Flint Butler is definitely on my list of people to speak with, but I’ve got Hunter here now and I can’t waste a single second.
“I guess Willow is closing the shop,” I say, hoping to bait him. “She says it was never her dream.”
He furrows his brows. “Not a surprise. I don’t know Willow that well. She seems nice enough. But as soon as I saw Ember and that poor girl looking like carbon copies of one another, I knew something was up. There was a new toy in town.”
Macy cocks her head his way. “Meaning?”
“Meaning she probably had something over her to make her jump through hoops. Ember didn’t have any real friends. She either bought the people in her life or she threatened them to stay put.”
That conversation I had with Marigold comes to mind. Willow was running from the law and Ember knew it. And from the looks of it, Ember didn’t hesitate turning her into a toy just like Hunter suggested.
Hunter settles the sleeping kittens on his lap while slinging an arm around my sister’s shoulders.
“I’m not sure who’s mourning Ember,” he says. “And that alone makes me feel bad for her. She may have swept through my life like a hurricane, but I’m sure it didn’t feel all that great being her either. And again, she didn’t have a mother.”
Macy sniffs back her emotions. “I never thought of it that way. I’m sure Ember was looking to fill a void in her life her father couldn’t give her. I don’t know how I would have turned out without my mother.”
Georgie sways toward my sister. “You’d be a killer in that scenario—a serial killer. In fact, you might just have been the first female serial killer in all of Maine.”
“Oh, come on, Georgie.” Macy lifts a shoulder. “You think too highly of me. Besides, I’m pretty sure our great state has already achieved that status. And if not, I’d gladly fill those killer stilettos. Someone’s got to step up to the plate in the name of womankind.”
Hunter’s mouth falls open. She’s kidding, right? Why do I get the feeling I jumped out of the frying pan and into a serial killer fire?
Macy finally picks up on that look of concern on his face.
“I jest.” She nuzzles against him. “I would never slaughter you in your sleep.” Her fingers walk up his chest. “I’d make sure you were wide awake for that experience.”
A high-pitched laughter trembles from the poor guy.
We’re fast approaching the turnstile to disembark and a pinch of panic grips me.
“Her stepmother is staying at the inn,” I offer. “Marigold Sweet? I’m sure if you wanted to stop by and offer your condolences, she’d appreciate that.”
His lips pull into a line. “Marigold, huh?” He glances to the ever-darkening sky. “You know, she was the one person who seemed to tolerate Ember. I know Ember wasn’t crazy about her. Heck, I wouldn’t be too thrilled if my dad married someone a year or two older than me. But Marigold never said a cross word to Ember. It’s almost as if she took her stepmother gig seriously. And maybe she did?” Or maybe Ember had her so chained up with blackmail she had no choice but to play along. My money is on that.
I consider this. “I’d like to think Ember had a genuine relationship with Marigold. She seems like a nice person. And I guess they were family—you sort of have to at least tolerate them, right? Oh, and before I forget, there’s a candlelight vigil for Ember next Friday night in front of her shop. Marigold will be there. It’s up to you, but it might offer you some closure if you came.”
He nods. “I’m sure it would. Maybe I will stop by and offer up my condolences.”
Macy glowers my way. Way to go, Bizzy. Maybe I should send Jasper to the town beauty queen and ask them to spend a little time together?
The ride comes to an abrupt stop, and the entire lot of us is safely offloaded.
Sherlock winnows out all the bacon in Georgie's pocket while the kittens cuddle up with Hunter as if they had found their new home.
He looks my way. “How about I babysit these guys for you for a little while? They look too comfortable to leave.”
“I don’t mind,” I’m quick to tell him.
Macy coos, “Come on, I’ll buy you a turkey dog and hand-feed it to you.” She wraps her arms around him as we say our goodbyes and they take off.
Georgie steps in. “What do you think, Bizzy?”
“I think Macy’s found a good one. Unless, of course, he’s the killer. And if that’s the case, at least she’ll have had a good time right up until the very end.”
Both Georgie and Fish howl with a laugh.
The icy wind kicks up a notch, forcing us to cinch our wonky quilts tightly around our chests.
A sea of bodies part before us, and both Georgie and I gasp at the very same time. Walking along the midway between the craft booths and the food stands are more than a dozen women all with wonky quilts draped over their shoulders.
“I’ve hit the big time!” Georgie shouts as Sherlock barks and jumps in her honor.
Georgie grabs Sherlock by the leash, and the two of them run off hooting and hollering.
Fish snuggles in close. More turkey tacos for us, Bizzy.
“You said it sister,” I say as we head for the food. “Hunter Knox turned out to be a pretty nice guy.”
Fish nuzzles her head against my shoulder. But you know better than to trust a nice guy, don’t you, Bizzy?
“I sure do. I learned that one the hard way.”
Fish yowls, It’s time to find out what kind of a person Flint Butler is.
I nod her way. “He seemed nice enough when I met him. The question would be, is he a very nice killer?”
And that’s exactly what I’m about to find out.
Chapter 9
The Country Cottage Inn has a tendency to be busy at this time of year, but never to the degree it is right now—and never for the reason we’re busy right now either.
After we came back from the pumpkin festival last night, Georgie asked if she and her quilting cronies could put a few quilts in the lobby in an effort to try to rack up a few sales. Of course, I said yes. Of course, I had no idea what a marketing force of nature I was dealing with either.
A thicket of bodies is abuzz in the lobby of the inn, milling around the dozens upon dozens of tables set out with what looks to be a never-ending supply of wonky quilts. It’s a little after ten in the morning, and it’s been a madhouse for the last hour straight. I haven’t seen this many souls at the mall the night before Christmas.
I’ve been busy checking in a large group of guests since this melee launched, so I haven’t had a chance to properly question Georgie on how this innocent quilt sale turned into a bona fide smash and grab frenzy. Emmie has been making the rounds with platters of her apple cider mini donuts, and it’s like watching seagulls flock to breadcrumbs each time she comes out.
No sooner do I leave the reception area in Nessa and Grady’s hands than I bump into Jordy.
“How did you know to get all of these tables set out?” I shake my head as I marvel at the crowd moving around at a frenetic clip.
Jordy chuckles to himself. “Georgie called me last night and told me she’d be needing as many as I could fill the lobby with. I’ll be honest, I put out six when I got here and I’ve had to triple it in the last half hour. Which reminds me, I need to know what the inn has planned for Thanksgiving so I can map it out.”
“We’ll host a Thanksgiving Day buffet in the grand dining room for any guests that might be on the grounds. That should be enough.”
“What about you? You going to your mom’s?”
“I don’t know. She burned the turkey last year and vowed that was the last time she was going to have a date with Tom at four in the morning only to be disappointed in him. Jasper’s mother is on another cruise with my dad. I have no idea if they’ll be back for the big day. How about you guys?”
He shrugs. “My parents are in the middle of a remodel. I’m sure we’ll figure something out. I’ll talk to Emmie.” He starts to
take off. “If you’re looking for Fish, Sherlock, and those kittens, they’re all with Georgie. She says they’re supercharging sales.”
“I have no doubt.”
I thread my way through the crowd as dozens upon dozens of women fondle and hold up various wonky quilts in every size and color. And no sooner are they being purchased than a fresh supply of wonky quilts lands on the display tables.
Women are walking around with wonky quilts draped over their shoulders and clasped at the neck with fancy looking brooches—sunflowers, pumpkins, and apples made of colorful rhinestones—and the visual of a sea of capes is giving off Night of the Living Dead vibes to me. But, in their defense, the only way to get around with a heavy quilt draped over your shoulders is with large, lumbering movements. There’s nothing dainty or elegant about it. And aside from that curious sight, there are just as many kids ten and under in attendance who have wonky quilts proudly tied around their necks, and they look every bit the superheroes with them on, too.
Once empowered with the apparent supernatural powers that seem to come with one of Georgie’s creations, the kids are running around with a fist in the air, charging and bumping into everything in their way. With so many breakable hips in the vicinity it’s a recipe for disaster.
I marvel at the amount of wonky fun being had by all. The quilts only seem to be multiplying. How in the world are these women making them so fast?
I bypass a table with my mother at the helm who seems to be immersed in a conversation with a group of women as they examine a quilt she’s holding. I’d stop by and say hello, but there’s a gray-headed woman laughing like a hyena just beyond her that has the answers I seek to all of my questions.
A group of women is clustered around Georgie’s table, and I see Juni in the thick of it handing out wonky quilts as fast as the grabby hands before her can snatch them away. To the right of the booth there’s a cluster of children, and nestled inside of their watchful circle are two different wonky quilts set on the floor, both of them small enough to function as a pet bed and both of them occupied with more than one pet.
Fish and the trio of kittens are nestled on a purple and green wonky quilt with a paw print design thrown into the mix, and it’s so adorable I can promise you that wonky quilt is coming home with me. Sherlock and Juni’s dog, Sprinkles, are lying on another wonky quilt, black and orange with fall leaves and bones, and it’s equally as adorable.
“Bizzy Baker Wilder!” Georgie breaks away from the chaos in front of her and trots on over in what looks to be a wonky quilt dress of some kind. It’s white, brown, and yellow, and each swath of fabric has a print of pumpkins, turkeys, and pies. It’s adorable, but I’m still not sure what I’m looking at.
“Oh no.” I moan without meaning to. “Don’t tell me you’re trading kaftans for wonkier pastures?”
“Pfft.” She gives the crowd the side-eye. “Are you kidding? This is what they call in my biz a publicity stunt.” She pinches at the fabric and holds it out for me to see. “What do you think? The idea came to me like a lightning bolt at three in the morning once I fell out of bed.”
“You fell out of bed?”
“You’re focusing on the wrong part of the story. The important part is, I put two quilts together and left some room for my noggin. And once I figured out I needed a place for my hands, I simply cut a couple of slits on the sides and ta-da! It’s wonky dress couture. And don’t you worry your pretty little head off. I’ll whip one up for you before Thanksgiving. What the heck, I’ll whip up one for you to wear for Christmas, too. Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you, kid.” She gives a comical wink.
“Speaking of whipping one up for me, Georgie, how in the world are these quilts blinking into existence? Are they really that easy to make?”
She cranes her neck past me a moment. “I may have given the quilting guild and the folks at the senior center a little monetary incentive to put their wonky quilt making skills into overdrive.”
“You’re paying them?”
“I’m charging them forty percent of sales to have the privilege to take part in the free donut and wonky quilt spectacular.”
I lean in a notch. “Georgie, is this the free donut and wonky quilt spectacular?”
“Now you’re catching on. But don’t worry, this ends tonight at six. I’ll sacrifice a lot of things to line my pockets with spare change, but dinner isn’t one of them.”
“Good to know.” Six? Son of a biscuit. I’m not sure what this will cost more, donuts or my sanity.
“Oh, and I need to talk to that Willow Taylor chick.” She snaps her fingers my way as she tap-dances back toward her booth. “I want that space she’s vacating. I’m telling you, Bizzy. These wonky quilts are going to take me to the next level.”
“You mean us,” a familiar voice trills from behind as my mother steps up. She shakes her head my way. “I hate to admit it, but this woman has really put us on the get-rich-quick express. Who knew there was such a desperate need for wonky quilts in this world? I’ve already contacted the landlord who’s leasing Suds and Illuminations out. It’s the same landlord that Macy has.” She looks to Georgie. “And just FYI, I’m going to use my sharp business acumen and land us a beaut of a lease deal. I didn’t make top realtor in all of Cider Cove, three years in a row, for nothing. This girl knows how to sell.”
My ear veers toward her in the event I misunderstood her. “You’re going into business with Georgie?”
“You mean Georgie is going into business with me.” She steps toward the ballroom. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to replenish my merchandise. We can’t keep up with the inventory.” She tosses her hands in the air with glee as she takes off, and I’d swear I just saw dollar signs light up in her eyes.
I turn back toward the crowd in time to see Macy and Emmie heading this way.
My sister looks smart in a sleek red blazer and matching velvet pants. Add some horns and a pointy tail and she’d out herself as the she-devil she is.
Emmie, however, looks perfectly adorable with a red and black checkered shirt and red fuzzy scarf.
Macy makes a face at the wall of humanity lining up at Georgie’s booth.
“What’s with the quilt cult?” She all but snarls.
Emmie belts out a laugh and then loses the smile as quickly as it came. “And here I thought it was a donut cult. Explain yourself, Bizzy. A little warning would have been nice.”
“Ditto.” My sister nods. “Main Street is empty. There are fliers lining all of Cider Cove that says you’ve got free eats and cozy blankets to keep you warm by the sea. Way to steal the business of every establishment this side of Vermont. Not a person has set foot in my shop this morning. I just closed up for the day.”
“Yikes.” I grimace. “The quilt cult will be here until six. Why don’t you grab some inventory and I’ll have Jordy set you up with a table?”
“Oh hey!” Her eyes round out. “That would be a great idea if I truly cared. I’d much rather have the day off.”
Emmie grunts, “You and me both.”
I spot a familiar brunette making her way from table to table while poking and prodding at the wares set before her. Marigold has her dark hair in a French twist, and she’s wearing high-heeled boots with a plaid wool poncho that looks so expensive I feel as if I owe her money just for ogling it.
“I see someone I want to talk to. I’ll be right back.” I take a step away then backtrack. “Emmie, what are your plans for Thanksgiving this year?”
She glances to the ceiling. “After frying up enough donuts to feed all of Cider Cove for the parade, then cooking Thanksgiving dinner for the entire inn, my plans are to pass out in the kitchen and hopefully wake up at some point in December.”
“Sorry.” I wrinkle my nose. “But good to know. Let’s celebrate together at the café if I can get Jasper to agree. Hey, maybe I can invite his brothers and sister?”
Macy’s lids drop a notch. She does not look amused. “How about your siste
r? Ever think to ask her?”
“I asked you a few days ago. You said you were dining and ditching before you shopped until you dropped.”
“Sometimes it’s nice to be asked twice,” Macy says a touch too loud just as Marigold appears next to me with a laugh in her mouth.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she says as she gives a slight wave. “I just wanted to pop in and show off my new wonky quilt.” She holds up a lavender and sage quilt in her hand, and I’m suddenly hoping there’s another one just like it floating around out there. It’s that adorable.
Emmie sighs at the sight. “That’s gorgeous. I’d trade you for a donut,” she says, holding out the platter in her hand with its quickly diminishing stash of powdered wonders on it.
Marigold laughs. “No can do. This baby is mine. But if you don’t mind, I’m going to help myself to a donut anyhow.” She pops one into her mouth and moans. “They’re just so addictive.” Her shoulders freeze up by her ears. “I keep forgetting this is the last thing Ember had that day.” She squeezes her eyes shut tight. “But I won’t lie”—she snaps up another donut off the platter—“I don’t think even that can stop me from eating them.” If anything, it makes me want to double down.
I make a face at the sorrowful thought.
“How are you doing?” I shrug as if I didn’t have a magnifying glass over her mind.
She shakes her head as she swallows down another bite. “I woke up this morning and my makeup bag was dumped all over the bathroom counter. I never leave it that way. I always make sure to have everything back in place and the bag zipped tight once I’m through with it. I think I was visited by Ember again last night.”
Emmie pulls her platter back a notch. “As in her ghost?”
Marigold is quick to nod. “It’s been happening ever since she passed. She swore she would come back if anything happened to her, and now she has. And I have a feeling she’s going to make us all pay for her death until the killer is caught.”
Macy looks my way with wild eyes. “You get right on that, Bizzy Baker.”
“Wilder.” Emmie nods. “Don’t forget she’s just earned her MRS degree.”
A Frightening Fangs-giving Page 9