Lock, Stock, and Feral

by Addison Moore

  I would! I really would! Clyde is quick to mewl right back.

  Devan gives a full-bellied laugh.

  And to think this might just be the killer—the most jovial killer I’ve met to date.

  I’m about to make light of Clyde’s enthusiasm when Hadley Culpepper steps into the room with a tight black lace dress on cut down to there and riding up to here, and all heads turn in her direction as she boldly strides our way.

  Devan’s chest pumps with a dry laugh. Well, if it isn’t Little Ms. Slut. Patterson sure took pleasure rubbing her in my face that last night we were together. What the heck is she all dolled up for? This is a book club, not prom night. Unless, of course, there’s some other poor shmuck she’s here to land. I can’t stand to watch.

  “Excuse me, Bizzy.” Devan forces a smile. “I need to prepare for the meeting.” She jets off just as Hadley steps my way, glancing to my left and my right—looking for my poor schmuck of a husband no doubt.

  “Evening.” She sighs with defeat as she comes up empty. “So where’s Jasper?”

  “Oh, he’ll be here. He’s just running a little late.”

  Fish pats me on the chest. You shouldn’t have told her that.

  Clyde meows. She’s looking to snare him for herself, Bizzy.

  “That’s wonderful.” Hadley pulls her shoulders back and her boobs nearly fall out of her dress. “I mean, that’s wonderful that the two of you do things as a couple.” Not that you’ll be doing them together for long. I’ve been told I’m irresistible in this dress, and I plan on testing out that theory on my Duke tonight.

  A choking sound emits from me. “How dare you.”

  “How dare I what?” Don’t tell me Sherlock Homely here has figured out my connection to Patterson’s death.

  I suck in a rather dramatic lungful of air. “You killed him, didn’t you?”

  “What?” She takes a step back and examines me, head to foot, as if seeing me for the very first time.

  “You said you played a part in his demise, I heard you.” Albeit in my mind, but if she’s going to play dirty with my marriage, then I’m playing dirty, too.

  “Did I say that?” Her fingers fly to her lips as she looks momentarily stunned. I would never have said that out loud. Oh, this is bad. This is going to make me look guilty. Jasper will think I’m a killer. Worse yet, he’ll lock me up behind bars for doing the deed.

  “Did you do it?” I take a breathless step forward. “Did you kill him that night?”

  “What? No! The part I played in his demise had to do with his business. I was talking to people at the Writing Wenches about the fact that Higgins House was charging an astronomical fee to publish my book. Word got around that Higgins House was a vanity press—and well, I inadvertently tarnished his reputation. But I was still going to use his services. Higgins House was simply a vehicle to get my book to market. Once the world read The Duke and the Lady, they would have fallen in love with us.”

  Her bosom quivers as if she were starring in a regency romance right this minute. But too bad for Hadley because she is not getting a happily ever after with my husband.

  “Okay, fine. Maybe you didn’t kill him.” I crane my neck past her at the blooming crowd.

  Where to now, Bizzy? Fish yowls.

  Let me claw at her face. Clyde gives a sharp meow. That’ll teach her for thinking she can steal your man. You’re married to Jasper, for goodness’ sake. What doesn’t she understand?

  “Exactly,” I say under my breath.

  “Exactly what?” Hadley shakes her head at me with a newfound aggression. “You just wait until Jasper hears that you’ve spoken to me so tersely, and after accusing me of murder no less.” That man will be mine before the night is through, and I didn’t even need to stuff my feet into these heels to get him.

  She stomps off before I can stop her—not that I would have.

  I turn around and spot James headed in this direction wearing the same knitted sweater he had on the night of the murder, and a book tucked under his arm, giving him a rather adorable bookworm appeal.

  “Bizzy, how are you doing? Is Macy here?”

  “That depends if you mean Racy Macy or Macy the Author. The studious version is running around with a pair of red glasses on. So, I hear you’re looking to publish her nonexistent book.” I frown up at him. “People have done a lot of things to get in my sister’s pants, but never a book deal. That’s a first.”

  Easy. Sherlock barks. He could still be the killer, Bizzy. He had that glass of wine, remember?

  Clyde mewls, The wine he said he couldn’t drink because he’s a diabetic, or was it diuretic? I’ve heard Juni talking about the latter. Maybe that was it?

  She had it right the first time.

  “James”—I say his name a little harsher than I meant to, considering I’m still rattled from my meet and greet with Hadley—“can I ask you a question?”

  If Hadley isn’t the killer, and Liv isn’t the killer, that just leaves Devan and James. I think it’s best to eliminate James right now. At least then I can let Jasper know we’re on the right track.

  “Yes.” His brows grow close. “Anything, what is it?”

  “The other night at the club, you mentioned you were diabetic and that you couldn’t have wine—yet I saw you in line for wine that night Patterson was killed. And then I saw you with it later in your hand.”

  He inches back, his brows furrowed. “Bizzy, I don’t know what you’re implying”—he takes a moment to chuckle—“but you’re right. I was in line that night to get wine, and I did get some. I saw a gorgeous woman in the room, and I wanted to offer it to her.” It’s a tried-and-true tactic to get lucky, but I’m not about to share that with the woman. After all, it’s her sister I eventually got lucky with.

  A hard groan comes from me. “I’m sorry.” I grimace. “But I’m glad to hear you weren’t sneaking a sip of something that could hurt you.”

  “Not a problem. I know we’re all on edge.” He gives the back of his head a scratch as he looks into the crowd. “Holy hot glasses,” he practically drools as he says the words. “I’ll catch up with you later, Bizzy,” he says as he bolts in my sister’s direction.

  It was Macy he had gotten the wine for, Fish grouses. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.

  “Me either,” I say.

  Devan is about to zip past me when she offers Sherlock a quick pat.

  “It’s almost showtime,” she says, looking my way. “Help yourself to some coffee if you need it. It’s strong. ”

  “Oh, I could use something stronger,” I tease. Especially now that I’m certain she’s the killer.

  “Sorry.” She straightens. “No wine tonight. That was sort of a one-off. In fact, we’ve never had wine at one of these functions. I don’t like to attract people just because they think there’s an open bar. We’re not that kind of book club.”

  Clyde mewls, I bet she needed the wine to disguise the taste of that poisonous mushroom she tainted Patterson’s drink with.

  I nod at the tiny kitten.

  “So what made you choose to have wine that night?” I ask a little too smugly because I already know the answer.

  “Oh, I didn’t want it. But Patterson said the author insisted. I guess she was there that night. He never did have the chance to introduce us.” She glances to the crowd. “Ten minutes until we begin,” she chirps. “I’m always a little too excited at these meetings.” She takes off, and I can hardly catch my breath.

  “The author requested the wine,” I pant.

  The author was there? Fish meows.

  Who was the author? Sherlock barks. What do they look like?

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember the author’s name.” I pull out my phone and look up the book online—Lock, Stock, and Double Barrel Peril.

  The book pops up and so does a picture of the author. S.L. Teller is staring back at me. And just like that, I know who the killer is.

  Chapter 17

 
; Bodies swirl around me as I navigate my way through the crowd. The din of voices rises ever so slightly as the library eschews one of its most golden rules tonight, that of silence.

  I won’t be silent either once I corner my very next suspect. And if things go the way I think they will, this will be my very last suspect of the night.

  Text Jasper. Sherlock barks. I won’t let you do this, Bizzy. I promised Jasper that I wouldn’t let you walk straight into danger. And this person is dangerous, they’ve already killed once.

  Clyde lets out a roar. Let me at ’em. I’ve been anxious to give chase and catch a mouse, but a killer will do in a pinch.

  Fish looks up at me. That explains all the chasing that’s been going on back at the cottage. Clyde has far too much energy to be pent up there. Perhaps instead of hunting down the killer on our own, we can try to find her a new fur-ever home?

  I shoot a look down at my wily but sweet cat. “Nice try, but I’m going to talk to that woman. I have to know if I’m right.”

  What about Jasper? Sherlock all but pulls me backward by way of the leash.

  My phone bleats, and it’s a text from Jasper himself. “I won’t have to text him.”

  I wave the phone at Sherlock. “He says he’s on his way.”

  Without further ado, I spot my mark as she steps out onto the patio and I’m right on her tail.

  It’s dark out, the air is crisp, and my ears clot up with the silence as the chatter behind me begins to dissipate. There’s nary a soul around as I make my way over to the far end of the patio and step right next to the suspected killer as we take in the glittering view of our cozy town.

  “It’s magnificent, isn’t it?” I say, taking in a lungful of fresh spring air perfumed with honeysuckle.

  “Oh, Bizzy”—she jumps back as her hair glows like a white flame in the night—“you about gave me a heart attack.” She clutches at her chest and laughs before giving Sherlock a quick pat, but he backs up a notch and gives a light growl in response. “Easy, boy,” she teases. “That’s okay. I’m not offended. I suppose everyone looks a bit menacing out in the dark. We should get back inside.”

  “Yes,” I say, stopping in front of her. “But we have a few minutes. Would you mind if I asked you a question?”

  “Anything. I’ve worked here for thirty years. I know every nook and cranny of this place. But if it’s not library related, I probably don’t know diddly.”

  “I’m guessing you do,” I say as my breathing picks up the pace.

  Liv Womack’s eyes glow right along with her hair under the light of the third quarter moon.

  “You know a lot about books, I don’t doubt that,” I tell her. “And I think you know a little about how they’re written, too. Isn’t that right?”

  Sherlock whispers, And here we go again.

  Fish hisses, Keep it down. Bizzy knows what she’s doing. But in case things get out of hand, be ready to attack.

  “I’m sorry?” Liv leans in as if she couldn’t have heard me right.

  “Patterson Higgins ran a publishing house. Higgins House,” I say. “James called the authors poor shmucks. Would you agree with that?”

  Boy, would I ever. She chuckles to herself. “I suppose if James said so. He would know.” He was probably ripping us off himself.

  “You know because you were one of those authors, weren’t you?”

  She inches back a notch. So she’s pegged me as an author. So what?

  “I—I guess the cat’s out of the bag.” She goes to pet Fish and Clyde, and both cats sink a little lower in the carrier they’re sitting in. “I was part of the Writing Wenches—along with Hadley.” Maybe if I remind her of the woman who was trying to steal her man she’ll leave me alone. I’m afraid once the book club begins, I’ll have to leave Cider Cove. I don’t have the blood pressure to deal with this kind of questioning. I should have left town ages ago. “Isn’t that Hadley in there now with the low-cut dress?” She clucks her tongue as she looks into the library. “And that handsome detective is with her, I think.” I don’t see either of them, but that’s neither here nor there.

  “I heard that wine was never served at one of these events before—not until the night Patterson died.” I give a short-lived smile.

  Oh good. She’s changed the subject. For a moment I thought I was caught red-handed.

  Liv’s chest fills with her next breath. “Yes, well, we like to mix things up, I suppose.”

  I shake my head. “I heard the author requested it.” I take a breath. “The day after the murder you visited the inn. When I asked where I could find Hadley, you said she was a writer, that you’ve talked shop with her before. That’s because you’re a writer, too, aren’t you? S.L. Teller. That’s you, isn’t it, Liv?”

  She gasps as she takes a step back and her face dissolves into the night shadows.

  “No,” she whispers.

  “Yes,” I counter. “You mentioned you were divorced and wished you had changed your name that same day you visited me at the inn. Your maiden name was Teller, wasn’t it? And the day of the murder, Patterson called you Shelly. Shelly is the S in your nom de plume and L must stand for Liv.”

  A horrible groaning noise comes from her before she takes a breath. “And so you’ve pegged me. You’ve uncovered my alias. What now? I suppose you’d like an autograph? If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go get a book to give you.” She tries to step around me, but I’m right there blocking her path once again.

  “That won’t be necessary. I’m not here for an autograph. I’d much prefer a confession.”

  “A what?” Her voice is sharp and echoes into the expanse behind me.

  “You heard me,” I growl. “The day after Patterson was killed you came to the inn and told me that you went out west a few weeks back to visit family. And I bet you brought back a little toxic souvenir, didn’t you? You said you went to So Cal—Southern California. That’s where you went, isn’t it?”

  “A vacation? That’s what has you up in arms?” I’m truly paranoid because everything she says has me jumping. I have to get away from this woman—from this state.

  “Death caps grow rampant in California,” I say, trying to temper my breathing. “And that’s exactly how you killed Patterson Higgins. You boiled those mushrooms down and created a toxin so powerful it stopped his heart after a few sips of that wine. You needed the wine to mask the taste. Which I’m guessing you gleefully handed him a glass of. It was a perfect way to kill Patterson, and to set it up to make it look as if his ex-wife was the culprit. She is the reason you decided to use a poisonous mushroom, isn’t she?” Her mouth opens a notch, but not a sound comes out. “He was your publisher, Liv, but he cost you a lot of money, didn’t he? The day we spoke you mentioned you blew through your retirement. He’s the reason for that, isn’t he?”

  Her head tips up as she glowers at me. “Yes, I did kill him, Bizzy.” Her voice is suddenly calm and smooth.

  Fish growls, Let’s leave. We have the confession. Let’s get out of here.

  “You don’t know what it’s like for a woman out there,” Liv continues. “After my divorce, I was struggling. I spent all of my life dreaming that one day I would be this great author—I handed Higgins House my baby and they trampled on it and me. Patterson asked me to give him thirty thousand dollars. I bought the deluxe package. I cashed out my retirement. I put it all on the line because Patterson Higgins said he could take me and my book to new heights. He promised me people would be clamoring to read the words that I wrote. And it was all a lie. The only thing he ever did for his clients was feature them with the Grim Readers. No other book club would even entertain him. He must have really had to grovel with Devan to get her to agree. I was furious.”

  “It was the pig in the poke scam, wasn’t it? Just like the one you wrote about in your book.”

  “Yes.” A smile twitches on her lips. “But unlike the killer in my book, I’m not going to prison.”

  Without warning, she knocks me backward,
and I land hard on my back as I teeter over the railing.

  Below me there’s a drop that measures fifty feet at least and I can see the glow of jagged rocks that wait for me.

  Both Fish and Clyde take off with a razor-sharp yowl as they begin to claw at Liv. And I can hear Sherlock growling and gurgling as if he were biting down over her, and I have no doubt he is.

  “I’m sorry, Bizzy,” Liv grunts as she pushes me another few inches and I struggle to grab onto the railing and hold on for dear life. “You made me do this. I never meant to drag an innocent woman such as yourself into this.”

  I’d remind her about Devan, but I don’t dare move a muscle.

  “I’ll let everyone know it was an accident,” she hums the words as if she were singing a lullaby. “I’m sure Hadley will take good care of your husband.”

  It’s as if every cell in my body were suddenly filled with adrenaline, and I launch forward, grabbing onto her head and nearly toppling us both over the edge.

  “Freeze!” a masculine voice thunders, and before I know it, Liv lifts both of her hands in the air and my body begins on a free fall right up until my hand hooks onto the railing. “Bizzy!” Jasper hoists me over to safety before ducking back into the library after Liv, and I run in after them both.

  Sherlock leads the way, barking up a riot, and Jasper quickly tackles Liv down in the horror section.

  It seems appropriate. She’s caused quite the horror.

  Soon, she’s cuffed and a swarm of sheriff’s deputies arrive on the scene to haul her away.

  “Are you hurt?” Jasper pants as he takes me in with a scrutinizing gaze that travels up and down my body at lightning speeds.

  “I’m fine,” I say, relaxing into his arms. “I just want to go home.”

  And we do just that.

  Chapter 18

  Normally, after a night like last night, I’d want to stay in bed all day with the covers pulled up over my head—especially since I have Jasper here to hunker down with. But I’ve invited everyone down to the cove and promised them an amazing lunch starring our new seaside-inspired menu, and that’s what brings us to the beach.