“Mother!” I look to my sister, desperate for help. “Why don’t you take Mom over to the refreshment table and get some coffee in her before I rethink my wedding invites?”
She does just that as Georgie and Juni head this way.
“Way to play the game, Bizzy.” Georgie hugs herself as she looks to my bloody hands. “I always knew you were a bit too competitive.”
Juni snorts. “The woman plays to win. You have to respect that. Has anyone ever broached the topic of your fierce competitive nature?”
“Please,” I groan. “I didn’t kill him.”
Georgie makes a face. “Come on, Bizzy. You stabbed the guy like you were going at a human piñata. Just tell the cops you thought it was a fake knife. They’ll let you off because you’re cute. And if you’re not sleeping with the lead detective yet, I say there’s no time like the present. Word of advice, I’d hit the stacks before you leave the building. Better to be safe than sorry.”
Juni gives an aggressive nod. “And then plead insanity. At best, they’ll give you community service. Sure, you might be ladling gravy at the community center for the next thirty Thanksgivings, but look at it this way—you’ll get a free meal out of it, too.” She leans in, looking every bit like her sweet yet very much demented mother. “But hey, if you end up doing time, don’t get too worked up over it. Those penitentiary guards are smoking hot. The Collingsworth Correctional Facility has a calendar out. January and March come highly recommended.”
A garbled scream lives and dies in my throat. “I’m not having a prison tryst with hot security guards. The only thing insane is this conversation. There’s a real killer in this room,” I say in a panic as I do my best to pick up on any roving thoughts. Typically, I need to be in range to hear them, preferably within a few feet, but when adrenaline is running high, I can pick up a good circumference. The voices come out a bit more monotone that way, so it’s hard to tell if it’s coming from a man or a woman, but at this point, I’ll take any word the killer wants to give me.
A svelte woman comes forward with her light brown hair swinging in a ponytail. She’s head to toe in black, long sleeves, and long pants, save for her red pointed shoes. Her features are miniaturized and delicate, and there’s an elfish appeal to her in general.
“It looks as if you’re in a bad position.” Her pale face brightens a shade of light pink. “My advice to you would be to secure a good lawyer.”
Juni slaps her hands together. “That’s where I know you from! You’re that Knight lady. You put me away a few years back on a possession charge.”
The woman straightens a moment. “That might have been me. I used to work as a defense attorney for the state. I’m guessing you’re out and living a clean life now?”
Juni barks out a laugh. “Let’s just say my use of the substance is no longer considered illegal. So whatcha got cookin’ now, you hot little legal eagle? Are you trying to drum up some business in those cute red shoes?”
The woman winces. “No, actually.” She offers a stern look my way. “Just a little friendly legal advice.”
“My brother is an attorney,” I say as I glance to the refreshment table across the room and find my mother on the phone. “In fact, I bet I’ll be seeing him sooner than later.”
“Good.” She takes a deep breath. My God, that’s blood on her arms. I don’t know how she’ll ever get out of this one. She looks down at Wyatt. There are some things we simply bring upon ourselves. It looks as if he suffered. She shakes her head. He made so many other people suffer. It must be true what they say—what comes around goes around.
She sniffs hard as tears fill her eyes.
“Did you know the deceased?” I ask the question, but it’s just a formality. Something tells me she knew him well.
“I worked with him on a few legal matters a few months back.” She nods my way. “I wish you well.” She starts to take off and Juni jumps in front of her.
“Not so fast, missy. We should go out for drinks sometime. I just popped back into town, and I’m ready to network. What do you say? Bubba’s Roadhouse? I hear the quality of men who hang out at that blowhole has gone up considerably since Bubba bit the big one and his wife took over.”
The woman chuckles. “It sounds like fun. But I’m swamped at work. It was nice seeing you again. I’d better check in with the sheriff’s department so I can get out of here.”
“It was nice meeting you,” I say. “What was your first name?”
She hesitates a moment, most likely because she doesn’t want to share it with Juni. Can’t say I blame her. Juni will probably bend her ear with stories of prison relations all night.
“Brooklynn Knight. And you are?”
“Bizzy Baker. I run the Country Cottage Inn.”
She nods. “I’ll stop by sometime and see if you firmed up a good defense team.” You’re going to need it, she thinks as she takes off.
Georgie leans in. “I’d better see how your mama’s holding up. She might look like a tough cookie, but she’s blown glass on the inside.”
Juni glances that way. “Ooh! Lemon tarts.”
They take off, and I watch as a whole new terror heads this way.
Camila Ryder, Jasper’s ex-girlfriend, ex-fiancée if you want to get technical, springs over with a dark-haired girl dressed in a pink and purple tie-dyed T-shirt—the same girl who collected the results ballots from the audience. Stormy, as her nametag boldly reads, has long, stringy hair and she holds the stench of something slightly illegal that I’m sure Juni is far more familiar with.
“I just got here. What did I miss?” Camila’s eyes enlarge as she spies the victim. Her gaze rides down to my bloody hands, and the trace of a smile flickers on her lips.
This is fabulous, Bizzy. Well done. I’m sure Jasper will have you processed and headed to the big house by midnight.
Camila knows I can read minds. It’s an unfortunate event in which the blame lands squarely on her ex’s shoulders, and that ex would be Leo Granger.
Stormy grunts, “It was supposed to be just another mystery night.” Her name seems appropriate for a girl who works in a bookshop like this, I suppose. “And this girl screamed that she did it.” She points my way. “She was holding the bloody knife and everything.” Her eyes squint my way. “Sorry, lady, you were caught red-handed.” She elbows Camila. “Get it? Red-handed?”
Camila chortles as if there wasn’t a body in our midst—as if there wasn’t fresh blood on my hands—although clearly she finds humor in that.
“Good one, Stormy.” Camila gives a sly wink my way.
“You two know each other?” I ask, almost as amused as Camila is acting.
“Yup.” Stormy lands an arm around Camila’s shoulders. “Ms. Ryder and I used to hang out when I was a student at Sheffield High.”
And now she’s simply high. Camila wrinkles her nose at the girl.
“That’s right.” Camila offers a tight smile my way. “We shared quite a few lunches in the cafeteria.” She glances down at the girl’s shirt. What’s that?
I shift to get a better look at her shirt, and among the pink and purple tie-dye there are noticeable droplets of red splatters, along with a long bloody smear against her arm.
“Your shirt,” I say just as a beefy-looking wall of muscles pops up next to her. “It looks as if you might have gotten some blood on it.”
The girl gasps as she looks down and tries her best to wipe it off.
“Oh, gross.” She notices her bloodstained arm and groans. “I need to get out of this and clean up. I’ve got the blood of a dead guy on me.” Her voice pitches with panic as she begins to eye the exit.
“No,” I say, blocking her path before she can leave. “They’re still documenting the scene. You’ll look guilty if you leave.”
She shoots a look to a tall man with a chest the size of a bookshelf. His blond hair is slicked back and he has three days of growth at least on his scruffy-looking cheeks.
He shakes his head j
ust enough, but I catch it. Don’t do it. He looks right at her. Stick around. We didn’t come this far to ruin things now.
My mouth falls open.
Stormy frowns over at me. “This is my boyfriend, Dax.” He’s suddenly an expert on how not to look guilty even when you’re guilty.
“Jasper?” I call out, and his warm cologne hits me a few seconds before he arrives. “I think you should probably take those pictures now.” I glance to the girl’s bloodstained shirt and watch as his luminescent eyes widen.
Jasper calls the coroner over, and soon every last bit of blood covering both Stormy and myself is well-documented.
That sweet golden retriever scuttles by as he ducks under a table laden with books and curls up into a ball.
Wyatt’s gone. He whimpers. And everything is gone along with him.
Stormy looks up at the tall man with muscles, the jovial expression drained from her face.
Who knew Ms. Ryder would be the one to throw a monkey wrench into our plan? She glances my way. Thank God for gullible people. This is an open and shut case. Let’s hope the judge goes easy on the poor girl. Wyatt wasn’t worth going to prison over.
Jasper leads the girl away to question her in private, and I’m left to ponder her curious words.
Someone in this room is trying to get away with murder, and I have a feeling it might be her.
Chapter 4
The Country Cottage Inn is a stately tourist destination along coastal Maine that draws people in by the hundreds this time of year.
Cider Cove is beautiful every time of year, but it truly shines in the summer. The inn itself sits on an expansive acreage that not only boasts of the palatial inn but over thirty cottages sprinkled around the property. I happen to live in one, as does Jasper, who resides right in front of me. Emmie lives here, too, and Georgie is staying on the grounds as well. The inn is actually owned by a wealthy earl who lives in England, and he’s left me with the reins. Believe me, I like it that way. The inn has been my baby for so long, I’ve come to believe I own it.
The inn is bustling this morning, the day after the horrific event took place down at Killer Books. Jasper was gone all night, so I kept his sweet pooch, Sherlock Bones, in my cottage, along with my cat, Fish. But right now, we’re up front at the reception desk, still dazed from the prior evening’s events.
Sherlock lets out a weak bark from next to the counter. Why does this keep happening?
“I don’t know why this keeps happening.” I head over and give him a quick scratch between the ears. Sherlock is a mixed breed, medium build, with red and white freckles all over, and as loveable as can be. That’s exactly why I have both him and Fish up front at the reception counter with me as the official greeters. The Country Cottage Inn is also one of the few pet-friendly destinations here along the coast. Not only are pets welcome to stay in the rooms with our guests, but we have a pet daycare facility off the back called Critter Corner. It boasts of a full-time staff and it’s nearly booked to capacity.
Fish jumps up onto the white marble counter and yowls. This is just too many bodies you’ve found, Bizzy. And you were caught holding the knife.
I shudder at the thought. I told both Fish and Sherlock what had happened as soon as I took a long, hot shower last night. Suffice it to say, they weren’t too impressed with their grisly bedtime story.
Fish is a long-haired black and white tabby that I found about a year ago and we’ve been closer than sisters ever since. She’s sassy and funny and intuitive, like she is now, for instance. She seems to understand more than enough that the fact I got stuck holding the knife isn’t going to work in my favor.
Grady Pennington and Nessa Crosby, my two trusty employees who help out at the reception counter, step in and wish me a good morning.
“Morning,” I say. “Not sure if there’s anything good about it.”
Nessa gasps, “So it’s true? You found another one?”
Nessa is a dark-haired beauty. And Grady is a dark-haired Irish demigod, or so the young girls say. They both stepped into their roles here at the inn right out of college, and I hope to keep them around a while longer. I’d need a team of people to replace them if they ever left.
Before I can answer, Grady shakes his head. “She didn’t just find the body—she killed the body. My brother filled me in on what happened.” He shakes his head my way. “You’ve got the worst luck.”
They’ve both donned their signature hunter green vests along with their matching brass nametags. Of course, I’m wearing mine as well. The inn doesn’t have a strict dress code, but the vest and the nametags are a must.
“I can’t argue with you there,” I say. “I’m not exactly a horseshoe these days.” I shudder at the thought. “Anyway, we’re expecting a couple of family reunions this weekend, so the influx of new guests will be brisk.”
Nessa snorts. “And I’m guessing you’ll be busy trying to get yourself off the suspect list. Don’t worry, Grady and I can handle it. I’ll probably bring Peanut to work with me if you don’t mind. He doesn’t like it when I’m gone long hours, and I would swear he misses Fish and Sherlock.”
Sherlock lets out a bark and Fish mewls Nessa’s way as well.
She shakes her head as she marvels, “It’s like they know what we’re talking about.”
“Oh, they know,” I say. Peanut is an adorable black and white pooch that Nessa adopted last fall after a tragedy struck his owner. I glance to Fish and Sherlock. “They also know I’m in deep trouble.”
Grady inches back. “You’re not in trouble, Biz. We know you didn’t do it.” He tips his head to the side. “Unless, of course, you did it.”
Nessa ceases all movement as she waits with bated breath for me to admit or deny my innocence.
“I didn’t do it.” I don’t hesitate to say it either. “But that’s not going to stop the people in this town from judging me.”
Nessa waves me off. “The people in this town have been judging you ever since you married Jordy for less than twenty-four hours. Personally, I’d rather be known as a killer.”
Speaking of my wily ex-husband, Jordy Crosby, Nessa’s cousin and my best friend Emmie’s older, questionably wiser, brother, waltzes in with his torn jeans and dirty T-shirt and a tool belt around his hip. Jordy is the head groundskeeper and general handyman at the inn. I much prefer being his boss than his ex-wife. Our short-lived nuptials were due to some bad liquor and an odd trip to Vegas. I guess you could say neither of us hit the jackpot during that trip to Sin City. And just for the record, we didn’t sin, nor did we consummate our marital charade. Thankfully, my brother Hux helped me untangle that legal knot soon after I created it. He was fresh out of law school, and I like to say I gave him something to hone his chops on.
“Hey, Bizzy.” Jordy frowns over at me and still manages to turn the heads of a group of women who just walked in after him. Jordy isn’t just a looker, he’s a womanizer, too. It’s sort of a one-two punch as far as bad relationships go, and Jordy has had an entire string of them.
I head his way as Nessa and Grady get right to work booking the crowd that just walked through the doors.
The inn’s interior is laden with dark mahogany wainscoting. The floors have a gray and white marbled look to them and were redone just before I came aboard about five years ago. I think it gives the place an old-fashioned rustic appeal that’s just perfect for our seaside corner of Maine. Out in the back, the inn butts up to a white sandy cove, and we have our very own café attached to that end of the building where you can sit on the expansive patio and feel as if you’re a part of the action on the beach.
Jordy has dark hair and the same icy blue eyes as Emmie. I’ve never thought of him in a sexual way, partly because he’s Emmie’s brother and partly because he felt like mine, so that whole wedding thing sort of came out of left field.
“Bizzy.” He shakes his head. “You know I consider you family. What the hell is going on? Did you really kill someone?”
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p; I’m quick to hush him. “Would you keep it down? The last thing I want to do is incite the guests into leaving the inn because they think I might slaughter them in their sleep. Nothing is going on.” I squeeze my eyes shut tight a moment. “Actually, I don’t exactly know what’s going on. All I know is Wyatt Sanders, the owner of Killer Books, is dead, and I was left holding the knife. We were playing some twisted mystery game that went awry.”
He nods. “Emmie told me. Do yourself a favor and lawyer up. This one doesn’t look good for you. I’ll make sure the plumbing is working on the second floor. You make sure you don’t end up in prison.” He gives a sad wink before taking off.
I turn to the entrance to find Macy ushering Huxley inside, and I head their way.
“Looks as if my attorney just showed up,” I say, pulling my brother in for a hug. Hux is older than me by two years. We share the same dark hair and same light blue eyes. And not only is Huxley a divorce lawyer, but he’s been down the aisle and back three times himself. I guess you could say he’s given himself a bit of practice, too.
Macy gives a bleak smile. “Let’s get to the café and see if they have any more of those lemon tarts lying around. Hux brought a look book from the local women’s prison so we could see which uniforms go best with your eyes.”
I glance to Hux. “I hope you brought a muzzle for her, too.”
We head to the café, followed by Sherlock and Fish. It’s bright and light in the café with small black and white wrought iron bistro tables dotting the center and booths lining the walls. I call for Emmie to bring us some coffee and lemon tarts to the patio before we head that way.
It’s a spectacularly sunny day and the beach is already lined with well-oiled bodies trying to catch some rays. School is out in our neck of the woods, and you can hear the scream of children’s laughter as they run after one another on the sand. No sooner do we step outside than the humidity wraps itself around us like a hot blanket just out of the dryer. The ocean looks calm and serene, and the air is scented with lilacs and suntan lotion.
A Killer Tail Page 3