A Frightening Fangs-giving

by Addison Moore

  “Too soon and too late at night. But I believe there’s still a lesson I’m supposed to teach you that involves handcuffs.”

  Jasper scoops me up and takes off for the bedroom.

  I teach Jasper one lesson after the other all night long.

  And when I finally fall asleep, I dream of Ember Sweet lying in the alleyway with her eyes opened wide as she stares vacantly to the sky.

  “Help me, Bizzy. Find my killer.” Her head snaps my way, but she’s not looking at me. She’s looking right at that box filled with three sweet little kittens. “They hold the key. They know who did this. End this before I end you.”

  I wake up with a start and sit straight up.

  Why do I feel as if I’ve just been threatened from the great beyond?

  An icy breeze blows in, and I look to find the bedroom window wide open. And just as I’m about to get up and close it—it slams shut all on its own.

  My heart pounds against my chest so hard and fierce, it might just pound right through.

  Not only do I need to solve this case for the justice Ember deserves, for the freedom of my sister, but I think I just added my own sanity to the list.

  Ember Sweet’s killer won’t have much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.

  I’ll make sure of that myself.

  Chapter 15

  Thanksgiving Day is one of those holidays that I look forward to all year long just for the food alone.

  And even though Emmie and her army of chefs do the cooking for the inn, I always get up early and join them in the kitchen. This morning Emmie and I worked like mad, mass-producing those apple cider mini donuts at an alarming rate. Since I’m more or less a jinx in the kitchen, I handled the postproduction end of it—dusting those mini miracles with powdered sugar. Jordy was helping out, too, and among the three of us, we created a mountain of powdered delights, enough to feed all of Maine straight through the rest of the month.

  But it’s the thick scent of turkey permeating the air in all of Cider Cove that has done me in. I cannot wait until things settle down and we’re right back at the café enjoying a bountiful Thanksgiving dinner. I’ve invited my mother, my sister, all of Jasper’s family, and every member of the staff to have at the buffet that will blissfully take place in just a few hours. And then after we have our fill of turkey, ham, cornbread stuffing, vat-fulls of mashed potatoes and gravy, along with the rest of the fixings, we move on to dessert. We’re talking some serious pie business is about to take place. We’ve got your pumpkin, apple, pecan, and sweet potato pies. Emmie always includes a cream-filled pumpkin roll to the mix, and I plan on having a little of everything. Okay, fine. A lot of everything. On a day like today it would be criminal not to.

  Jasper and I spent the last few days trying to dig up anything we could find on the mysterious Laurel Crabtree from Connecticut, and we did find several contenders, but all of them were accounted for in other places during that infamous summer. So far it’s been nothing but dead ends when it comes to our mystery woman.

  Emmie and I just finished loading a truck full of donuts onto the refreshment table. I’ve got Fish and the kittens strapped to my chest like a bomb—a bomb filled with cuteness, not to mention I’ve got Sherlock close by on a leash.

  The one good thing about having all of these cats so close to me is that they work like mini heaters keeping me warm despite the arctic breeze. And if those dark and brooding clouds overhead have their way, we’re going to have some holiday snow coming right up on the horizon—as soon as tonight.

  I can’t see the parade! Fish does her best to crane her neck every which way.

  Sherlock barks up at her, and his amber eyes have the same sparkle to them that they get when he thinks about his favorite salted meat.

  Tell her it’s not time, Bizzy. But as soon as it starts, I’m making a path straight to the front.

  “Don’t worry, Fish.” I give her a quick pat. “Sherlock has us covered. We won’t miss a thing.”

  The kittens mewl as they do their best to peek out of my new wonky quilt papoose. I’ll admit, Georgie hit a home run with this one.

  We’re back here again, aren’t we? Pumpkin muses.

  Spice gives a quick look around before sinking back against my chest. So long as we don’t end up in a cardboard box, I don’t care where Bizzy takes us.

  Hear, hear, Cookie mewls while stretching her cute little paws over my chest.

  “Oh”—Emmie gives my arm a squeeze as we navigate through the crowd that’s gathered along Main Street to see the big parade—“I almost forgot to tell you about the pumpkin cheesecake I made for tonight. I know how much you love cheesecake, so I made it in your honor.”

  A hard moan comes from me. “You know me well. I’ll have a double helping.”

  She sucks in a quick breath as she looks my way. “Does that mean you’re eating for two?”

  “No, it means I’m having seconds.” I laugh as I take in the sights.

  The entire street is congested with bodies as the local high school band plays near the gazebo. Cider Cove shines in all of its fall glory, as heaps of maple leaves outline that overgrown wooden octagon. And there are enough pumpkins sitting on and around it to qualify it as a pumpkin patch.

  The crowd sounds cheerful as voices clash with intermittent laughter, and the scent of turkey baking in every oven in the vicinity warms our senses and gets our stomachs growling at the very same time.

  Mackenzie Woods steps into the gazebo, and the microphone in her hand gives a squeal.

  “Hello, Cider Cove! Happy Thanksgiving!” she shouts, and the crowd goes wild. I spot my brother a few feet away from the gazebo looking up at Mack as if he actually admires her. I wonder how much he would admire her if he knew she was sneaking around behind his back? “I want to thank you all for helping Cider Cove celebrate its one hundredth magical year.” The crowd gives another wild cheer. “Enjoy the parade, enjoy the meals you’ll be having in just a little bit, and most of all, enjoy your families.”

  “Huh,” Emmie muses. “She almost sounds as if she has a heart.”

  “Almost being the operative word.”

  “And”—Mackenzie holds up a small plate of the apple cider mini donuts—“I want to give a special thank you to the Country Cottage Inn for providing these delectable treats for us all.” The crowd howls with approval while Mack looks directly at my brother and nods. See there, Huxley? I didn’t say one mean thing about that dump your sister runs.

  I scoff at the thought. “She just called the inn a dump.”

  Emmie huffs a breath. “Reason three thousand for Huxley to dump her.”

  “Too bad you didn’t find my brother all that amazing,” I tell her. “You could have spared me from a fate worse than death. But then, if I’m right, and Mack is two-timing him, the nightmare should be over sooner than later. Even if I have to make sure of it myself.”

  A little girl runs up and hands Mackenzie a bouquet of red and orange balloons, and Mack holds them just outside of the gazebo.

  She leans into the mic. “And here’s to many more birthdays to come on the horizon! Happy Founders’ Day and Happy Thanksgiving. Let the parade commence!” She lets go of the balloons, and the crowd screams with delight as they dot the sky.

  The band starts up, and I catch Mackenzie scouring the crowd before she settles on someone to the left. I follow her gaze, only to find the same dark-haired man she was with the other night.

  “That’s him,” I say to Emmie. “That’s Elliot, the guy Mack is cheating on my brother with.” The marching band moves into the street as the parade begins and effectively blocks our view before Emmie could see him.

  “Don’t worry, Bizzy. If she’s this sloppy, your brother will be a free man before the pies hit the table tonight.” Her phone bleats, and she pulls it out. “Shoot. The kitchen needs me. There’s a stuffing emergency. Someone added too much liquid to the batch, and they’re trying to save it. When Leo shows up, tell him I’ll be right back.�
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  She takes off, and I crane my neck as I try to spot either Leo or Jasper.

  Jasper said he had some business to tend to at the station but would try to be here before the parade began. And Leo mentioned he would be patrolling the grounds—much the way I am now.

  I spot the door to Suds and Illuminations sitting wide open, and I waste no time in speeding that way.

  “Knock, knock,” I say as I head into the shop that holds the sweet scent of a vanilla candle. And to my surprise, I see four women I know quite well, each with a broom in hand.

  “Mom, Macy, Juni, and Georgie?” A tiny laugh pumps from me at the sight. “Do I want to know what’s happening?” The four of them look a bit bedraggled with their hair mussed, their sleeves rolled up, and the look of abject fatigue in their eyes.

  Mom shakes her broom in the air while letting out an exasperated groan.

  “Happy Thanksgiving, Bizzy. Why couldn’t I have taken a page out of your father’s book and spent the holiday being catered to on a cruise ship?”

  Georgie bumps her hip to my mother’s. “Because you’d rather go into business with me.”

  My mouth falls open. “It’s finally happening, huh?”

  Georgie pretends to shoot me with her fingers. “You bet your cutie patootie.”

  Juni stalks over like a zombie. “Need donut now.”

  “Sorry, Juni.” I wince. “I don’t have any on me. But I’ve got kittens.”

  No sooner do I say the word than Juni excavates Cookie from my brand-new wonky cat carrier.

  “This tasty little snack will do.” She gets right to nibbling on her cute little ear.

  “Hey, Macy.” I head over to where she’s examining a box full of candles that’s packed away and ready to vacate the premises. “Happy Thanksgiving,” I say, pulling my sister into a warm embrace.

  “That depends.” She makes a face. “Are you still married?”

  “Very funny. Why are you in enemy territory?”

  “I just bought some of Willow’s choice inventory for half of what it would have cost me. Ember may have been a vindictive witch, but she sure had good taste.”

  A framed picture of a bear sniffing a candle falls off the wall and the glass shatters with a horrific bang.

  Fish lets out a hair-raising yowl. It’s the ghost! She dives deep into that wonky quilt papoose while both Pumpkin and Spice do their best to use her back as a stepping stool.

  Where? Where? Pumpkin all but crawls onto my shoulder to get a better look. I want to see it!

  Spice gives her sister’s tail a sharp bite. You can’t see a ghost, that’s the point. Everyone knows that. It’s an invisible menace, just like whoever killed the poor girl who once owned this place.

  Both Mom and Georgie groan as Sherlock heads that way and sniffs the air as if he, too, were trying to sniff Ember out.

  “Sherlock, come back,” I tell him. “There’s broken glass. You could get hurt.”

  Georgie pulls a strip of bacon out of her kaftan and tosses it his way. “Hurt yourself with this, kid.”

  Mom grunts while pulling out a dustpan, “I was hoping to keep that one.”

  Georgie waves it off. “I’d rather keep the ghost.”

  Macy shudders. “I want a sexy male ghost. One that really knows how to make me moan in the bedroom.” She scowls at the broken picture. “It really does feel as if she’s haunting me.”

  “It’s not true,” I tell her. “It’s either all a big coincidence or there’s a perfectly good explanation behind everything. The other night I woke to the window being wide open and then it shut on its own. Jasper later told me that he opened the window because he got hot and forgot to shut it. And the reason it shut itself is because it’s an old wooden window—it was nothing more than gravity.” I hope.

  She squints my way. “Just what are you doing in that bedroom of yours to work that man into a sweaty frenzy?” Her lips pull back with a naughty smile. “Never mind. I guess you could keep him. He sounds as if he’s good for some things.” She makes a face again before getting back to work.

  Marigold and Willow come in through the back, and I head in their direction. Marigold stuns in a thick burgundy sweater that looks luscious to the touch. I swear, no matter what that woman wears, it looks luxurious on her. A matching chiffon scarf floats around her neck, and that, too, looks decidedly expensive.

  “Hey, ladies.” I give a cheery wave as I make my way over. “How’s it going?”

  Sherlock barks for her attention, and Willow quickly gives him a scratch that makes his hind leg dance all on its own.

  Marigold groans. “There’s a reason people hire movers.”

  Willow laughs as she wipes her forehead down with her arm, and it’s only then I notice her hair has been dyed a warm shade of crimson.

  “Your hair!” I gasp. “It looks great.”

  “Thank you.” She glances over to Macy. “I figured no one is holding me hostage to be a clone of your sister’s anymore.” Hostage is a much more honest term than any of them realize. Boy, did I learn my lesson. Never tell a living soul what you don’t want others to know. My little petty theft secret is safe with me, and that’s exactly where it’s going to stay.

  It’s safe with me as well. I think this is one injustice I’ll let play out on its own. Besides, I think Willow has learned her lesson. Or at least I’m hoping she has.

  Marigold nods. “Willow and I were just exchanging war stories from the Ember Sweet frontlines. As much as I loved my stepdaughter, she had a way of making others do her bidding.” She picks up a box marked bubble bath. “I’ll take this to your car and be right back.” She nods to Willow before making another trip outside.

  Flint and his dicey connections to Laurel Crabtree run through my mind.

  “Hey, Willow? Have you ever heard Ember mention a woman by the name of Laurel Crabtree?”

  She grimaces a moment. “Laurel? Wasn’t that some pet name Flint had for one of his concubines?”

  “Pet name?” I blink over at her. “As in—a fake identity?”

  She belts out a laugh. “That sounds dramatic. It was a nickname of sorts. I think her name was Lauren Comfort. And boy, was she bringing Flint comfort.” She rolls her eyes. “Turns out, she lied to the guy. She wasn’t eighteen, she was sixteen. Let’s just say Flint pulled out his wallet and paid her enough in hush money to make her go away.”

  “What?” I huff at the thought. “Where did she go? I mean, she was sixteen. I’m sure she lived with her parents.”

  She cocks her head to the ceiling. “I don’t know about that. I guess you’d have to ask Flint. Ember was the one who told me all about it. But I’m guessing it’s nothing our councilman wants brought to his attention.”

  “I’m guessing you’re right.”

  She picks up a box and takes off.

  Well? Fish touches her paw to my chest. That’s the end of one mystery.

  Sherlock barks. Not if he killed her.

  I glance out the window and spot a man stopping to look in before moving on, and I recognize that dirty blond hair and affable smile.

  I speed out the door in record time, nearly tangling myself on Sherlock’s leash.

  “Hunter,” I shout, and he turns on his heels.

  “Hey, Bizzy.” He nods as he strides back my way.

  Hunter! Pumpkin nearly leaps right out of my wonky sack. Oh, he’s just as dreamy as I remember.

  Spice jumps up and pokes her fuzzy little head his way. Cuter than ever if you ask me. Oh, can’t he hold us, Bizzy?

  The two of them campaign hard for his attention as they mewl his way. The parade is in full force and the crowd cheers as a group of cheerleaders does a little routine while walking along the route.

  “Hey, girls.” Hunter plucks them both out and gives them a playful snuggle before laughing my way. “My sisters had cats growing up, and I’ve been a sucker for cute little kittens ever since.”

  Both Pumpkin and Spice mewl up at him adorably.


  I shake my head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think they were smitten with you.”

  Fish mewls herself, Oh, they are. It’s nothing but Hunter this, Hunter that. At least they’re getting their fill of the guy before you haul him in, Bizzy.

  Which brings me to my next point. “Hunter, I hope you don’t mind me asking again, but what’s your take on Flint Butler?” Here’s hoping I get a confession out of him so I can put this case to rest before I indulge in a caloric apocalypse in just a few hours. A little side of justice would make everything taste that much better.

  He shakes his head. “I don’t have a take on him. He was a louse of a boyfriend to Ember. Not that she didn’t deserve one after she trashed everything I worked for. But he’s redeemed himself in my eyes as of late.” He glances around. “I haven’t told anyone this, but Flint is helping me get my license back.”

  He shrugs as the balloon of a giant cat holding a sunflower floats on by, much to the delight of the crowd. It’s at least sixty-feet tall by thirty-feet wide. Sherlock barks up at it as Fish stands straight up to witness the quasi-feline miracle.

  “That’s great news,” I tell him. “Getting your license back would right all the wrongs Ember did to you. How soon will you be back in the pharmacy?”

  He shakes his head. “That all depends.” On how much more Oxycontin I can drum up for him. Turns out, the councilman is convinced he needs it to relax. And lucky for me, I’ve got a few dicey pharmaceutical contacts. But unfortunately for Flint, and maybe myself, today is the last day on the Hunter-drug-lord express. I’ve got three pills burning a hole in my pocket, and he’s not getting them from me unless he tells me something I want to hear—like the fact he’s willing to testify to the board on my behalf in an effort to convince them that nefarious practices took me down the first time. Someone like Flint might actually have the clout to clear this up for me in a day.