Georgie hands me Sherlock’s leash and lets out an ear-splitting whistle. “If you’re under eighteen, they’re giving away free chocolate brownies down the street! Last one there has to pick up the reindeer droppings!” She takes off with Fish in tow.
Let’s just hope that chocolate brownies and reindeer droppings are not one in the same.
Half the crowd disappears in a blur.
Poor kids. Not only were they faced with a dead Santa, but there’s the very real prospect of a letdown of the chocolate variety.
The roar of a siren heads in this direction, and Trixie begins to wail right alongside it.
Mary Beth makes a retching noise as if she were about to be sick, and instinctively I take the basket brimming with two adorable kittens from her.
“Keep them,” she shrieks. “The last thing I need is to break out in hives. I need to get back to the snack stand before it’s pillaged of its loot.” She warms her arms with her hands aggressively as if those hives were already taking effect, and my mouth falls open as I look at her.
Lincoln Brooks, the man she was once married to, is lying on the ground, dead as a doornail, and all she seems to care about are a couple of harmless hives. But then, everyone handles grief differently, I suppose, and to be truthful, she hasn’t had time to process any of this. None of us have.
An ambulance pulls up, and as soon as Jasper briefs the EMTs, he heads my way.
“Bizzy.” He does a quick glance around as Sherlock does his best to jump up on him. “Are you okay?” He pulls me in for a quick embrace and lifts the kittens in an effort to keep them from spilling out of the basket.
Sherlock barks as if to ask the same question.
“Yes.” I pull back. “Do we know what happened?”
His gray eyes bear into mine. “It could have been a run-of-the-mill heart attack.”
I tip my head to the side. “It could have been. But we both saw the way he was staggering around, clutching at his throat. Jasper, I think he might have been poisoned.”
Sherlock tugs at the leash. Poisoned? I think we’d better find Fish and leave. Do you know where they don’t serve poison? The Country Cottage Café. I suggest we all head there now. Georgie says they have gingerbread whoopie pies in the kitchen. I bet they taste like bacon.
Before I can say a word, a hand latches onto my arm and spins me around until I’m staring right in the face of Mayor Mack Woods.
“My God, Bizzy. It’s like you attract the dead these days.” Mackenzie Woods is as cold-hearted as she is beautiful. I should know—we grew up together. She was one of my best friends right up until she pushed me into a whiskey barrel and held me under for the fun of it. That was middle school, so being the naïve girl I was, I forgave her.
Four things came from that horrible day. I grew terrified of submerging myself in any body of water. I acquired a fear of confined spaces. It initiated my general distrust of Mack Woods. And last, but never least, I gained the ability to pry into other people’s minds. Come to find out, this strange gift I somehow acquired is called transmundane, further classified as telesensual. Simply put—I can now read minds, and I have Mack’s whiskey barrel attack to thank for it. Of course, our friendship waned on until high school where she saw fit to steal every boyfriend I dared to have. And now she’s the mayor of Cider Cove, just like her father and grandfather were before her. Go figure.
But judging by the fact Deputy Leo Granger is strapped to her side, I don’t think that whole boyfriend stealing thing is going to be a problem anymore. At least I hope not.
Leo steps up. What’s going on, Bizzy? Was it a homicide?
Leo is classically tall, dark-haired, olive skinned, and handsome. He has dark, mysterious eyes and has a knowing smile that is constantly curving on his lips. It’s just Leo and Georgie who know about my gift to read minds—and, of course, Camila, but I’m slow to count her on that list. She’s a dangerous addition, to say the least.
Leo Granger. I all but growl it out in my mind. I have one serious bone to pick with you. And I find it rather convenient that you’ve been persona non grata since Halloween. Right about the same time that piranha you unleashed into the wild threatened me. Camila knows that you can read minds, and she knows that I can do it, too. And don’t think she’s above threatening me. She’s already done it!
His eyes expand to the size of silver dollars. Don’t panic, Bizzy. We’ll talk. Soon.
Too late. I take a moment to glare at him. I’m plenty panicked.
Jasper’s chest expands. “Leo, Mayor Mack.” Typical Leo. He’s checking out Bizzy right in front of his date. Of course, he doesn’t care that I’m here. Trying to steal my woman is par for the course with him. Good thing Bizzy is glaring at him. Maybe he’ll get the message.
Jasper continues, “The neighbor who owns this house passed away. We’re not sure if it was natural causes or not, but I’ll open an investigation if the coroner’s report warrants it.”
“Jasper,” I whisper. “If Lincoln was murdered, we should start the investigation now.”
Mack lets out a dark chuckle. “Don’t worry, Detective Wilder. Bizzy has always lived up to her nickname. She is, in fact, a busybody. She’s not trying to usurp your authority and emasculate you in the traditional sense. Unless, of course, time has hardened her and she’s trying to do exactly that.” I hope he dumps her by midnight. Her lips pull back with a satisfied smile.
Leo raises a brow in my direction. Don’t worry, Bizzy. He’s not dumping you. Not by a long shot. He’s too far gone. Way more than he ever was with Camila. Trust me. He plans on taking you to the finish line.
Finish line? Okay, I’ll admit, Leo has just stroked my ego. I’d like nothing more than to believe that Jasper is taken by me far more than he was with Camila.
Leo nods my way. That’s right. We’re talking marriage.
My lips part before rounding out into a smile.
“Bizzy?” Jasper leans in. Why is she smiling at Leo like that? Don’t tell me she’s falling for the guy. I’m not sure my ego can take it.
“Oh.” My fingers float to my lips. “I just realized I was holding these precious little angels.” I hold out the basket brimming with two frightened, yet impossibly adorable, fuzzy kittens. “Come here, you two.” I land the basket down and scoop them up into my arms. “My goodness, you are lighter than air.” I press a kiss to each of their feather soft foreheads.
Here we go, says the smaller one on the right. I bet she’ll shove us in the closet all night like the last one.
The slightly taller, darker of the two mewls. I believe they called it the garage. We were left in the trunk of the car. We’re lucky we survived the night, I tell you.
I gasp at the thought.
An entire barrage of sheriff’s deputies take over the lawn, and both Jasper and Leo excuse themselves.
Mack steps in. “Who did this?” she hisses my way before gasping for air. “Oh my God, did you do this? Bizzy, are you a serial killer?” Her mouth widens into a smile as if this somehow pleased her on some level. “Cider Cove’s very own little Bizzy Borden. Who would have thought it? Let me guess. You’re trying to drum up business for that tired little inn of yours?”
Camila strides up with her hand over her throat as if I were about to slaughter her next. Not that I’m a serial killer, but with these two in front of me, it’s a tempting proposition.
“What’s happening?” Camila snarls. “Why is the sheriff’s department here?” Her eyes enlarge at something in the street. “Why is the coroner here?”
“Ask Mayor Woods,” I say, trotting off toward the scene of the crime, and I do believe there was one. Lincoln Brooks was perfectly fine until he took a sip of Mary Beth’s eggnog.
A horrible thought comes to me as I scour the crowd for the curious couple, and sure enough I find both Mary Beth and her ornery husband, Dexter, holding one another while staring at Lincoln’s deceased body on the ground.
My feet carry me in their direction be
fore I can protest.
“I’m sorry about your neighbor.” I shrug.
Mary Beth squints over at me. There’s a dangerous gleam in her eyes, and it sends a chill up my spine.
I’m not sorry in the least. She gives a dark smile. “Yes, well. I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
Dexter expands his chest, and the stubble on his cheeks reflects blue and red as the lights on the deputies’ cruisers liven the night with a seizure of color.
“Like Mary Beth said, we’ll be fine.” He stiffens his resolve. And for once, I’ll get a little sleep around here. I should have taken care of him years ago.
My mouth falls open.
Did Dexter Bronson just confess?
Dexter nods just past me. “If you really want to offer someone a little condolence, I’d head over to Trixie. All those waterworks and yammering, it almost looks real.” But then, that’s what he paid her for. Making it look real.
I tighten my hold over the sweet kittens in my arms. Sherlock sniffs around the wig dangling from Dexter’s hand.
I smell death, Bizzy. Have Jasper arrest him so we can get back to the cottage and wrap those cats in bacon. His long pink tongue laps his mouth.
“I think I will go offer her my condolences. Have a good night,” I say to the two of them before making a beeline for Trixie.
By the time I arrive, she’s not alone. The homely looking girl with a bun is rubbing her back, and the man who was slouched over glaring at Lincoln a few minutes ago is standing off to the side—still glaring at Lincoln as if he owed him money, or a vital organ.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I say to the blonde currently lost in hysterics. You could set an opera to the roller coaster-like aria streaming from her mouth. I’ve never seen anyone grieve like this. With her long blonde ponytail whipping from side to side, her pink glossy lips set in a perfect O, it all looks rather cartoonish in nature.
Trixie stops her prolonged howls just enough to catch her breath.
She looks my way and lowers her lids. “That man was everything to me.” It comes out breathy and forced, like bad acting, and I’m betting it is.
Her eyes flit to her purse, and she peers inside a moment. I need a cigarette right about now. As soon as I get in that house, I’m popping the champagne—in a bubble bath, of course. All this vocalizing is straining muscles I didn’t even know I had.
Trixie squints out a short-lived smile my way. “If you’ll all excuse me, I think I’ll go inside now. All these flashing lights are giving me a headache.” And more of a reason to celebrate. She glances over at Lincoln just as they pull a sheet up over him. Goodnight, you old coot. Maybe now you’ll have a little peace at last. I know I will.
She takes off and I blow out a quick breath.
It doesn’t seem she was Lincoln’s biggest fan. And ironically, she was the person seemingly closest to him.
I shrug over at the girl with a bun before holding out a hand to her. “I’m Bizzy Baker. I run the Country Cottage Inn.”
“Julia Hart. I’m Lincoln’s secretary.” She winces. “Or I guess I was.” She shudders. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to saying that.”
“I’m sorry. I guess you lost both a friend and a job. That’s just terrible.”
She shrugs as she reaches over and offers each of the sweet kittens in my arms a quick pat to the head. “I’m not too worried about it. I’ve got a small nest egg. I suppose there’s another real estate investor who might need some side help, or I’ll apply for an office job of some sort. I don’t really have any ties to Cider Cove. I just moved here a few months back. I really like it, though. I’d give anything to stay.”
“Cider Cove really is magical.” My heart breaks for the poor girl. She was just starting her life here. “I’ll tell you what. If you can’t find anything at all, I’m sure I can find something for you to do at the inn. That is, if you’re interested.”
Her face brightens a notch. “Are you kidding? That would be fantastic. I used to work at an inn not that long ago. Oak Falls B&B.” She rolls her eyes as she says it as if she’d rather forget the experience, and I totally get that. Working in the hospitality business isn’t for everyone. “I’ll see what I can drum up, and either way I’ll let you know.”
“Perfect,” I say, just as the man who’s spent the last half hour glaring at Lincoln heads over to where the coroner is loading the poor guy onto a gurney.
Julia shakes her head. “And there he goes. I’m telling you, that man wants a front-row seat.”
“Who’s that?” I ask as I pull Sherlock close by the leash.
“Calvin St. James,” she whispers it low. “He was in on some of Lincoln’s business dealings. I know for a fact Lincoln invited him out here tonight. I bet Calvin was hoping that he was going to pay him. They went in on the tree lot together, and Lincoln handles the business end of it. I heard them going at it in the house as Lincoln was getting ready.”
“The tree lot just above the woods?”
“That’s the one. The Sugar Plum Tree Lot. It’s their first year, and they’ve sold more trees since Thanksgiving than they expected. They’re having another shipment delivered tomorrow. And that’s when a check will need to be written, but Lincoln gave me strict orders not to write it.”
“Why would he do that?”
Her shoulders rise to her ears. “Something about payback. I didn’t ask many questions when it came to Lincoln and his business relationships. Anyway, I think I’d better get going, too.” She nods past the bushes behind me. “I live in the old carriage house in the back. It was a great setup while it lasted.”
“Like I said, the inn is open to you. We have cottages we rent out on the grounds, too. We have a lot of long-term rentals.”
“Wow, thank you, Bizzy. I guess I won’t be losing as much sleep tonight as I thought.” We watch as they wheel Lincoln away. I’m not sure I would have to begin with.
Julia takes off into the crowd, and soon they wheel Lincoln right into the back of the coroner’s van for one of the last rides of his life.
A flurry of voices goes off in my head all at once as the crowd begins to thicken again. And when it happens this way it’s near impossible to tell if it’s a man or a woman speaking. Generally I don’t know unless I’m standing right in front of them.
Poor Santa keeled over because he ate too many cookies.
Lincoln Brooks is dead because he deserves to be.
Now that was a gift I didn’t see coming.
I did it. And I’ve gotten away with it, too.
I crane my neck into the thicket of people around me, but I can’t make out which inner voice belonged to whom.
The kittens in my arms begin to shiver, and Sherlock grows increasingly restless.
It’s time to head home and get some rest.
But there’s a killer on the loose, and all of Cider Cove will have to sleep with one eye open.
Chapter Four
The Country Cottage Inn is still in the throes of decking the halls with all the festive glory this season demands and deserves. The inn itself is owned by a wealthy earl from England who has for the most part wisely, or unwisely, left it in my hands. But I don’t mind. The Country Cottage Inn is my baby. The building itself is a large stone structure covered with ivy that climbs up to the rooftop, and there are blue cobbled stone paths that lead around the structure. The grounds are located on the white sandy shores of the cove itself, and around most of the periphery of the inn are over three-dozen cottages that are leased out.
“Jordy, don’t forget to decorate the upstairs sitting room,” I say to the tall man I was married to for all of twenty-four hours. He’s boyishly handsome with caramel-colored hair and full cheeks that women crave to pinch. And Jordy is a ladies’ man, as in he’s been with most of the single women in all of Maine, but that’s never stopped a new supply from mobbing him at every turn. Jordy is my best friend Emmie’s brother. And years ago the three of us were in Las Vegas where some bad liquor led to
some bad decision-making, and before I knew it, an Elvis impersonator pronounced Jordy and me husband and wife. Thankfully, my brother Huxley is a skilled attorney who was quickly able to untangle that unwanted knot. Jordy and I have laughed about it ever since.
Jordy grabs the oversized plastic tub filled with garland and twinkle lights before lifting a brow my way.
“Bizzy? Are you sure we’re not overdoing it here?”
“There’s no such thing as overdoing it at Christmas. Everyone knows that.” I give a quick scratch behind the ears of the two sweet kittens lying on the counter of the reception area. “Besides”—I continue—“the inn is playing host to just about every event under the sun this month. Two of the biggest being the annual cookie exchange and the Let It Snow Ball, the Christmas charity event to help needy families. We’re going to have a mass of people coming through those doors and we need to look our Christmas best.”
I bend over to kiss one of the kittens on the ear and Fish yowls over at me. Fish has been overseeing their every precious move, but suffice it to say, she isn’t nearly as taken with them as I am.
Watch it, Bizzy. Fish licks her paw but doesn’t dare take her eyes off of them. They bite and claw for no reason. You’re liable to lose an eye or a finger. Why don’t you take them out back to Critter Corner and forget about them?
I make a face at my adorably jealous cat. “These little angels would never hurt me.” Not intentionally anyhow.
The smaller one lets out a yelp of a meow. That’s right. Not after that meal you fed us.
The taller of the two, with the paler face and dark gray mask around her eyes, mewls. That’s right, Bizzy. We’ve discussed it and we’re not going back to hocking eggnog on the corner. It was too cold for us. There were too many hands tugging and pulling at us. And that woman was mean. Sleeping in the trunk of a car was no picnic.
I lean in and whisper, “That’s never happening again.”
The cute little kittens mewl and jump over one another playfully. As soon as I had them in my car last night, I explained that I could hear their thoughts and they’ve been happily chatting away ever since. They’re so adorable, with their fuzzy gray coats and big, wide eyes, I’m half-tempted to keep them both myself. I brought in a tiny cat bed and they’ve been lounging happily all morning while making the guests smile with their big jade green eyes and the tiny red bows I’ve attached to each of their collars. I happen to have an entire box of cat supplies for Fish, and I probably have enough collars to strap onto every stray in a ten-mile radius.
Santa Claws Calamity (Country Cottage Mysteries Book 3) Page 3