A Frightening Fangs-giving

by Addison Moore

  He groans and I take him in, with the dark stubble on his cheeks, his hair slightly mussed, his eyes as pale as lightning.

  Jasper lets out a heavy sigh. “I think we both know she’s not the only unstoppable Baker sister.” He frowns my way. “Okay. I concede. But just this once—and only because you’re headed to her shop. I’m going to allow both Macy and Main Street to give me the false sense of security I need to get through the day. Do me a favor and text me when it’s over.”

  “Will do.” I shrug up at him. “We still have an hour before either of us has to walk out the door.”

  He lifts a brow. “I’ve got a few ideas on how to kill the time.”

  I land my finger over his lips. “Show, don’t tell.”

  And Jasper gives me a demonstration for the ages.

  Suds and Illuminations is closed until further notice. I should have figured. But Macy was in such a rage, she spent all day tracking down Willow Taylor, until she finally succeeded. It turns out, Willow Taylor likes to spend her time at a bar called the Happy Hour located in the underbelly of a rather seedy town to the west of us called Edison.

  Once Georgie and Juni got wind of the fact Macy and I were headed to schmooze with a suspect at a place called the Happy Hour, they quickly materialized in the backseat of my sister’s car.

  Jasper is working late, and seeing that I do need to eat, not to mention mind the three of these women lest they burn down all of Maine, I’m front and center for all the action. I’ve donned my best fall boots, my peacoat, and here we are staring up at the behemoth establishment wondering what kind of an adventure waits for us inside.

  Fish mewls from the tote bag cinched onto my shoulder, I smell food, Bizzy. We’re lucky we didn’t bring Sherlock. He’s not nearly as obedient as I am around human food. She nuzzles her face against my chest. You do know how much I like fresh fish. It’s in my name, for Pete’s sake. If you don’t mind, pick up a bite for me, would you? I’ve never eaten out at a fancy restaurant before.

  I wasn’t going to bring Fish along for the ride, but Georgie scooped up the kittens and put them in a little front carrier papoose I had lying around. I have several, but this one has a small platform for them to stand on, and the front is made of mesh so they can see everything around them. Georgie has it strapped to her chest, and the kittens have been giggling and snipping at one another all the way over. And now the three of them are crying out Fish’s name like a choir.

  The bar itself is tucked inside an oversized long cabin of a building with a sign out front that reads Welcome to Happy Hour, where every hour is happy!

  Juni grunts, “You got your booze, you got your happy tappies.” She pats her stomach. I think she meant tapas, but I’m not up for correcting her. “I may never leave.”

  Juni has donned her traditional biker gear, a dark leather jacket, matching short leather skirt, fishnets, and flashy red heels. There are only two trains of thoughts when it comes to her accouterments: either people love it—a category almost exclusively reserved for newly released convicts—or they think her cognition is a little mixed up and she’s trying to emulate a hooker.

  Georgie nods. “And look”—she points to a small sign in the window—“happy hour includes a Thanksgiving dinner plate sampler. Ooh, I love me some Thanksgiving. Let’s get on inside, girls. There’s food, booze, and boys to be had.”

  Georgie is causing a bit of a scene herself with the way she’s chosen to dress. She’s got on her requisite kaftan, in a rich shade of mustard, and over that she’s tossed one of her wonky quilts, an orange and yellow wonder with prints of a cartoon turkey stamped over it, and she’s cinched it around her neck with a giant pumpkin-shaped brooch. The wonky cape is alive and well, and right here in Edison with us.

  Honestly, I’ve sported that same look a time or two late at night when trekking from the sofa to the fridge while on the hunt for a midnight snack, but I’m not sure I’m brave enough to parade around town in it.

  Macy growls over at Georgie, “Which superhero are you supposed to be? Captain Crazy? Or just plain Crazy Cat Lady?” She jabs a finger at the trio of kittens and sends them into a frenzy. Her short platinum bob has had a fresh cut this afternoon and looks just as razor sharp and dangerous as my sister’s tongue. She’s donned a brown leather jacket with matching boots that ride up well past her knees, and she’s finished the look with large gold hoop earrings that are big enough to work as bracelets.

  The kittens mewl in turn.

  Oh, she hates us.

  I think she’s going to eat us.

  Perhaps she’s a witch looking for a familiar? Is that food I smell?

  I do my best to stifle a laugh and Macy lands her wild eyes on mine.

  “You’re one to laugh. Why in the heck is Fish here? Haven’t you ever heard the words, no shirt, no shoes, no sanity, no service?”

  I make a face. “I know, but as soon as Georgie grabbed the kittens, Fish insisted on coming. She’s protective over them.”

  And equally as hungry as they are, Fish purrs with a touch too much excitement.

  “Besides”—I say to my ornery sister—“you mentioned we were going to make this quick, remember? I want to be home before Jasper gets to the cottage. And didn’t you say something about having a hot date?”

  Macy grunts at her own reflection while sprucing up her hair with her fingers.

  “That’s right, I do have a hot date.” She sniffs. “But it doesn’t mean I’m going to let a hottie go to waste if I find one inside. Lucky for me, I don’t have a limit on how many men I can date in a single night.”

  “Me either, sister.” Juni rocks her hip to Macy’s. “I say we leave the crazy cat ladies in the dust and get down to it.”

  The two of them speed inside while Georgie and I get congested in the entry as we try to walk in at the very same time. The cats yowl, Georgie yelps, and I groan because Macy is right—I am clearly entering without my sanity.

  Inside, it’s dimly lit, the scent of fresh roasted turkey permeates the air, and the sound of a sappy country song filters through the speakers.

  We follow Macy through a thick crowd of mostly inebriated and very happy to be here patrons as we make our way to one of the tall tables near the bar that is apparently for standing only seeing there’s not a chair in sight. A few people are dancing near the front and the sound of intermittent laughter threatens to pierce my eardrums, but once I get a glimpse of the buffet, all sins are forgiven.

  “Oh wow! It really is like Thanksgiving,” I say as my stomach begins to growl on cue.

  Georgie brushes her shoulder to mine, and I can’t help but notice she’s getting some odd looks from the tables around us.

  “Speaking of Turkey Day, what’s the lowdown on who we’re going to spend it with? You’ve got two families now. That means we get two dinners, right? Right?”

  Georgie has spent every Thanksgiving with me for as long as I can remember, and there’s no way I’m abandoning her now.

  “Dad and Gwen hopped on another cruise,” I tell her.

  My father and Jasper’s mother have been a thing for over a year now. It’s sort of weird, I know.

  Georgie shakes her head. “And here I didn’t think they’d last.”

  Macy grunts, “Clearly they’re just staying together to spite all the naysayers. Me being one of them.”

  “Me being another,” I say. They spent last month cruising, and no sooner did they disembark than they hopped right on another seaside voyage. “Jasper’s brothers and sister haven’t mentioned anything about Thanksgiving. I think I’ll invite them all to the inn. Since Cider Cove is having their first official Thanksgiving Day parade, the café has been swamped with orders for full Thanksgiving dinners to go. I’d better stay close to make sure things run smoothly—that way I can give Grady and Nessa the afternoon off.”

  Macy nods my way. “If you’ve got the turkey and pie, I’ve got the time. But I plan on dining and ditching. There’s nothing better than snuggling u
p with my laptop after stuffing myself like a turkey and shopping until I drop. Ooh, and I’ll need a pumpkin pie to go. It’s my tackling fuel when it comes to scoping out all the best deals.”

  Juni shakes her head. “I’ll be there with jingle bells on. There’s nothing like a Thanksgiving Day meal to put me in a three-day coma. In fact, I’m going to start right now.” She smacks my sister on the arm. “Dibs on the beefcake at the buffet with the tats and the red bandana.” She takes off, and the three of us look in that direction to see a barrel-chested man with a beer belly lapping his pants. The bandana in question is wrapped around his arm, I think he’s stuffing dinner rolls into it, and the tattoos look worn out and disfigured by time.

  Macy sighs. “Juniper Moonbeam is going to make some optometrist a very rich man.”

  “No fair.” Georgie snarls. “Juni always gets the cream of the crop. Don’t worry, kittens. We’ll get our mittens on some beefcake yet.” She leans our way. “They’re my secret weapon. I took them out on the town today, and I may as well have been wrapped in bacon the way the men drooled at the goods.”

  “Georgie.” Macy’s cheeks flicker. “I know for a fact you went to the Cider Cove Senior Center. Those men were drooling for another reason entirely. But just to be safe, I’ll take a kitten after I finish my dinner. I’m willing to test your bacon-wrapped theory.”

  Fish touches her paw to my chest. We should give them names, Bizzy. Something just as cute as they are—like say, Fish One, Two, and Three?

  I squelch a laugh. “I think Fish wants us to name the kittens, Georgie.”

  “Oh, they’ve got names.” She holds open her quilt as if she was about to flash us. “Meet Pumpkin, Spice, and Cookie. I don’t know who’s who, but they do and that’s all that matters.”

  The three of them mewl in unison.

  I’m Cookie.

  I’m Cookie, another one bleats.

  You can both be Cookie, the third pipes up. I rather like Pumpkin Spice.

  I touch my finger over the one with a white patch over her forehead. “You can be Cookie.” I give the one with a peach nose a quick pat. “And you are obviously Pumpkin.” I look to the kitten with the most stripes. “And you, my sweet girl, are Spice.”

  Georgie scoots past me. “I’m taking my cool cats and loading up at the buffet. Try not to arrest anyone until I get back. But don’t wait up for me either. I’m gunning for a slice of beefcake myself. There’s no reason Juni should get to have all the fun.”

  She takes off just as Macy grips me by the arms.

  “There she is,” she hisses while pointing behind me.

  Sure enough, Willow Taylor is laughing with an orange fruity concoction in her hand while talking to two men at once and I gasp at the sight of her.

  “Wow, Macy. Not only does she look just like you, but with that brown leather jacket and thigh-high boots, she’s a dead ringer.”

  “The operative word being dead.” Macy glowers at the woman, and Willow does a double take in our direction before heading on over without hesitation.

  “Here she comes,” I grit the words out like a ventriloquist. “Play nice. On second thought, don’t play at all. Let me handle this.”

  Willow lands her elbows to the table and doesn’t bother to hide the disgruntled look on her face.

  “What are the two of you doing here? You didn’t follow me, did you?” And here I thought Ember was far too interested in my business.

  “Follow you?” Macy hisses. “So what if I did?”

  “Wrong answer.” I moan as Fish ducks her head into my tote bag.

  Willow scoffs. “Look, I don’t want any trouble from you. Your beef was with Ember, and she’s cold in the morgue.” And it feels like my birthday and Christmas rolled into one.

  I blink back at the horrible thought.

  Her birthday and Christmas? Who says something like that?

  “Yeah?” Macy’s eyes grow wide with rage. “Well, maybe she’s cold in the morgue because you put her there. And now you’re trying to pin it on me.”

  Willow laughs at the thought. “You’re almost as nuts as she was.”

  Nuts? The woman clearly did not care for Ember. So why go into business with her?

  “I’m nuts?” Macy’s voice hikes up over the chipper song bleating through the speakers.

  “Hold your horses!” Georgie hobbles back with two heaping plates of what looks to be a full Thanksgiving dinner. And my God, does that turkey ever look juicy. The mashed potatoes have a nice well of brown gravy pressed into them, and the stuffing looks light and fluffy with bits of sausage in it. I’d eat all the above with my hands tied behind my back if I had to.

  Georgie passes me a spare fork as if reading my mind.

  “As you were, ladies.” She nods to the dueling blondes in front of us. “Keep the jabs above the waist, no face shots, nothing below the belt. Winner gets the hottie with the tie cinched around his forehead doing the sprinkler move out on the dance floor. Now let’s get ready to rumble!”

  Macy leans dangerously close to the blonde in front of her.

  “You think I’m nuts? I’m not the one running around trying to be me. I am me. And don’t think you’re fooling anyone with that blonde mop on your head. I can see your red roots from here!”

  “I can see your dark roots from here, but I couldn’t care less.” She runs her fingers through her tresses. “Besides, I’m done with this hairstyle. I’ve already made an appointment to have it dyed back to my natural color. I loved being a redhead. I never wanted to change it.”

  “I get it.” Georgie shakes her head as she swallows down her next bite. “You did it for a man on a dare in bed. It happened to me once. Only I ended up shaving myself bald. I had red hair, and I loved every feisty minute of it.”

  “You did?” I marvel over at her, choosing to ignore the story of the man who once graced, or disgraced, her bed.

  “Yup.” Georgie waves a cornbread muffin at us. “And I was as fiery as they came. But don’t worry about going silver. The flame just gets hotter, the men get spicier, and the dares require a safety harness.”

  Willow offers a friendly laugh. “Good to know. And I changed my color a few weeks ago. It was Ember’s idea.” She glances to the ceiling as if the thought annoyed her. “But she’s not here anymore, so back it goes.” Ember may have been obsessed with stealing this girl’s identity, but I’m not interested in being anyone but myself. I should buy a box kit and dye it red myself. Every time I look in the mirror, I see Ember. She shudders at the thought.

  Macy squints as she leans in. “Admit it. Ember was nothing but a copycat who wanted to be me. Her obsession knew no bounds, and that cheater-brand shop she opened up was nothing but a means to aggravate me.”

  “You’re not wrong.” She swills her drink and takes a sip. “And by the way, I saw what it said on your store window this morning. I didn’t write it. I don’t care whether or not you believe me either. I just want to be done with all of this.” And as soon as I ditch that soapy mess I’ve landed myself in, I’m going to forget about this entire town.

  Fish pokes her head out once again. Did she just admit that Ember was out to get Macy?

  I give her a scratch and nod.

  “Willow?” I lean her way. “Why was Ember so obsessed with Macy? Did my sister do something to her?”

  Macy clears her throat, her blue eyes dart around the establishment, and I’d know a guilty look on my sister’s face if ever there were one. I try to pry into her mind, but nary a thought runs wild.

  Figures.

  Willow shrugs. “Only you know, Macy. But I can say with one hundred percent conviction that you did something to really set her off. Ember is a pistol under normal circumstances, but whatever you did launched her into full destruction mode—and it was your destruction she was gunning for. So come on, spill it. What did you do?”

  Macy breaks off a piece of Georgie’s cornbread and pops it into her mouth.

  “Can’t talk,” she mumbl
es through a mouthful. “Trying to eat.”

  Well, that says it all.

  “Willow, you were at the shop before Ember—you know…” I say. “What do you think happened?”

  She flits her eyes back to my sister. “I saw the two of you going at it. Ember kept shoveling those donuts into her mouth, and the next thing I knew she was dead.”

  Georgie spikes her fork in the air. “The donuts were dusted with poison!”

  The crowd around us quiets to a hush for a moment before resuming their intermittent laughter. I’m pretty sure once they got an eyeful of Georgie in her cape, they dismissed the poison donut theory.

  I bet she’s right, though.

  Willow gasps as she wags a finger in Macy’s direction. “You brought over that platter with the donuts on it! Oh my God, I had one.” Her hand flies to her neck. “I should get tested. I bet I have toxins coursing through my veins as we speak. I could be on the brink of death myself.”

  Georgie moans through a bite. “You’re still looking good, kid. Don’t worry. We redheads are hot as firecrackers right to the very end. If you do end up toes to the sky, you’re gonna be a beautiful corpse.”

  “Good to know.” She tips her drink toward Georgie.

  “Wait a minute,” Georgie grunts. “You don’t think the killer is out to get you, too, do you?”

  “I don’t know.” Willow lifts a brow in my sister’s direction. “Are you?”

  Macy belts out a laugh. “I may have gotten my death wish, but I didn’t dust those donuts with anything fit to land her underground.”

  “Macy,” I scold as Fish belts out a meow at the very same time.

  Oh, she’s guilty, Bizzy, Fish mewls. We both know it. The only thing to do now is find someone else to pin it on. If all else fails, there’s always Juni. She rather liked the security guards during her last incarceration.

  I nod because she might be onto something.

  Willow tips her head as she examines my sister. “How would you like to buy a boatload of soap and candles?”

  Macy’s lips part. “Are you selling your inventory?”