A Frightening Fangs-giving

by Addison Moore

  “Ladies.” He holds out his hand. “Flint Butler, newly elected council member. Thank you for your votes if indeed I had them.”

  “Congratulations,” Emmie and I say in unison. We often respond at the very same time in the very same manner, mostly because Emmie and I are basically the same person sans a supernatural quirk or two.

  Ember clears her throat. “Now now, ladies, he’s all mine.” She bubbles with a laugh.

  “That I am.” His smile pulls a notch tighter. And if I have my way, that not-so-good time ends today.

  My mouth falls open at the thought.

  A crowd moves in, and the two of them drift off to greet the masses as I pull Em off to the side and fill her in on his dark thought.

  Emmie tweaks her brows. “It sounds like the identity thief is about to have her perky bubble popped. That’s too bad. I don’t wish a broken heart on anyone.”

  “Me either.” I glance back and note Flint in what looks to be a heated argument with another man, about the same age, lighter hair, this one is wearing a flannel and jeans. The man he’s with holds out his hand and Flint gives it an angry slap, but it didn’t quite look like a high-five or a handshake. “Look at that.”

  Emmie leans in. “You think we should call Leo and Jasper?”

  No sooner does she say it than the two men part ways. The man in the flannel glares over at Ember before turning and stalking off in the opposite direction.

  Emmie sighs. “Why do I get the feeling Ember Sweet isn’t so sweet after all? She does seem to like my donuts, though,” she says as we watch her snap up a few more from the tray my sister is holding in front of her.

  “That might be the only sweet thing about her.”

  Emmie drifts off to make sure the refreshment tables are still fully stocked with plenty of donuts for the entire state of Maine while I walk up and down the street, taking in the jovial crowd and keeping an eye out for anything nefarious, but there doesn’t seem to be anything but joy in Cider Cove today.

  The high school orchestra begins in on a cheery tune while Mayor Woods belts something out over the speaker regarding the town’s centennial. But I tune her out as I crane my neck for signs of my sister or her feisty old friend turned nemesis, but there’s no trace of either of them.

  I scoop Fish into my arms and dot a kiss to her furry little forehead. “I’d better head over to Suds and Illuminations and make sure Macy isn’t making good on that homicide she threatened.”

  Sherlock barks. I hear something, Bizzy. I think I hear cats. He strides ahead with a violent jolt, and I’m hardly able to hold onto the leash as he leads the way.

  Cats? Really? Fish groans. Oh for goodness’ sake, Bizzy. Drop the leash. He knows his way home, and we’re not lucky enough to lose him.

  “Fish.” A small laugh strums from me as I playfully scold her. Fish and Sherlock get along well enough, but they tend to fight like siblings—or dare I say, cats and dogs. Deep down, I know she loves him. I’m pretty sure at least.

  Sherlock threads through the crowd and leads us through a split between the buildings that houses Suds and Illuminations and the coffee shop next door.

  “Sherlock, where are you taking us? This leads to the alley.”

  Cats! Cats! He barks and sniffs his way along as he continues his charge.

  Alley cats, bleh. Fish sticks her tongue out, and I can’t help but laugh.

  “You started off as an alley cat, remember?” It’s true. I found Fish behind Macy’s shop when she was just a few weeks old, and we’ve been as close as sisters ever since.

  Sherlock stops abruptly and gives a soft bark as he comes upon a small box that seems to be moving.

  I lean in and gasp as I spot not one but three black and white striped kittens with stunning blue eyes.

  “Well, aren’t you adorable!” I’m about to bend over and pick one up when I spot a boot lying to the side of the box. I step around the box, and to my horror, that boot is still very much attached to a body.

  “Oh God.” I kneel down and check the woman’s pulse.

  My sister won’t have to worry about Ember Sweet ripping off her style or her shop anymore.

  Ember Sweet is dead.

  Chapter 3

  Two things happen simultaneously. One, I scream my head off. I don’t care how many dead bodies I stumble upon, I will never get used to it. And two, I text Jasper.

  I glance back to poor Ember lying there, and I force my head to turn away. And when I do, I spot a half-finished cigarette lying near the back door to Ember’s shop. It’s one of those ultra-skinny cigarettes called Sassy Slims. I remember them because they used to market them heavily to women. All of the ads had polished looking businesswomen walking briskly with a Sassy Slims dangling from their fingertips.

  My mother used to smoke for a while when I was growing up, and I recognize that pink ring around the filter. In fact, I can still smell the faint scent of menthol lingering in the air, and it brings back memories of my mother when she’d walk through the door after enjoying one of those death sticks, as Hux used to call them. We were all thrilled when she quit.

  I study the cigarette for a moment longer. It’s only half-finished, and it makes me wonder if it was finished in haste.

  No sooner do I hit send on that text than both Jasper and Leo materialize before me, along with a rather healthy size crowd.

  Bodies ooze out of the rear of Suds and Illuminations, the same door I’m guessing Ember Sweet stepped out of just before she landed on the ground, and every single person gasps in response to seeing the poor thing lying here helpless.

  Georgie howls, “Oh my goodness, Bizzy!” She waves me over to the box full of kittens that I had momentarily forgotten about.

  They’re mine! Sherlock barks. I found them! I get to keep them! A box of kittens! And they’re all mine, all mine!

  Fish growls, That’s nonsense, and you know it, fleabag. You can’t just say they’re yours. Haven’t you learned anything from Jasper and Bizzy? If you want to keep them, you have to lick them.

  My lips invert. Jasper and I have said more than once I licked you, you’re mine. Gross, I know, but we think it’s cute.

  Fish yowls as she cranes her neck to get a better look at them, My, oh my, aren’t they adorable? My goodness, they look just like me! I bet we’re related somehow. Oh, Bizzy, we have to keep them. Tell Georgie to keep her mitts to herself.

  “Let’s see,” I say, heading over and quickly scooping up all three squirming cuties.

  Help!

  Get me down!

  Why are these people screaming?

  “Oh, they’re terrified,” I say as I look to Georgie. “I don’t know who these belong to, but they were the first things I saw when I came back here. Sherlock sniffed them out. Would you watch them for me? I’ll take them off your hands as soon as we get back to the inn.”

  “Are you kidding?” Georgie takes them from me, and I help her land them back in the tiny brown box they were sitting in to begin with. “Just try to pry these from my cold dead hands. Finders keepers, Bizzy! And I’ve got me some kittens!” Georgie shouts with the glee of a madwoman as she takes off toward Main Street, and I cringe because I’m pretty sure shouting for glee at a murder scene is highly frowned upon.

  The brunette I met earlier, Ember’s stepmother, Marigold, intercepts Georgie and picks up one of the kittens, nuzzling it against her cheek for a moment before saying something to Georgie and setting it back in the box. I can tell she’s naturally nurturing. Even in this dark moment she wants to make sure those kittens are safe.

  Macy pops up next to me, her eyes agog as she stares out at Ember.

  “What the heck happened? Did she pass out?” She sucks in a quick breath as she looks my way. “You offed her for me, didn’t you?”

  “What?” I smack my sister on the arm. “Do not say that out loud ever again. There are people here, all of which have ears—the better to hear the murderous rumors you’re starting.”

  �
�My goodness,” Macy pants as her horror quickly morphs into something I’m not proud to say looks a lot like delight. “Ember Sweet is dead?” Wow. I either have a very good sister who cares far too much about that crappy shop I run or I’m able to kill people with my mind. To think, I was wishing a tree would fall on the girl less than an hour ago. “A tree didn’t fall on her, did it?”

  I avert my eyes. “I have no idea what happened to her.”

  Leo barks for the crowd to move back just as a swarm of sheriff’s deputies arrive on the scene.

  Jasper comes over and drapes his arm around me. “What happened, Bizzy?”

  “Sherlock—he was leading me this way and he found a box of kittens. That’s when I saw Ember. I checked her pulse. I thought maybe she passed out, but she was gone. And then I texted you.”

  He blows out a breath. “Her mouth has remnants of powdered sugar, and she has a donut in her hand—one of Emmie’s.”

  Macy gasps. “Emmie’s the killer?”

  “Would you hush?” I hold my finger to my lips as I give a quick look around. “Emmie did not kill that poor woman.” A horrible thought hits me. “Oh no, Jasper, you don’t think she had an allergic reaction to one of the ingredients, do you?”

  “At this point, everything is a possibility. The coroner will determine the cause of death, and I’ll make sure you’re one of the first to know since that donut puts the café on the hook.”

  “Thank you.” I shudder as I look back over at the scene. The tall, dark-haired woman, Marigold, looks visibly shaken. Her eyes are swollen and red, and her back shudders as she spills silent tears.

  Jasper follows my gaze. “I’d better head back, Bizzy. Stay safe. Accident or not, I don’t want you getting tangled up in it either way.”

  He takes off and Macy leans in. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “Me either.”

  The blonde we met earlier comes out of the shop and shrieks once she spots Ember.

  “Oh my God! Why?” She begins in on a horrible chant of that single word, why, and the crowd quiets down to a hush. Her attention snags our way, and her grief turns to rage in an instant. “You!” She stalks over to Macy. “You said you were going to get even all because of this stupid rivalry the two of you had!”

  Macy stiffens. “What? Really? Hardly! I opened my shop first! It’s clear Ember was determined to rip me off in any and every way in an effort to make me miserable!”

  The crowd gasps.

  Fish belts out a sharp mewl, Run for cover, Sherlock! They’re going to stone her. Or in the least throw donuts at her.

  Sherlock whines, I’ll do my best to protect her. Why couldn’t they throw bacon? I’m much better with bacon, but donuts are a close second.

  “Macy,” I hiss. “This isn’t the place.”

  The blonde woman steps in close. It’s the same one Ember introduced as her business partner, Willow Taylor.

  “You killed her! You said I hope you choke on those donuts and now she’s dead!” Her voice hikes to surreal octaves, and yet the band plays on down at the other end of Main Street. “You are a killer, Macy Baker! And I’m going to make sure justice is served just as cold as your murderous heart. You’re not getting away with this.” She stomps off back into the shop as a stunned silence fills the air.

  Macy growls, “What are you looking at?” she roars at the crowd before they quickly look away and the alleyway explodes in hushed whispers.

  “Macy.” I close my eyes. “Why don’t you get back to Lather and Light? Close the shop for the day and go home. I’ll call you when the dust settles.”

  “I’m not going home with my tail between my legs, Bizzy. It’s the kickoff for the Founders’ Day Festival. It’s already shaping up to be the busiest day of the year, and a very good start to the holiday shopping season. I’m a Baker. We don’t throw in the towel—especially not for Ember Sweet. I’m sorry she’s gone, but I sure as heck don’t have to go with her. I’ll talk to you later.” She scowls over at the body. Farwell, my old friend. It didn’t have to end this way between us. And yet I’m not entirely sorry it did. She shudders at the dark thought that just flew through her mind. I wish it didn’t.

  She takes off and I hold Fish tightly.

  Tell me she didn’t do it, Bizzy, Fish mewls as she taps my chest.

  I shake my head. “She didn’t.” I hope.

  Sherlock navigates us through the crowd as I try to inch my way closer to the mouth of that back door that leads to Suds and Illuminations. And soon enough, we come upon Marigold once again, sobbing silently to herself.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say as the woman looks my way.

  Her eyes are filled with crimson tracks, and they look backlit from the tears brimming in them.

  She shakes her head. “Thank you. I can’t believe this is real. I just spoke with her father. He’s a mess.”

  “Can I help you get home? Is he on his way here?”

  “No, that’s okay.” She lifts her fingers, dismissing the idea. “He’s on safari in Africa. Big game hunting. He’ll be back soon enough. I have my car down the street. I’ll be able to drive myself home.” She sniffs hard as she looks over at Ember. “She had a good life.” It could have been better if she wasn’t so damn difficult. She lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry. I’d better go. Ember lost her mother as a child, and I’m her only family here. I suppose I’ll have to start thinking about arrangements and whatnot.”

  “If it helps, I manage the inn at the end of the street. If you need help with anything, I’d be glad to offer up my services.”

  “Oh, thank you.” She blinks back. “I might take you up on that. Warner most likely won’t be back for days, if that. And Lord knows it was bad enough being in that drafty mansion with just Ember. I don’t want to be there alone. I might check in for a few days if you have a vacancy.”

  “I certainly do. I’ll have a room for you as soon as you can get to the inn.”

  “Thank you, Bizzy. I’ll go throw a few things into a bag. Let me just make a few more calls.” She steps away a few feet, and I spot Jasper and Leo pointing to something on Ember’s sweater as they begin to photograph it.

  “Jasper?” I call out, and he looks my way. I shrug over at him as if to ask what they’re looking at without the use of words.

  A fingernail with brown glittery polish, he says. A press-on or something. It’s not Ember’s. He lifts his brows my way. It’s not yours, is it?

  I shake my head as I hold up my bare fingernails his way for him to inspect.

  But I happen to know exactly who has brown glittery nails—my sister. Here’s hoping all of her acrylics are still intact.

  Sherlock barks and I look down.

  “Hey, big guy.” I offer him a quick pat on the back. “I know this is hard. Let’s get out of here,” I whisper.

  Look, Bizzy. He barks again. To the left, toward that big tree.

  I glance that way, and sure enough, I see two men who look as if they’re having a heated exchange. It’s Ember’s boyfriend, the councilman, Flint Butler, and that same man with the dirty blond hair he was arguing with earlier. It looks a little less volatile than it was before but twice as heated.

  Huh. Flint looks far more angry than he does upset over the fact the woman he loves is lying dead in an alley. The two men look equally frustrated, but neither of them is grieving. But then again, people show their grief in different ways. And it’s still so new, I’m sure they’re both in shock.

  Willow steps out again and muscles her way to the front of the crowd as she gets as close as she can to Ember’s body without crossing the caution tape Leo just set up. I can’t help but note that from the back she looks just like Ember, just like Macy.

  I inch my way toward her.

  “Willow?” I cringe a little as she turns around because I’d hate to see that heated exchange she just had with my sister spill my way. “If there’s anything I can do to help you, please let me know. I’m the manager at
the inn. Just ask for Bizzy.”

  “The business is so new.” She shakes her head. “Ember was doing everything.” Partially because she was a bossy control freak. “I’m not sure what to do. If I close the doors, I’ll have nothing.” But I do have something right now, and that’s relief. I never thought I’d say this, but a part of me is exhilarated at the thought of having my life back. Ember is gone. It’s as if a nightmare has come to a conclusion, and I can breathe freely again. She pushes out a deep breath. “Thank you, Bizzy. I’m not really all that business-minded, so I’m guessing I’ll have my hands full.”

  “It’ll come to you, I’m sure.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Leo creates a bigger barrier, forcing us to step away from one another, and the crowd moves between us.

  She’s dead, a voice says with perfect calm as it comes to me clearly. And now all of my troubles are gone forever. Goodnight, Ember. Sleep tight. I’m sorry I had to do it, but you left me no choice.

  I crane my neck. The voice seems to be coming from across the way, but I can’t tell if it was a man or a woman.

  My feet carry me in that direction, and I stop cold once I spot four familiar faces staring down at Ember. Flint, the blond man, Marigold, and Willow stand almost shoulder to shoulder as the crowd presses in against them.

  And I have a feeling one of them is the killer.

  Chapter 4

  The Country Cottage Inn is perfectly enchanting any time of the year, but fall makes this overgrown mansion with its ivy covered-walls look every bit as cozy on the outside than it does on the inside.

  The entry to the inn has been festooned with a garland of silk fall leaves, and a pair of twin wreaths made out of maple leaves hangs on each of the stately doors that lead inside. To the right of the entry there’s a large cornucopia with squash and pumpkins spilling from it, and next to that there’s a life-size turkey carved out of wood with an adorable expression on its cartoon face. Pumpkins and amber mums fill the pots out front, and there’s a scarecrow staked next to the three-tiered fountain that sits to the left.