“Bizzy, please get inside.” He flexes a sorrowful smile while warming my arms with his hands. “You’re shivering. I’ll be out most of the night, but I’m posting deputies all over the inn and the cottages—and I’m stationing one right in front of yours.” His brows narrow over his pale eyes and it’s a vexingly handsome look. “Bizzy, did you see anything suspicious at all when you came out here?”
“No, nothing. Not until I practically tripped over her body.” I glance to the left and note the blond man—I think his name was Luke, staring sternly at Shelby’s splayed out limbs.
Jasper glances over and nods. “I know what you’re thinking, Bizzy. But promise me you’ll leave this one to me. I’ll catch the killer. You keep safe.”
“Absolutely. My top priority is the inn. You have my word.”
“Good.” He sinks a kiss to my cheek. “Be careful.” Jasper takes off and I spot Nessa heading over to speak to Luke, so I migrate that way as well.
Luke shakes his head at her as if they were having an unspoken conversation.
“Everything okay?” I ask, even though clearly everything is not anywhere near okay.
“Yeah.” Luke takes a full breath, causing his chest to expand to the size of a door. “My girlfriend is dead. Everything is dandy.” He says every word without taking his eyes off Nessa. Luke turns abruptly and ditches back into the crowd.
“What was that about?” I ask as we watch him leave.
“That was nothing.” Nessa shudders. “Luke is a mess, that’s all. And now so am I. I can’t believe this is happening.” It’s all a mess. A horrible, horrible mess. Of all people to die tonight, it’s Shelby.
I tilt my head over to her. “I know you didn’t get along with Shelby. That must make this even harder for you in a way now that there won’t be time to mend fences.”
She pushes out a dull smile. “We weren’t going to be mending fences anytime soon. And I feel terrible about it, too.” She covers her mouth as she looks to the crime scene and we watch as the coroner covers Shelby with a glowing white sheet. “This is all my fault. She never would have died if it wasn’t for me.” Nessa bursts into tears before taking off for the inn.
“Nessa, wait!” I call after her as a trio of girls appears in her place. I recognize them from earlier in the evening. Chelsea—essentially Shelby’s sidekick—
Scout—the girl Nessa said Chelsea and Shelby brought to ruin—and Ginger King herself.
Chelsea balks as if she just witnessed something incredulous. “Nessa just confessed.” She barks it out so loud the murmur of the crowd grows quiet around her.
Ginger nods. “I heard her.” She raises her voice an octave as she shouts the words toward the deputies standing a few feet away. “She says Shelby wouldn’t have died without her. I think we’ve had a confession!”
A few of the deputies glance around as if wondering if they should take her seriously before heading this way.
Great.
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not what she meant,” I say, trying my hardest to come up with a reason why she didn’t mean it that way. “She’s tired. She’s in shock, that’s all. Nessa Crosby didn’t kill anyone.”
Scout slips a lock of her copper hair behind her ear as she looks hypnotically toward the commotion at the crime scene. “Somebody did this. Somebody killed Shelby.” She looks to Ginger. “You’re awful quick to point the finger at Nessa, aren’t you?” Her lips flicker with the hint of a smile. “My God, you’re not even crying.”
Ginger shudders. “I don’t do tears. My eyelash glue isn’t that strong. I didn’t cry at my aunt’s funeral a few months back. I’ve practically trained myself to cry on the inside.” She sniffs the air. “Like I’m doing now.” The heck I am. Goodnight, Shelby. Don’t let the bedbugs bite—or should I say worms. She glares at that white sheet sprawled over the ground as if she had a vendetta against it—or perhaps the poor body lying beneath it. She closes her eyes a moment and her chest rises as she takes a deep breath. I’m safe. So safe. It’s all over. It’s all over now for good.
She staggers back to the inn and my lips part in disbelief.
Chelsea steps over as far as the caution tape will allow.
My Shelby. My God, how did this happen? How did we ever get to such a dark place?
I watch as she follows Ginger and they melt back into the crowd.
I look at Scout with a great intensity as I struggle to read her mind, but I can’t hear anything. She’s nodding to herself, and her lips are twitching. Both are good indicators that she’s locked in thought, but I can’t get a read on it.
She turns to go and I quickly block her path.
“You’re in charge of Ginger’s PR, right?” I swallow hard, trying to think of why I might be asking—other than trying to break that strong as steel barricade she has around her thoughts.
“Yes.” She gives a hard blink as if trying to wake up. “Don’t worry about the seminar. It was all but over.”
“I’d like to invite her to do another. That is, if she’s up for it.” How crass to even think of such a thing—and at the crime scene no less. But the poor girl lying on the ground does deserve some justice, and I have a feeling the killer is still very much in our midst.
“I don’t know what Ginger will or won’t want to do.” She shoots a quick look to where Shelby lies. “Maybe we can do a mixer. A Halloween theme? Ginger and Carter are always looking to throw their desperados together.” She averts her eyes as if she wasn’t buying any of it.
“Perfect. I have every weekend open this month.”
She nods. “I’ll get back to you.” Scout gives one last glance Shelby’s way and her lips flicker with the idea of a smile once again. “Goodnight,” she says and a shiver runs up my spine as I watch her stride coolly back into the crowd.
My eyes search the area for clues as the wind picks up with an artic breeze. The sky darkens, save for a thumbnail moon, and the stars glitter over Cider Cove like crushed onyx diamonds.
I pick up on snatches of errant thoughts and I open my own mind in an effort to catch them all.
Poor thing.
I can’t imagine what her family will go through.
The voices are coming quickly and I try to filter through the minutia of thoughts, mostly regarding the chill in the air, the fact the murder has left them stunned.
Shelby Harris is gone for good.
I twitch my head in the direction that voice came from. Unless I’m standing right in front of them, it’s near impossible to know if it came from a male or female.
I’m glad she’s gone. You know what they say—two of us can keep a secret if one of us is dead.
My eyes widen as I glance to the left.
I did it, says another.
My heart thumps to life as it riots in my chest.
And I’m going to get away with murder.
Chapter 4
If there is one thing about the people of Cider Cove, it’s that we can appreciate the seasons and tend to celebrate them to a fault. It’s the very next day after the unthinkable crime that took place at the Country Cottage Inn, and Georgie, Macy, and I have taken to the task of delivering platters full of pumpkin spice mini muffins to the Haunted Harvest Festival. It’s Saturday, and the Montgomery’s farm is the nexus of the community as the whole town gathers to kick off fall the only way Cider Cove knows how—with hayrides and pumpkin carving contests.
No sooner do I get into the thick of the crowd at the harvest festival with my arms laden down with enough pumpkin spice mini muffins to feed a small island nation than I bump into a body. It takes all the staggering and rather terrible ballerina moves I can muster to keep the treats in my arms from going airborne.
A sharp howl of a cry comes from the woman—the aforementioned body, as she accidentally sloshes her colorful blouse with a glass of something pink and fruity.
“Oh my goodness!” I cringe. “I’m so very sorry!”
“Would you watch where you’re going?” she’s qu
ick to bark my way. She’s beautiful—an older woman, about my mother’s age. Dark, glossy hair and a highly chiseled bone structure.
“Let me help you.” I step forward just as she does the same and I nearly sever her neck with the platter in my hand.
“Good Lord, it’s as if you’re aiming for me.” Her glassy gray eyes burn with fury. “How about this? You see me coming—you go the other way. I’m not mingling with the masses just to have my head sliced off by some wayward baker.” She takes off and I can’t help but scoff.
“I’m no wayward baker,” I say halfheartedly in her wake.
“Yeah,” Georgie calls after her. “Bizzy just so happens to burn everything she even thinks about baking.”
“Good one,” I say as we bustle through the crowds on our way to the big tent labeled Good Eats.
“I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers,” Macy says while making a face as she struggles to set down a couple of platters of pumpkin spice mini muffins, and both Georgie and I do the same. The entire dessert station at the Haunted Harvest Festival is already brimming with delectable sweet treats. But I have a hunch the goodies from the Country Cottage Café will soon take center stage. Emmie’s treats really are that delicious.
Macy slaps her hands together from the effort. “Whose quote was that, anyway?” she asks, working her silvery blonde hair into a pert little ponytail. Just beyond my sister are rows and rows of birch, maples, oaks, and liquid ambers, their branches filled with fall’s fiery glow as they rain down leaves in every citrine color.
“Gandhi,” Georgie offers and I can’t help but laugh.
“It was Lucy Maude Montgomery,” I say. “And it’s a famous quote from Anne of Green Gables. I loved that book.” I shake my head wistfully as I glance around the crowds already brimming at the festival.
There’s a huge orange and black banner strung up over the dessert station that reads Happy Falloween! And spread across the festival grounds are rides and games, jump houses for the little kids, hayrides for just about everyone, a cider press, a haunted maze, face painting, and a crafts station, too.
The Haunted Harvest Festival has long been touted as one of Cider Cove’s premier events, and every year the Montgomerys try to outdo themselves by making the month-long event bigger and better—and both cozier and spookier all at the very same time. The Montgomerys’ acreage is laden with groves and orchards of every variety. They grow everything you can think of from berries to beets, but during this month all attention goes to their much-adored pumpkin patch.
“Hey ho, the gang’s all here!” a cheery male voice calls from behind and we turn to find my father looking handsome in a black dress shirt and jeans. A pair of black and white snakeskin boots adorns his feet and he looks dapper as usual. I got both my dark hair and icy blue eyes from that wily man. He’s wearing his perennial sly grin, which only accentuates his slight comma-like dimples, and there’s a general adorableness about him that has always served him well. I’ve yet to meet a soul who doesn’t like my father. Even my mother and all my father’s other handful of ex-wives still think he’s a charming devil, emphasis on the aforementioned nefarious entity.
“Daddy!” Macy is the first to offer him a rather caustic hug. My sister has always worked ardently to be a daddy’s girl. But thankfully, my father openly confesses to anyone he meets that he has two.
He quickly offers both Georgie and me a double embrace, and I inhale his familiar spiced cologne.
“So, what are you girls up to?” Dad’s brows dip playfully as he tries his best to scowl. “I’m sensing trouble.”
“No trouble,” I’m quick to say. “Macy was showing off her literary prowess and gifting us with quotes that have to do with fall.”
“Ah.” Dad lifts a finger in the air. “Let me guess. It was a classic. Life starts all over again in the fall.”
Georgie moans and swoons, her eyes quickly growing watery as she bats her lashes at him. “A man who quotes F. Scott Fitzgerald has the power to rule my heart. But it wasn’t that.” She deadpans that last sentence before popping a pumpkin spice mini muffin into her mouth.
Georgie waves her hand wildly as if she could hardly swallow fast enough to get her next thought out. Her gray mane is somewhat tempered in a loose braid with just enough wiry stragglers loose to give off that mad scientist vibe that I sometimes think she aspires for. The kaftan she’s donned for today’s festivities is orange and yellow with gold threading woven throughout.
It always warms my heart to see that Georgie chooses her wardrobe to adhere to the theme in the world around her. Unlike my own red and black buffalo flannel, dark jeans, and brown suede boots. I’ve always believed in dressing for comfort. Although, I will admit that as soon as Jasper swirled through my mind, I cinched my flannel in a knot high around my waist in an effort to show off my curves.
“I’ve got to make tracks.” Georgie plucks at the enormous yet empty tote bag over her shoulder. “The more people at these events, the more bottles. And judging by all the food trucks and snack shacks, I’m going to hit the glass motherload. I’ve already determined that the mural the city council has commissioned me to do will be made from one hundred percent repurposed glass. No cheating!” She wags a finger at us as if we were about to commit a recycling offense.
Macy offers a tight smile, a sure sign that my spicy sister is about to commission her sarcastic superpowers. “That’s right, Georgie. Stick it to the man anyway you can.”
Wish I could stick it to a man. My sister scours the crowd as if she were looking for a victim right about now. I know for a fact Macy is both lonely and on the prowl. A lethal combination if ever there was one.
Georgie spikes a crooked finger in the air as she takes off. “I fully intend to stick it to the man!”
Dad shakes his head, that perma-smile of his never leaving his face. “And on that note, I think I’d better go off and do something for the environment as well.”
“You?” Macy blinks back with surprise.
My father isn’t exactly known as an environmentalist. He worked in financial management for most of his life, something he still dabbles in on the side. But he’s mostly retired.
“Yes, me.” Dad straightens as he surveys the crowd before us. “I’ve got to mine this place for lonely looking women.” Before I get too lonely myself. He gives a quick wink as he takes off into the thicket of bodies.
Macy groans, “Get ready to meet wife number thirty. Speaking of his wives, I’m texting Mom to see if she’s here with her new beau. Ten bucks says he’s got more hair in his ears than he does on his head—he’s probably got a wart on the tip of his nose, too.”
I scoff over at my sister.
“What?” She shrugs. “It’s almost Halloween. I’m getting into the spirit of things.”
“The evil spirit.” No sooner do I say it than I hear the faint call of my name, and I look up to see Nessa speeding this way with two friendly pooches on leashes as they walk quickly by her side. “Well, if it isn’t the handsome Sherlock Bones and our new little friend, Peanut. Hello, boys! Glad you could make it,” I say, bending over to give Sherlock a quick squeeze and a kiss before picking up Peanut.
Sherlock tips his head over at me. Bizzy, this poor dog is wracked with grief. And he’s fearful he’ll have to live with a witch named Ginger. If there’s anything that can cheer him up, we need to do it—and fast. He did have nice things to say about Fish. Apparently, the cantankerous kitty was kind to him in the night.
Sherlock Bones is a red and white freckled mixed breed about medium build with the tenacity of a bear, the loyalty of a best friend, and a heart of gold. He’s Jasper’s best friend, and over the last month that I’ve come to know them, it’s safe to say they’ve both won me over.
“Oh, Peanut,” I say as I drop a kiss on his tiny brown nose. Peanut has an adorable white line that runs down his face and meanders down one cheek. There’s a general sweetness about him that can’t be denied, and true to wha
t Sherlock says, he genuinely looks as if he’s grieving. “I’m so sorry you’re sad. But you’re safe. And I promise, I won’t let a thing happen to you.” And by thing I mean Ginger.
Nessa gives a pitiful laugh as she scratches the cute babe between the ears. “He cried all the way over. I think you’re right. Getting him out of the cottage was the best thing for him today. Fish really wanted to come, too, and she followed me all the way out to the main road.”
“Thankfully, Fish knows better than to leave the cottage grounds. But there are far too many people here today for a cute little beast who refuses to be leashed.”
Nessa shrugs. “I agree.”
“How are you doing?” I lean her way. “Any whisperings in your social circle on who could have killed poor Shelby?” Peanut flinches in my arms and I feel terrible letting the words leave my lips. “I mean, assuming it wasn’t random.” And judging by the chaos around her that night, I don’t think it was.
Any trace of a smile leaves Nessa’s face. “I don’t have any idea.” She gives a dark look to something or someone in the crowd. “I’ll catch up to you later, Bizzy.”
She takes off before I can stop her, and just as she does, Macy threads her arm through mine.
“Mom called and said they’re here,” my sister grunts. “She says they’re making out by the food trucks.”
I glance to the sky with a laugh in my throat. “She did not say that.”
“Okay, fine. She said it’s time for her children to meet the old goat.”
I know for a fact she didn’t say that either. If Maximus Wilder looks anything like his brother, he’s no old goat.
Macy navigates us to the rows and rows of food trucks to the one marked Maximus and my heart drums wildly at the prospect of meeting Jasper’s brother for the very first time.
“There she is!” Macy squeals with delight as soon as we spot her and gives my arm the death squeeze. “Hey? Look at that hottie behind her,” Macy moans in approval. “Wait a minute—isn’t that your hottie?” She squints as we come upon Jasper’s heart-stopping look-alike. But alas no, it’s not my hottie. It’s his brother. Technically, I haven’t met any of Jasper’s siblings, but I know for a fact he has three brothers and a sister. This particular brother’s name is Maximus and he owns a restaurant in Seaview, which shares his same moniker.
Country Cottage Mysteries Boxed Set Page 22