A Killer Tail

by Addison Moore

  “You have a pink vein in the shape of a lightning bolt.” She traces her finger over my palm. “You’re the only person I’ve ever seen with one of these. Do you know what it means?”

  “No.” I lean in. “Do you?”

  Her lips waver. It’s not like I’m going to tell her it means she has paranormal tendencies. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want to hear that she has a third eye into another dimension. She’d probably freak out. She looks very Pollyanna. Besides, she’s got a lot on her plate. The cops will have no choice but to arrest her soon. The last thing she needs is to feel like a freak.

  Molly shakes her head. “It means that you’re going to be very much loved by your friends and family.” And when they put her away, I’m sure she’ll be missed, too. “I’d better get going.” She gives Fish a quick pat. “Coffee awaits.” She heads out the door without so much as a glance to her fellow employees.

  Georgie, Juni, and I head up to the front register and Juni pays for her bargain books.

  Brad nods my way as we’re about to leave, and I make my way over to him.

  He leans in. “Heard you talking to Molly about her dead boyfriend. That’s weird stuff, right?”

  “It was more than weird. It was pretty brutal.”

  “Yeah?” He glances over his shoulder. “You want to see something really weird—some might say brutal? Follow me.”

  Georgie and Juni are picking their way through the books up front, so I follow Brad as he navigates us to the back of the store and in through a door marked staff.

  “This is her office.” He says office in air quotes. “This is where she does her private readings.”

  He flicks on the lights and a barrage of framed pictures stare back at me.

  “My God, there must be hundreds,” I say as I look around the tiny space. Every inch available is covered with Wyatt Sanders’ likeness and my stomach rolls as he smiles back at me, unaware of how tragically his life was about to end—seemingly by my hand.

  “She was freaking obsessed with the dude.” Brad points to something behind the desk and my feet carry me in that direction. A picture of Wyatt sits on a lower shelf, heavily wrinkled, a red X drawn over his face. “I half-expected the sheriff’s department to roll up and arrest her. She gave that man a heck of a lot of grief. It’s no wonder he was trying to break it off with her.”

  “He was?”

  “According to Molly. She said he was cheating on her with some chick from the bookstore. His bookstore, not this one.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. Some chick named Stormy. Looks like a storm hit the guy, all right. More like a bloodbath.”

  Stormy Weston? That’s the hippie girl with the long dark hair I met that night. Her boyfriend Dax was there, too. He was a wall of muscles.

  Stormy? That’s who Wyatt was having an affair with? I’m not sure if I’m buying it. But judging by the looks of this place, Molly was more than a little odd. Paranoia probably wasn’t too far off the mark. She probably believed it.

  We make our way back up front, and I thank Brad while he slips his number to Georgie in an indiscreet manner.

  We head out into the summer air as I try to digest what I just saw.

  It looks as if I need to speak with Stormy Weston.

  Chapter 8

  Jasper swung by after work with a bag of Chinese from Wok n’ Roll and we quickly obliterated it as if we’ve never seen food before—much to the dismay of Sherlock and Gatsby.

  But not only did I make sure to feed them a king’s feast of their own delicious dog food beforehand, but I may have slipped them each a wonton because I can only take so much of those big puppy dog eyes.

  Fish, however, was more than content with her meal and managed to nap through the culinary carnage.

  A lazy smile rises up one side of Jasper’s cheek as he doles out another serving of four seasons chicken on both our plates. We’re both firmly planted on my sofa, sitting side by side as we fill our bellies to the brim. Jasper has that deconstructed suit thing going on, with his jacket off, the sleeves to his pale blue dress shirt rolled up, his tie pulled loose. With his dark hair and his pale eyes, Jasper is dangerously sexy, and lucky for me, it’s no anomaly. This is an everyday condition.

  I moan, “This is probably where I should say I can’t eat another bite, but I’d hate to start our life out built on a foundation of lies.”

  A dark laugh rumbles through him. “Odd fact, I love that you have a hearty appetite.”

  “Odd fact, I plan on having a hearty appetite for the rest of our lives, and you’re getting a front-row seat.”

  He ticks his head to the side. “Lucky, lucky me.” He pins his eyes on mine. “Do you plan on investigating homicides for the rest of your life, too?”

  My mouth falls open. “Am I busted?”

  “You are.” His brows hike a notch. “Leo saw your car sitting in front of the Mystic Eye. Bizzy,” he says my name low and slow, and as much as I would love to interpret that as a much more interesting proposition, it was the sound of utter disappointment.

  “Would you believe me if I said Georgie and Juni were looking to beef up their mystic libraries?”

  He glances to the ceiling. “Yes, actually, I would. But other than that, what happened in that psychedelic black hole?”

  “Side note: Leo’s on the naughty list. I’m a perfectly grown woman who doesn’t need to be spied on.”

  “Side note”—he leans in a notch—“that bookstore is located on his beat.”

  “Duly noted.” I take a quick bite off my plate. “All right, I spoke with Molly Shay. Speaking of odd, she’s the queen of all things weird.” I fill him in on her off-putting way of referring to Wyatt, the fact she confirmed Thomas and Wyatt went to the same school, and the bizarre office décor, including that wrinkled picture of Wyatt with a picture of an X drawn through his face.

  Jasper inches his head back a notch. “She really is a piece of work. I guess that hikes her up to the top of my suspect list.”

  “Mine, too.” I hold up a forkful of four seasons chicken before taking a bite. “Mmm.” I quickly swallow down my food. “Oh, and if that wasn’t odd enough, she read our palms before she rushed out the door. And by the way, you’ll never guess where she was going.”

  “To Wyatt’s place to roll around naked on his bed?”

  “That would have been more respectable. She went on a date. With who exactly, I don’t know. But she said the guy at the funeral home offered to buy her a cup of coffee. Then she said something really disturbing, like Wyatt may have left her, but she was getting the last laugh, or the last cup of coffee.”

  His brows pitch. “That alone is confirmation she’s not all put together upstairs. It looks as if I’ll have to dig a little deeper with her. So what happened when she read your palm?” He takes another bite of his food before looking over at me.

  “First, she admitted to being a fraud—to herself, of course. She fed Juni a bunch of malarkey about expecting a phone call from a man who was interested in her. And Georgie was told she was going to be famous and that a younger man would slip her his number. Of course, she was playing wingman to her co-worker Brad, who, you guessed it, slipped Georgie his number before we left.”

  “And your hand? What truths did it have to speak?”

  A sly smile rides up my cheek. “She was stunned, internally, of course.” I shake my head. “She said something about reading up on the fine art of palm reading, and that she didn’t believe people like me existed. She said I had a pink vein in my hand that signified I was prone to the paranormal.” I show him the hand in question, and Jasper plants a kiss in the middle of it.

  “She was right. And she doesn’t even know it. I can appreciate that, but I can’t appreciate her, especially with all that twisted behavior she’s displaying. She could very well be our killer.”

  “Aww,” I give a sarcastic coo. “You said our.”

  Sherlock barks. I told you he’d come around, Bizzy!
>
  I’m about to relay what Sherlock said when a thought comes to me.

  “Gatsby?” I lean his way and the magnificent beast lifts his head a notch. “What do you think about Molly? Did you see anything suspicious that night?”

  Jasper lifts a finger. “I have questioned a lot of people. I’ve witnessed a lot of other detectives question people, but the fact you can question the suspect’s dog puts you a cut above the rest.”

  Fish lets out a lazy yowl. I knew he’d come around, too.

  Gatsby moans before letting out a soft bark. Molly wasn’t the greatest girlfriend Wyatt ever had, but she was interested in him—too interested. I’m not proud to say she caught Wyatt and that young, ditzy girl kissing, who, by the way, kept trying to convince me to go vegan. Molly was justifiable in her anger.

  “Ooh, that’s right.” I wince. “There might have been one more thing Molly’s co-worker told me that I forgot about, and Gatsby here just confirmed.” I quickly tell Jasper about Wyatt’s indiscretion with Stormy.

  Jasper takes a breath. “Sounds like we just secured a motive.”

  Gatsby barks again. Molly did say she was going to make him pay. And she has made him pay for many things before. But she was all about making him suffer—in an unnaturally prolonged manner.

  I do a quick translation and Jasper leans his way.

  “Gatsby”—Jasper looks right at the fuzzy pooch—“did Wyatt know that Molly caught him in a compromising position with another woman?”

  I don’t know, the cute pup warbles. I saw her enter the office while the two of them were in there, and she left in a hurry.

  “When was that?” I ask.

  A week ago.

  I let Jasper know and we stare at one another a moment too long.

  He nods. “I’ll talk to Molly. I’ll get this done.”

  I make a face without meaning to. “I know you want to protect me, but I want to be a part of this, too. I was stuck holding the knife, remember?”

  “I know. And I’m the lead homicide detective who cleared you.” He puts his plate down on the coffee table, and I do the same. “I got some info on that ring.”

  My mouth falls open. “And are you willing to share it with me?”

  His silver eyes spark over mine. “Heck yes.” He picks up my hands. “Bizzy, I’m not shutting you out. I love you. You are brilliant, not to mention you have a psychic edge that cannot be denied. That being said, I shouldn’t be talking to you about any open homicide investigation.” His lips twitch. “But I do want to share this with you. The only thing I ask is that you don’t put yourself in a dangerous situation.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper. “And I would never put myself in a precarious position—on purpose.” I jostle his hand. “Now spill it, Detective. What have you got?”

  “Wyatt and Thomas went to Somerset University in New York.”

  I invert my lips to keep from shedding a greedy grin.

  His eyes narrow in on mine. “You knew that, didn’t you?”

  I shrug. “What can I say? I had a very informative meeting with Molly. But she knew nothing about the ring.”

  “Okay, I’ll start there. I spoke to the people over at Johnson Jewelers. They said thirty-two of those specific rings were made and purchased all at once over ten years ago.”

  “Thirty-two. Enough for a frat house?”

  He nods. “That was my next step. I looked into all the fraternities and dug around. They don’t traditionally have rings, but those that did weren’t anything like these. They all had a mention of Somerset. In fact, I found out the fraternity both Wyatt and Thomas belonged to was called Alpha Omega Nu. I reached out to one of the recent actives. He had no idea what that ring was or what it could mean.”

  “So it’s a dead end?”

  He tips his head back. “Oh ye, of little faith.”

  I can’t help but bite down a smile. “All right. Get to the good part.”

  “I spoke with Wyatt’s older brother. He’s on base in Hawaii and we had a nice little video chat. He’s broken up over what happened. He said Wyatt was a good kid. Clean-cut, the whole nine yards—with the exception of that dark period in college.”

  “What?” I give his arm a quick shake. “What dark period? Don’t keep me in suspense.”

  “I’m kidding. Sort of. Apparently, Wyatt and, I’m assuming, Thomas were a part of a secret society called the Order of the Skulls. A super exclusive group that nobody knows much about, save for the name.”

  “Oh, wow. I’m intrigued. I can’t wait to dig—”

  “I’ll dig in.” He lifts my hand to his lips and dots my finger with a kiss. “And I also found out that Wyatt wasn’t the sole owner of Killer Books. There was a real estate group called the Weatherston Collective that owned the other half. It could be made up of one person or many. I’ll have to do some more digging.”

  I take a deep breath. “That’s a lot of information. Thomas let me know that Brooklynn had an interest in the bookstore. Maybe she’s a part of that group? Either way, good work, Detective.”

  “Right back at you.” He tips his head to the side, a dangerous smile riding on his lips. “I’ll look into Brooklyn. Have I ever told you that I think we make a great team?”

  “I may have gotten the hint when you proposed.”

  “Have I mentioned lately how glad I am you said yes?”

  A giggle rides up my throat. “No, but I’m equally glad to hear it. Do you realize we’re tying the knot in three short months?”

  “Do you realize I can’t wait?” His features soften. “We need to shore up the honeymoon.”

  “We need to shore up our vacation to Honey Hollow. For our honeymoon, maybe?” Last month when Lottie Lemon and her friends came to stay here at the inn, we grew close quickly. Not only did we bond over our amateur sleuth status while solving a double homicide, but we bonded over our transmundane status as well. Even though her ability to see the dead and my ability to read minds are two vastly different subclassifications, it sealed our fate, and I have a feeling we’ll be as close as sisters for the rest of our lives.

  I twist my lips. “On second thought, maybe Honey Hollow should be taken off the short list for our honeymoon. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to stop Georgie or Macy from tagging along.”

  Jasper nods. “Or Sherlock or Fish. Why don’t we move that trip up? Say next month? A little getaway for the Fourth?”

  “That sounds perfect. Let me run it by everyone and we’ll get this figured out. Just the thought of seeing Lottie and her friends again invigorates me.”

  Jasper pulls me onto his lap and lands a lingering kiss to my lips.

  “I think I’ve got a way to invigorate you.”

  “Give it your best shot, Detective.”

  And he does.

  Chapter 9

  Georgie and Juni were determined to help me in some way with the investigation, so I gave them some homework—track down Stormy Weston. The mother-daughter crime-fighting duo said they’d get right on it like white on homicidal rice. And while they got on that in mercenary style, I got myself outside.

  The best part about managing the Country Cottage Inn is the lovely people and the equally lovely pets I get to meet.

  The second best? The view.

  There is nothing as dauntingly beautiful as the Atlantic Ocean. And lucky for the Inn, we sit on a sandy cove that butts right up to its steely magnificence. The ocean, like any body of water, has always been a double-edged sword for me. Ever since Mack shoved me into that whiskey barrel, I’ve been more than a little paranoid about immersing myself in anything wet that happens to be deeper than my ankles. Ironically, that’s how I met the love of my life.

  Sherlock chased Fish into the salty sea, and in an effort to save my favorite little kitten, I ran right after them. Let’s just say there was a rogue wave, and then a strong man helped me to safety—who would later become the most important man in my life, but at the moment, he was just an ornery stranger who wasn’t
all that thrilled to ruin his good suit.

  I can’t help but smile at the thought as I pop yet another one of Emmie’s lemon tarts into my mouth.

  The sky hangs heavy and blue, a warm breeze passes through every now and again, and the smell of coconut-scented suntan lotion mingles with the briny air to create the perfect combination of the embodiment of summer.

  The inn is nearly booked to capacity, not a surprise this time of year, and the tourists all seem to be out on the sand having a good time.

  Emmie and I have decided to take a break and hit the sand ourselves, not to sunbathe, but to toss a Frisbee for some of our favorite fur babies. A couple of months ago, Emmie adopted a labradoodle named Cinnamon after the poor pooch’s owner was murdered. The case was quickly solved—I may have played a part in that—and Cinnamon found her new forever home with my awesome bestie. Cinnamon is as sweet as can be, and she’s really grown into those oversized paws, too. She’s nearly the same height as Sherlock. And she’s just as fast, too.

  Emmie and I watch as Cinnamon, Sherlock, and Gatsby chase that bright orange disc around the cove with some serious gusto as if this were an Olympic-worthy event. But the most comical part of it all, that has turned the heads of more than a few tourists, is the fact that while the dogs are chasing the Frisbee—Fish is chasing their tails, and she’s not afraid to pounce on them either.

  We share a laugh as Fish lands on Cinnamon’s back and takes a short ride before getting knocked into the sand.

  “See that, Bizzy?” Emmie bumps her hip to mine before helping herself to another lemon tart out of the bag we’re sharing. “Even our pets are best friends.”

  “Family,” I correct. “And just like us, they’ll do just about everything together.”

  “I’m glad you brought that up.” She bites down on a mischievous smile, her eyes lighting up with an up-to-no good twinkle themselves. Emmie has her hair in a ponytail, as do I, and three different tourists who are staying at the inn have already asked if we’re sisters. Of course, we tell them the truth—we are.