Country Cottage Mysteries Boxed Set

by Addison Moore

  Emmie looks adorable with her long oatmeal-colored duster and her ripped jeans with the holes in her knees. I’ve yet to jump on the holey trend, but I’m afraid I’ll look more like a farmhand than I will anything adorable. On Emmie, even these stylish quasi-rags make her look as if she belongs on a runway. Come to think of it, with my orange and black plaid flannel and my well-worn jeans, I sort of do look as if I’ve spent far too much time on a farm.

  She squints over at me. “Liar, liar, twitchy lips on fire. You’re concerned, Bizzy. I’ve known you long enough to read you like a book. That girl is out to steal your man. She’s got her claws and her high heels out. I saw the way she looked as we left the inn this evening. She was dressed to kill—your relationship. I’m telling you, Bizzy. Your relationship had better watch its back.”

  A tiny growl works its way up my throat. “I don’t want to think about it. Besides, Jasper is busy with a brand new homicide investigation. He doesn’t have time for Camila’s head games right now. She couldn’t have picked a worse moment to try to pry her way back into his life.”

  Sherlock lets out a sharp bark. Don’t worry, Bizzy. I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you.

  “Thank you,” I mouth his way.

  No sooner do Emmie and I put our sweet treats down at the dessert table than she elbows me in the ribs.

  “There she is,” Emmie whispers. “Suspect number one. Right over by the hot apple cider booth.”

  Both Emmie and I scoured over pictures of Chelsea before we left the inn. The name of Shelby and Chelsea’s social media site is called S&C’s Shenanigans. There was a big tribute to Shelby on the front page of their official website today. Chelsea asked her fans to bear with her while she takes some time to grieve. But at the moment, Chelsea isn’t exactly grieving. She’s busy taking pictures of herself sipping hot cider, and carefully arranging a group of tiny pumpkins on a bale of hay and taking artful pictures of them as well.

  Emmie leans in. “There’s a hottie in the crafts booth teaching the masses how to paint the insides of Mason jars. I’ll go get crafty with the cutie. You go catch a killer, Bizzy. Find me when the dirty deed is done—unless, of course, I’m lucky enough to do a dirty deed myself.”

  “Emmie.” I laugh.

  “What? Painting is messy work.” She gives a cheeky wink. “Don’t worry. You’re still my ride home.” She gifts Sherlock a quick pat to the head before taking off.

  The moon hangs low against a deep purple sky while the stars spray out like crushed diamonds over Cider Cove tonight.

  Everywhere you look there are cutouts of witches and ghosts adorning the booths and stands. Jack-o-lanterns glow, carved in every incantation that the spooky season has to offer, and some are painted with stripes, checkers, and polka dots. Miniature barrels brimming with mums in bright yellow, burnt orange, and deep maroon are strewn about the grounds. And families abound with pumpkins in their arms. Little boys and little girls run around screaming as the night curdles with their laughter.

  There’s even a mile long line to catch a ride on one of those haunted hayrides.

  A part of me wishes Jasper were here to do exactly that with. In fact, I think I’ll make it a point to have a date with him right here at the Haunted Harvest Festival. There’s nothing more romantic than sipping cider in the fall with leaves crunching below your feet and a baby-faced moon overhead. Fall has a magic all its own, and right about now, I’m craving a little magic with my favorite homicide detective.

  Sherlock jumps and barks. We’re getting close, aren’t we, Bizzy? There’s a killer nearby. I can feel it.

  “You can feel it?” I ask as I pull him close and give him a quick scratch between the ears. I’ve heard of dogs sensing earthquakes and helping detect diseases. If Sherlock could sniff out a killer, that would be quite the talent. “Try to be friendly,” I whisper as we head her way.

  Chelsea has her hair piled in a bun. She’s wearing a scarlet cardigan that reaches her knees and keeps slipping off one shoulder as she struggles to get just the right shot of the pumpkins before her, and that’s exactly when I decide to intercept her.

  “Chelsea?” My voice comes out a touch too friendly. In truth, we don’t even qualify as acquaintances.

  The girl spins my way with her eyes widening the size of dinner plates. I knew coming here was a mistake. People are going to think I’m a monster. Never mind the fact I sort of am.

  “Can I help you?” She blinks my way and her eye shadow glitters under the twinkle lights the Montgomerys have strung up around the vicinity.

  “My name is Bizzy. We met the night of—Ginger King’s lecture on how to land a man.” I wince because she knows all too well what else happened that night. “I work at the inn. I’m Nessa’s friend.” That last part comes out softer with the underpinnings of defeat. I’m not sure Nessa will score me any points with her.

  Chelsea gasps. Her mouth rounds out in a hard O and the strawberry-colored gloss on her lips shimmers as well.

  I should run. She forces a tight smile to stretch across her face, the kind you give to people you don’t really want to see.

  “Right.” She cradles her phone to her chest. “I do remember you. That was a terrible night.” Her expression dissolves to palpable grief, and this time it looks genuine. “I lost my best friend.” She sniffs into the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess. I’m sure you’re wondering what I’m doing here.” She hikes her phone into the air as if she were about to pitch it. “Shel is gone, but the show must go on. I know she’d want me to keep posting. It’s what we do. It was in her blood.” She takes a deep breath. “I was just getting a bunch of shots to put out slowly over the month. I’m not posting again until after the funeral next week. Her mother has already made the arrangements. Any word on who could have done this? I mean, I heard what happened at the inn last month. You don’t think there’s a serial killer running loose in Cider Cove, do you?” Sherlock yelps and moans. “Hey.” She looks down and gives him a quick pat. “It’s okay, handsome. I think you’re safe.”

  “I’m hoping we’re all safe,” I say. “And no—the two killings aren’t related. There was an arrest made in the last homicide case. The killer was apprehended. Just like this one will be, too.”

  The whites of her eyes flash my way.

  I’m not exactly rooting for that.

  I tip my head her way, examining her features. Why in the world would she say that if she wasn’t the killer? I have to find Jasper. I have to let him know she’s all but implicated herself. Of course, I can’t do that without implicating myself in the process. Nope, I can’t do that. But I will most certainly point a finger in her direction.

  “Chelsea, you were closest to Shelby. Do you know if she had any enemies? I mean, did you think she was easy to get along with?”

  A sharp bout of laughter bounces from her. “I guess you didn’t know Shelby. Yes, she could be sweet when she wanted to be—but let’s just say she had a very sharp edge to her. Personally, I knew what to expect, so most of the time I was prepared to look the other way.” Except when I couldn’t because a prison sentence loomed in the balance. Her expression sours. “Shelby came from money. I didn’t. Life was a bit of a joke to her in that respect. I had to work hard for everything I have.” She sighs. “That’s why I felt so bad when she wanted to mess with Scout. She was our friend. She was just trying to pay her rent, and Shelby thought we should take her down a notch before she got too big for her britches.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “Nessa mentioned something about that. I guess you were rivals?” I ask, trying to recall the conversation.

  Chelsea rolls her eyes as the twinkle lights reflect off her face. “Hardly. She was just getting started, amassing followers, taking the best pictures she knew how. She just started to dabble in video. Anyway—Scout said she would have a meet and greet for anyone who was up for it at the pier. She said she’d bring each person who came a Mason jar filled with love and light.” She averts her eyes. “Tha
t’s sort of her thing—blue Mason jars filled with tiny lights and paper butterflies. Only about thirty or so people said they could make it, and she wasn’t expecting a huge crowd to begin with. Shelby thought it would be hilarious to have our own followers RSVP.”

  “Oh no,” I say, pressing my hand to my chest in anticipation of how this might have played out. Even Sherlock cowers as if he had a hunch it wasn’t good.

  Chelsea nods. “Oh no is right. We got close to two thousand local fans to RSVP. Poor Scout went ahead with it. She ordered thousands of Mason jars. She filled them with those pricey battery-operated lights and cut out all the butterflies herself from glittery paper that I’m told cost a fortune. Anyway, per Shelby’s orders, our fans didn’t show up after all. Scout not only took a big financial hit purchasing all the supplies for the event, but she was humiliated all over the Internet. She was a laughing stock. There are pictures of her with crates of Mason jars just sitting alone on the waterfront. Her career as an influencer was over before it really began. But, Shelby being Shelby told Scout to grow up and get over it. She’s the one that suggested Scout go into PR. And then she hand-fed her Ginger King. Ginger and Shelby go way back. And apparently, Shelby has some magical pull with her because Ginger agreed to hire Scout even though she didn’t have a drop of experience in the PR arena.”

  “That’s an interesting turn of events. It almost sounds as if Shelby wanted Scout to succeed at something after all—just not the very thing she was doing herself.”

  She shakes out her bun and her blonde locks fall to her shoulders. “You nailed it. But believe me, Scout wanted revenge. Shelby might have thrown out a peace offering by way of Ginger, but Scout’s blood was still boiling.”

  “You don’t think Scout was capable of hurting Shelby like that, do you?”

  “I don’t know.” Her gaze flits to the woods just beyond the festivities. “She was angry, yes. But she seemed to have moved on. I think Ginger was probably closer to pegging the killer when she accused Nessa. I’m sorry, I know you work together, but that girl is a real mess. She started sending Shelby these hate-filled texts and harassed her every chance she got. It was getting really bad these last few weeks. I guess her family is in a lot of trouble with that loan they took out.” She shrugs as if offering a third party apology.

  “How would that be Shelby’s fault?” I shake my head, trying to wrap my mind around it.

  “It wasn’t.” Chelsea smacks her lips. “Okay, so maybe it was a little. Shelby never really thought that much of Nessa. I did hear her say something about telling her dad he could make a lot of money off those idiots.” She says idiots in air quotes.

  My stomach sinks when she says it. I’ve known Nessa and her sister, Vera, for as long as I can remember. Vera might be a proverbial mean girl, but Nessa and I have always gotten along. And their parents are good, honest people. It burns me to think Shelby would call them idiots.

  “Look”—Chelsea pulls her cider close and takes a sip—“I’m sorry to have said any of that. I’m still reeling from the fact my best friend is dead.”

  Sherlock runs his forehead over my knee. Nessa said Shelby did something to this girl, too. Get the story out of her, Bizzy.

  I nod quickly his way. “Chelsea, it sounds as if Shelby had a bit of a dark side. Did she ever do anything to you personally?”

  Her expression hardens to flint as her eyes grow cold.

  A heavy sigh expels from her. “She did. And you know what? She made me promise to never tell.” A dull laugh presses from her. “A part of me wants to give her that. Besides, if I tell the truth now, people will simply think I’m trying to save face and ruining Shel’s reputation at the very same time.” She shudders. “I guess the window has closed on that opportunity and I’ll have to live with it.”

  Sherlock groans, That sounded morbid. Whatever it was, it was something big, Bizzy. Big, I tell you.

  I give a slight nod. “It sounds as if you’re not ready to go there. I hope you can find some peace with whatever it was.”

  Her eyes glint with tears for the very first time, and I do believe they are all for her. I haven’t seen her shed a single tear for Shelby yet.

  “I hope so, too,” she whispers.

  I try my hardest to tune into her thoughts, but there’s nothing but arid space—something akin to a vegetative state. Whatever has her riled up, it’s almost as if it has the power to put her into a trance.

  “Chelsea, who do you think did this?” Did you do it? I ask the silent question as her eyes meet with mine.

  “I don’t know. If it wasn’t Nessa, maybe—maybe it was Carter.” She shrugs as if it were wholly probable.

  “Carter?”

  “Carter O’Riley.” She nods. “He runs that matchmaking service for men.”

  “Oh, that’s right. The dark-haired man. Her ex. He was there that night. In fact, he said something to upset her.” I try my hardest to reflect on him. Wait a minute. He was begging for her to give him a moment of her time—internally at least. A thought comes to me. “Shelby said something to the effect that he could thank her for the best career move he’s made. I think she said something about him cheating on her.” I bring my fingers to my mouth as I realize that she said that last tidbit to herself.

  “He did cheat on her—with Ginger. Which was terrible because the four of us were close for a long time. We did everything together, racket ball, sailing, safety courses at the shooting range, cooking classes, yoga.”

  “Four of you?”

  “Shelby, Ginger, Nessa, and me.” She shrugs into the crowd. “Anyway, Shel and Carter were a train wreck from the beginning. And then she found Luke.” She makes a face. Not that he was any better.

  “Carter O’Riley,” I say again, trying my best to remember every detail I might already know about him. “Why would you think Carter had anything to do with this?”

  “Please. He was obsessed with Shelby. Everyone knows that. And Shelby still very much had a thing for him. I think if her anger ever had the chance to subside, she’d have gotten back together with him.”

  “But she had a new boyfriend.”

  Chelsea shakes her head. “Luke blew it. She was ten times as angry with him as she ever was Carter. And whatever set her off, she just found out about it, too. She said she would give me all the gory details later that night—but later that night—Shelby came to an end.”

  An owl hoots in the distance and a chill runs down to my bones.

  “I’d better get going.” She offers a forlorn smile. “Tell Nessa I said hello.”

  God knows I won’t be seeing Nessa again anytime soon. I think I’ll steer clear of a lot of people until the smoke clears. Not that it ever clears with Shelby. Nope. I’ll be living with this nightmare for the rest of my life.

  She takes off and I’m left in her wake trying to make sense of the jagged pieces she just laid at my feet.

  Shelby’s ex-boyfriend, Carter, was obsessed with her. He wanted her back. Her current boyfriend, Luke, had done something very bad—and Shelby had just found out about it that night. Scout—well, she was humiliated. And Chelsea? She was sworn to secrecy. She said if she told the truth, people would think she were trying to save face and that she would be ruining Shelby’s reputation at the very same time. And, of course, there’s Nessa. Poor Nessa. I wish she never knew them.

  I shake my head at it all just as Sherlock jerks the leash in my hand.

  He’s here, Bizzy! He’s here! I can smell him. He smells like pine trees and toothpaste!

  “Who’s here?” A laugh bubbles from me. I struggle to keep up as Sherlock navigates us through the crowd and straight over toward the haunted hayrides.

  No sooner do we get to the front of the line than I see a certain drop-dead gorgeous homicide detective helping someone down from the tractor trailer stacked with bales of hay.

  Forever a prince.

  A giggle gets trapped in my throat as I speed his way.

  I give a wild wave as I try to
garner his attention and Sherlock barks and jumps as if doing the same.

  Jasper looks this way, his gray eyes flashing in the night like stars before he does a double take. Only he’s not smiling like a loon the way I am.

  And then the bigger picture comes in clear as the woman he’s helping down looks my way as well.

  Sherlock leads me right into their midst and my feet follow along like a couple of traitors.

  “Well, if it isn’t Bizzy Barker.” Camila offers a bemused smile.

  It’s the kind of smile that says I’ve bested you. I’ve won. You are the butt of the joke and we’ve already laughed because of it.

  It’s the kind of smile that makes my stomach sour, makes me want to turn and run away. The exact kind of smile that both boils my blood and makes me want to cry.

  Jasper steps over in haste, and Sherlock goes wild until he’s happily jumping on his owner. But Jasper hardly offers him a quick pat.

  “Bizzy, it’s not what it looks like.”

  I blink back with surprise. “It’s exactly what it looks like.” I force myself to manufacture a tight smile, but it comes out more of a grimace. “You were having a good time with a friend.” It took everything in me to push those words out. “I’ll see you both at the inn.” I take off so fast, poor Sherlock has to run to keep up with me.

  I find Emmie and spill everything in spastic half-sentences on the way to the car.

  Emmie doesn’t say I told you so.

  She thinks it.

  Chapter 7

  I couldn’t sleep all night.

  Jasper came straight to my door once he got back to the inn, but I kept the lights off and stayed under the covers pretending to be fast asleep. Of course, he called and texted, but I shut my phone off as soon as I saw him and Camila together getting off of the haunted hayride. If it wasn’t apparent before that Camila wants to hit the hay with him, it is now.

  As much as I want to be incensed, livid, fit to kill—I’m mostly emotionally wounded from the entire experience. I’ve never been big on either humiliation or rejection, and whether or not he meant to do it, Jasper Wilder doled out a huge helping of both.