheriff’s department still has it sealed off.”

  “Oh?” Her pale blue eyes widen a notch. “Why is that?”

  “They suspect foul play. I don’t have any details, but I guess anything could have happened to that man in there. I saw him getting worked up a few times. I mean, that alone could be foul play.”

  She nods. “You’re right. It looked like a run-of-the-mill heart attack, but I guess you never know these days. It’s as if the entire world has lost its mind.” Her gaze drifts back toward the library with its doors sealed off like a tomb. So much for saying goodbye, or good riddance. Thank goodness I didn’t leave anything behind. I’d never get it back at this rate.

  I bite down on my lip. I can’t judge her for a single thought. It wouldn’t be fair.

  “Hey, were you a regular member of the Grim Readers?” I ask. “I’m trying to hunt down one of its members.”

  “I sure am. Which one were you looking for?” I bet it’s Devan. Who else is there?

  “Hadley Culpepper.” Her name stings a little as it leaves my lips.

  Liv’s forehead breaks out into a series of lines. “Oh yes, Ms. Hoity-Toity.” She averts her eyes. “She was the one everyone was always after—for her autograph. I never asked.” She shakes her head as if it were silly.

  To be honest, if it wasn’t for her very intimate connection to my husband, I would have asked, too. And believe me, I’m angry with myself over this nonexistent event.

  Liv tips her head back. “Where could she be? Oh, wait.” She taps my hand with hers. “She was a part of some writers’ group. I heard her mention it a time or two. We talked shop now and again. She’s a budding author.”

  She’s an author, too? Fish whips me with her tail. That’s quite the competition, Bizzy.

  I frown down at my once sweet cat. It’s clear she’s going to make me pay for that trip to the vet in more ways than one.

  “Liv, where do you think I can find this writers’ group?”

  “They meet at the Dream Bean out in Blueberry Grove, just south of Rose Glen.”

  “Nice,” I say as I bounce on the balls of my feet, because obviously I can’t wait to confront the hussy. “I haven’t been to Blueberry Grove in some time. I’ll head out that way and see if I can talk to her. Do you know when the club meets?”

  “They meet each Thursday—so I guess that would be today.” She glances down at her watch. “They started a half hour ago. You might want to hurry if you want to catch her.”

  “Wow, I will hurry. Let me get you a sheet with my
rates, and don’t forget you’ll get the discount.” I walk her back to the desk and hand her a pamphlet. “What week were you looking at?”

  “We haven’t settled it yet, but I think around Memorial Day.”

  “It’s one of our busiest weekends. I’ll jot your name down as tentative, that way you’re certain to get a spot. Last name?”

  “Womack.” She winces. “That’s my married name—or technically, it’s my divorced name. I keep meaning to change it.” I should have never taken his name, or come to think of it, his number.

  “I’m sorry about that.”

  “Hopefully, you’ll never know that kind of pain. They say a divorce is like death, and they would be right. I was a homemaker for twenty years, and then poof, he left me to my own devices. Took off with his secretary and left me in the financial dust. I’ve recently blown through my retirement fund. It hasn’t been easy. I was left to fend for myself while he continued to live the high life. Count your lucky stars you have this place. I’d better get going. I work down at the library, and I’m running late. I’ll see you around, Bizzy. I’ll let you know about booking the rooms as soon as I can.” I might just stop by the cove now and again by myself. Lord knows I need the respite.

  “Thank you,” I say as Sherlock heads this way.

  Well, Bizzy? He gives a quick bark. Is she the killer?

  “No, but I have intel on where to find my prime suspect. Either of you up for visiting a coffee house?”

  Sherlock growls, Is that what they’re calling the vet these days? No thanks. I’ll take a nap until dinner.

  “Fish?”

  I’ll come under one condition, she mewls. You don’t even think of making a left on Main Street. Coffee house isn’t code for torture chamber, is it?

  “No, but on the way home I need to pick up Clyde.”

  I’m staying in the car for that, she roars.

  “Sounds good to me,” I say.

  And just like that, we’re off to snag a cup of coffee and maybe a killer.

  Chapter 6

  The Dream Bean in Blueberry Grove holds the thick scent of coffee along with an under layer of perfume. It’s homey with its fireplace raging in the corner and large tufted chairs set out here and there. It’s laden with dark wooden chairs and matching floors, and there’s even a bookcase that sits against the far wall to give this place a cozy appeal.

  Throngs of women have infiltrated the place, most of which are situated with a laptop in front of them, along with notebooks, pens, and highlighters. The writers’ group is made up of about a dozen or so women seated at a series of conjoined tables near the back, each of them already sipping on the coffee and noshing on a sweet treat. A friendly looking blonde goes from one woman to the next, observing their work and giving feedback, and I bet that’s the ring leader here. But it’s not her I’m here to question.

  I spot the exact redhead I’m hoping to nab, seated on the end with a few free seats next to her.

  “Oh, there she is,” I hiss at Georgie and my mother. Once Juni heard there might be a writing assignment involved, she volunteered to hold the fort down at Two Old Broads, but my mother and Georgie jumped at the chance to tag along. “Let’s hurry and get our coffee. Remember, let me do all the talking.”

  Fish pokes her head out of the carrier she’s nestled in. It’s an infant carrier that I have strapped to my front, and for the most part, Fish loves her outings in it.

  I see her, Bizzy, Fish mewls. She looks smart and beautiful. I can see the appeal.

  “Watch it,” I tell her. More than a few women turn their head in our direction. I glance over at my mother and Georgie, and I can’t help but frown. “Did you both have to wear a wonky quilt dress? You’re inadvertently causing a scene.”

  It’s true. Georgie has on one with blue stripes and dots, and my mother’s is a bit demurer with yellow and pink flowers.

  Mom sighs. “When you run your own business, you need to be innovative when it comes to marketing. Every time we wear our own merchandise, we get stopped in the street and we practically make another sale. If you cared about us at all, you would have worn one, too.”

  “Why?” I hold back a laugh. “So we could look like we belong to a quilt cult?”

  Fish yowls, You look like a quilt cult regardless.

  Mom scoffs. “Don’t listen to her, Georgie. We’re doing the right thing. And by the way, see about making a wonky quilt cat carrier. I’d like to bring my cats out once in a while in something like that.”

  “Ooh,” I muse. “That’s a great idea. I want one for sure.”

  Georgie bumps her shoulder to my mother’s. “Didn’t I tell you this stuff practically sold itself?”

  We load up on coffee before making our way to the back, and the petite blonde prances right over to us. Her hair is cut just shy of her shoulders, and she has fragile features and a smile that takes up half her face.

  “Welcome, ladies. Are you here to join the Writing Wenches?”

  “Writing Wenches?” Georgie chuckles. “I like this place already.”

  Mom nods. “We’re here to learn how to write a novel.”

  So much for letting me do all the talking.

  The blonde titters. “Well, this is the place to be. Most of these gals already know the basics. But if you like, I can help you outline your novel or get some ideas down. I’m Rachelle.” She gasps once she spots Fish. “And who is this little cutie?” she asks, plucking my sweet cat right out of the carrier and bouncing her like a baby.

  “That’s Fish,” I tell her. “And I’m Bizzy, this is Georgie, and that’s my mother, Ree.”

  Georgie thrusts a turquoise business card her way. “Like what you see? Why not Rent-a-Grandma? Bizzy here is utilizing my services and you can, too—for a nominal fee, of course.” Georgie quickly hands one out to all twelve women before anyone can stop her, and soon this end of the establishment is humming as they ooh and aah at the prospect of spending time with my favorite gray-haired goofball.

  “Never mind her,” Mom says with that ultra-annoyed look on her face she seems to reserve for her partner in wonky quilt crime.

  Rachelle laughs while cooing down at my sweet cat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all—rented relatives and all. I think this little cutie can be our official mascot. Why don’t you ladies take a seat, and I’ll get right to helping you out.”

  “I’m actually okay on the writing front,” I say. “But these two will need your full attention.”

  Georgie shoots me a look. I see what you’re doing, Bizzy Baker Wilder. But I’ll have you know, I’m here to investigate, too—a potential thief trying to steal Jasper Wilder’s heart.

  That makes two of us.

  I make a face at the thought as I quickly land next to Hadley, and both Georgie and Mom land next to me and pull out the notebooks we brought along—each one suspiciously blank.

  “Okay, ladies.” Rachelle sounds like a drill sergeant all of a sudden. “Who knows what they’d like to write about?”

  I give Hadley the side-eye, but she’s too immersed in clicking away at her keyboard to notice me.

  Mom raises her hand. “A Parisian romance. What’s more romantic than a love story set in Paris?” She fans herself with her notebook, and I think she’s swooning.

  Fish bleats out a tiny meow. Boy, she’s got it bad. You’d better put an end to this, Bizzy, before she trots off and leaves the country.

  I nod up at the feisty feline because she’s right.

  I lean toward my mother. “That’s a great idea. You should write about the long distance aspect of the romance. I bet it’s impossible to stay romantically involved with that many miles between you.”

  “I’d rather not.” Mom sags. “It’s tough enough I have to live it.”

  Rachelle’s mouth falls open. “You’re doin’ a little long distance hanky-panky? Well, there’s your story. But don’t put in any of that long-distance crap. This is your chance to reimagine your love story. And be sure to fill it w
ith all the steamy romance you wish you could have with your man. It’d be a great gift to give him one day. An even better wedding present once you get the mileage between you sorted.”

  Mom straightens. “That’s a great idea. I can really spice things up, too. I mean, we’ve tried to spice things up, but there are only so many naughty stories and racy pictures you can take.”

  Everything in me freezes. “Please tell me you have not sent that man a single racy picture.”

  Mom presses her lips tightly before elbowing Georgie. “What’s your book about?”

  Georgie’s chest bucks with a silent laugh, but her expression is serious as stone. “A casino heist, a strip club, and a man with one eyebrow.”

  Rachelle belts out a laugh. “You’ve already got me hooked. Get some ideas down on paper, and I’ll be back to see how you’re doing.” She walks down to the other end of the table with Fish in tow, and soon that tiny feline is the star of the show.

  Hadley laughs as she looks my way. “Welcome to the Writing Wenches.” She examines my features, and I try not to glower at the woman. She looks adorable in a denim shirt and her red hair pulled back into a whippet of a ponytail. Her lips are bright cherry red, a color I can never get away with, and yet it looks effortless on her. “Hey—didn’t I meet you last night?” Her features smooth out. “Aren’t you Jasper’s wife?”

  “That would be me.” I shrug. “Guilty as charged.”

  She belts out another laugh. “Well, I won’t lie, I sort of wish I had been charged with that same crime myself. My only crime was leaving him high and dry.” She glances to the ceiling. “But I suppose he told you all about that.”

  My lips part, but I think better of contesting the fact.

  “That’s right,” I say. “He told me everything.”

  There. At least now she’ll think Jasper and I don’t have a single secret between us. It’s the same thing I thought right up until twenty-four hours ago.

  Georgie leans in. “I don’t know any of the details myself, so if either of you would like to give the kinky game away, I’d be glad to hear it.”