Praise for Bethany Blake’s previous Lucky Paws Petsitting Mysteries
“When murder is unleashed in the idyllic town of Sylvan Creek, it’s up to spunky pet sitter Daphne and her darling duo of misfit mutts to catch the killer. A doggone charming read from start to finish.”
—Cleo Coyle, New York Times bestselling author
“Awesome, suspenseful mystery ... a rollicking adventure!”
—Modern Dog
“Amusing and intriguing.”
—Mystery Scene
“I had such a delightful and fun time reading this book! . . . The characters are hilarious and quirky and I just fell in love with them and the small town of Sylvan Creek. The mystery was unpredictable, suspenseful, and brilliantly plotted. I can’t wait for the next installment! Bethany Blake, the author, has a fan for life!”
—Night Owl Suspense
“This is already marked to be on my Best Books of 2017 list.”
—Kings River Life Magazine
“Death by Chocolate Lab is the best first in a new series of 2017. I am calling it now. . . . Even though I can only give five stars, this book is easily eight paws and two hands up!”
—Bibliophile Reviews
“I loved this book.... The book is engaging from the very beginning and kept me entertained throughout.... I can’t wait for book 2.”
—Sleuth Cafe
“Bethany Blake gets a blue ribbon for her ‘paw’sitively charming dog cozy, Death by Chocolate Lab. From the get-go, the pets steal the show. . . . Adorable dogs, a good murder mystery, and a dash of romance make Death by Chocolate Lab a delicious concoction that mystery and dog lovers alike will adore.”
—Mutt Cafe
Bethany Blake is the author of
Death by Chocolate Lab
Dial Meow for Murder
Pawprints & Predicaments
A Midwinter’s Tail
Something Borrowed, Something Mewed
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
Something Borrowed, Something Mewed
Bethany Blake
KENSINGTON BOOKS
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Praise for Bethany Blake’s previous Lucky Paws Petsitting Mysteries
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Recipes
Teaser chapter
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2019 by Beth Kaszuba
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-1735-1
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1736-8 (eBook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-1736-8 (eBook)
Chapter 1
As June rolled toward July in the quaint, pet-centric town of Sylvan Creek, Pennsylvania, the whole community rallied to prepare for the annual weeklong Wags ’n Flags celebration of our nation’s independence, a tradition that dated back farther than even the oldest old-timers could remember.
As always, the balcony of the historic Sylvan Creek Hotel was draped with old-fashioned bunting, the gazebo in Pettigrew Park was strung with red, white and blue lights, and nearly every storefront featured patriotic, often pet-related displays, like the one at Fetch! pet emporium, where owner Tessie Flinchbaugh had dressed her shop mascot, a life-sized plush Irish wolfhound, exactly like Uncle Sam, right down to his cottony beard.
Unfortunately, the patriotic decor was being carried a bit too far at one local Pocono Mountains establishment: the mansion that housed Artful Engagements & Events, where, for better or for worse, my sister, Piper Templeton, was holding her wedding rehearsal dinner on the night before her marriage.
The ceremony, which would unite my sensible veterinarian sibling and her compatibly pragmatic, sweater-vest-loving fiancé, Roger Berendt, had originally been planned for October. However, the date had changed when Roger, a professor at nearby Wynton University, was offered a last-minute opportunity to guest lecture for the fall term at Manchester University—in England, not New Hampshire.
Deciding they’d rather start their temporary long-distance relationship as husband and wife, instead of postponing the wedding until Roger returned in late December, the two had announced that they would tie the knot in early July, right before Roger left for Europe, where he would have just a few weeks to settle in and prepare to teach.
As Piper’s maid of honor, I was scrambling to help plan the nuptials, which was a challenge, given that my pet-sitting business, Daphne Templeton’s Lucky Paws, was booked solid, and my bakery for pets, Flour Power, had just been commissioned to bake three hundred cookies shaped like hot dogs and flags for the annual dog-friendly Fourth of July All Paws on Deck Rowboat Regatta on Lake Wallapawakee.
I probably should’ve been happy that Piper’s and my mother, Realtor Maeve Templeton, had teamed up with Roger’s mom, Beverly Berendt, to bring in reinforcements, in the form of wedding planner Abigail Sinclair, of Artful Engagements. But as I stood with Piper and my best friend and fellow bridesmaid Moxie Bloom in the heart of Abigail’s garden, where she often hosted catered affairs, I couldn’t help thinking that Abigail had gone a tiny bit overboard, like half the costumed dogs in the regatta would eventually do.
“I feel like I’m an extra in Yankee Doodle Dandy!” Moxie exclaimed, gazing around the candlelit garden, where guests mingled, chatting and eating hors d’oeuvres under a canopy of American flags, which were suspended among the trees. Several wrought iron tables, clustered on a brick pa
tio, were bursting with shiny centerpieces inspired by exploding rockets. And each chair was festooned with a big, star-spangled bow.
Even the large fountain that gurgled at the center of the lush landscaping had been decorated in patriotic fashion. A trio of once-naked cherubs, who poured water from cement casks into a wide, low basin, now wore blue-and-white sashes and top hats, while the water had been dyed a bright shade of red that was actually a little off-putting to me.
“I half expect Jimmy Cagney to come bursting in, dancing a jig to ‘You’re a Grand Old Flag’!” Moxie added, clasping her hands in front of her chest. As a fan of all things vintage, from the film she was referencing to the 1950s sleeveless cocktail dress she was wearing, Moxie was obviously delighted by the prospect of a flag-waving chorus line stomping through the shrubbery. “It’s like the musical has come to life—only with more pageantry!”
All at once, I heard a rumbling sound, very reminiscent of a groan, coming from near my feet. Looking down, I saw that my taciturn basset hound sidekick, Socrates, was hanging and shaking his big, dappled head, like he disagreed with Moxie and thought the spectacle was too much. Socrates was not a fan of ostentatious events. Nor was he happy about the fact that, as honorary “grooms-dog,” he would have to wear a bow tie during the ceremony at the stuffy Sodgrass Country Club. And, last but certainly not least, he really didn’t like mingling—especially since his “puppy love,” a poodle named Snowdrop, was home with doggy sniffles.
“This whole thing is a train wreck,” Piper said grimly, scanning the party, which was also bigger than the average rehearsal dinner. Being Sylvan Creek, where everybody knew everybody, the shindig had taken on a life of its own, and the garden was full of people and dogs, all of whom shared some sort of history with the bride, groom, and usually me.
Looking around at the guests, too, I quickly spotted Moxie’s boyfriend, groomsman Mike Cavanaugh, and his mischievous little pug, Tiny Tim, as well as Tessie and Tom Flinchbaugh, who were gathered around Roger. Although he still had a bachelor party to attend that evening, Piper’s reserved hubby-to-be already looked exhausted to be the center of attention. His smile didn’t quite reach his brown eyes, and he kept rubbing his neck, messing up the collar of his dress shirt.
“The whole thing is completely over-the-top—an overpriced scam, in Roger’s opinion,” Piper noted, as thunder echoed ominously in the distance.
“Scam” was a harsh term for a normally mild-mannered man like Roger, and I winced at the word, and at the noise from above.
“I will never understand how we got roped into having a theme wedding,” my understated sister added, picking at a plate of too-colorful canapés. Even the food, supplied by Snowdrop’s person, chef Daisy Carpenter, was on theme, and in some cases, appearance had taken priority over taste. “It makes no sense!”
“Really? You don’t know how this happened?” I asked, glancing over at the buffet, where our mother was laughing it up with Beverly—not that either of them was actually smiling. The two women eschewed wrinkle-causing expressions. Instead, they conveyed whatever mirth they felt by tossing back their heads so their matching angular bobs swung and lightly touching each other’s arms. They were also remarkably similar in terms of wardrobe. In spite of the heat, both had chosen to wear black pencil skirts and white shirts, accented with blue-and-red silk scarves—the Fourth of July, as interpreted by Ann Taylor.
“I thought they would hate each other,” Piper noted, watching them, too. “I mean, Beverly is practically a rival. And Mom crushes rivals. Yet they’ve been inseparable since the engagement party.”
“Maybe they bond over having one ‘perfect’ and one ‘wayward’ child,” I suggested, balancing my own plate and popping a cheesy wonton “firecracker” into my mouth. The appetizer—one of the less patriotic, and more tasty, choices—was aptly named. Herbed and spiced cream cheese burst out of the crisp wrapper, and I covered my mouth as I spoke. “Speaking of which, is Roger’s supposedly ‘rebellious’ sister coming tonight? Because I am dying to meet the missing bridesmaid.”
“Ooh, me too,” Moxie agreed, her green eyes glimmering with interest. As the owner of Sylvan Creek’s unique salon for people and pets, Spa and Paw, she was also the chief conduit for local gossip. “Dorinda Berendt sounds like a very intriguing person!”
“She’s a very troubled person,” Piper clarified. “And I don’t expect her to show up tonight. From what I understand, Dorinda had a run-in with Abigail when she came here to pick up her bridesmaid dress yesterday.” Piper rolled her eyes behind her wire-rimmed eyeglasses. “And don’t even get me started on those hideous things—”
“Smile, bride and company!”
For a second, I thought someone honestly wanted Piper, especially, to cheer up. Then, as Moxie took me by the shoulders and spun me around, dragging me next to her and my sister, I realized that we were about to be photographed.
Before I could even steady my plate full of tiny nibbles, a flash blinded me. And I was still blinking when Abigail’s official photographer, Laci Chalmers, turned her camera around so we could all try to see the image she’d captured.
“Talk about a ‘magical memory,’” Laci said, sounding a touch sarcastic when she alluded to the Magical Memories scrapbook that came with every Artful Engagements wedding package.
At least, Mom had touted the binder as a selling point when she’d unleashed Abigail on Piper.
“You all look marvelous,” Laci added, with a wink that said otherwise.
Moxie, who did look great, took the compliment seriously. “Why, thank you,” she said, lightly touching her hair, which she’d dyed a quirky, cool color she called “something blue.”
While not pushing any fashion boundaries, Piper also looked nice in a crisp, sleeveless sheath, so I was pretty sure Laci’s wink had been aimed at me.
In the split second before she turned the camera back around, I saw that my grayish-green eyes had been closed and my dirty-blond curls were going crazier than usual, thanks to the rising humidity. I also noted that my floral sundress, which I’d purchased at the Tuscan equivalent of a flea market, was wilting in the heat, so it looked only a notch above Laci’s fitted black T-shirt and cargo pants.
I assumed that Abigail allowed the young photographer to wear the casual outfit because Laci moved around a lot and carried a lot of gear.
Or maybe Laci was breaking the rules because she was a short-timer.
“You are shooting the wedding tomorrow, right?” Piper asked, so I knew she was thinking the same thing as me. Which was rare, given that my sensible sibling and I were complete opposites. “You’ll be there, right, Laci?”
“Only as a favor,” she said, absently rumpling her dark hair, which was cut in an extremely short pixie that accented her high cheekbones and blue eyes. “I collect my last paycheck from the wicked witch of the Poconos tonight—assuming I can pry the cash out of her grasping hands.”
Laci was grinning, but the comment was still pretty harsh, though justified.
“Lucky for you, you’re friends with my new boss, so I am happy to help out,” she added, jerking her thumb in the direction of Gabriel Graham, who was owner of and formerly sole reporter at Sylvan Creek’s Weekly Gazette.
Gabriel, whom I used to date, off and on, had his arm around his more serious girlfriend, gorgeous television executive Elyse Hunter-Black.
“Of course, we’ll pay you,” Piper promised Laci. “We don’t expect you to work for nothing!”
Laci, who had an acerbic personality that would dovetail well with Gabriel’s edgy wit, was already backing away, and she waved off the offer with a wry grin. “I’m just happy to be free of these gigs, and Abigail’s clutches, forever. This one’s on the house. In fact, my presence at the wedding, which will kill Abigail, will be payment enough!”
“Wow, no love lost between Laci and her boss,” Piper said quietly as Laci disappeared into the crowd.
“I guess not,” I answered my sister, but my attent
ion had already shifted back to Mom and Beverly Berendt, who had their heads bent together, like different witches. Ones who might be brewing up some scheme to take over the world. Or at least dominate the local real estate market.
“What are the odds you’d marry the son of a bossy, scarf-wearing Realtor from the next town over, huh, Piper?” I mused, shaking my head. “It’s like you’re getting a double dose of Mom!”
Down by my feet, Socrates huffed softly. Given that he avoided my mother whenever possible, I suspected he was already dreading future family gatherings.
“I didn’t know Mrs. Berendt sold real estate, too,” Moxie said, sounding delighted by the terrible coincidence. She plucked a cocktail in the party’s signature colors from a tray carried by a passing server. “Where?”
Piper slipped a blueberry from a skewer that also held chunks of watermelon and feta. The appetizer was festive, and contrasted with my sister’s glum tone when she told Moxie, “Beverly has an office in Zephyr Hollow.”
“Oh, I love that town!” Moxie cried, missing the point—which was that Piper’s mother-in-law would be way too close for comfort. “It’s so artsy and weird!”
All at once, lightning flickered in the distance, drawing my attention to the darkening sky.
“Friar Tuck over there would fit right in at Zephyr Hollow,” Moxie added, seemingly apropos of nothing. But when I looked at my best friend again, I saw that she was pointing to a balding, bearded man who wore a brown robe that did appear monkish, if only because it was tied with what appeared to be a rope, albeit a colorful, decorative one. A pair of Birkenstock-style sandals added to his monastic mien.
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