Dog Days of Murder

by Addison Moore

  “This is a crime scene.” His silver eyes meet with mine. “There’s been a homicide.”

  A gasp circles the crowd, followed by a series of screams.

  Nessa runs up looking frazzled, her hair wild, her shirt slightly askew.

  “Oh my goodness. Who did this?” She looks into the crowd with wide eyes, the look of fear streaming from her as if it were palpable. My God, she’s dead. She’s really dead.

  A swarm of sheriff’s deputies arrive, and soon enough they cordon off the area with caution tape that glows as bright as the sun. Chaos ensues as the crowd thickens. It’s as if the entire state of Maine has flocked into the vicinity.

  “Bizzy!” Georgie runs up and locks both poor Peanut and me in a crushing embrace. “Tell me you didn’t do it. You killed Jasper’s ex, didn’t you?”

  “Georgie,” I say, plucking her off me. “Please, get to your cottage. It’s too chaotic for you to be here—for anyone to be here.”

  “What am I supposed to do in my cottage with a killer on the loose?”

  “I don’t know. Break glass or something. We might need all the shards we can get to protect ourselves.”

  “Good thinking!” She’s about to take off just as that blonde man who was trying to get Shelby to speak to him rushes the scene and bursts right through the barrier.

  “Shelby,” he riots as he blasts through a couple of deputies, but before he can get to poor Shelby, a trio of men wrestles him to the ground.

  Macy runs up and threads her arm through mine. “Bizzy, what just happened?”

  Mom appears next to her, looking as if she were about to jump out of her skin.

  “I don’t know what happened,” I say, glancing up at the worried faces surrounding me. “Look, I’m going to need your help wrangling everyone away from the area. Macy, why don’t you and Mom usher everyone back inside?” I turn to Georgie. “I’m going to give you Peanut. Do me a favor—find Fish and take them both back to my place. This poor thing hasn’t stopped shaking.” I pull his furry face close to mine. “Don’t you worry. I’ll be back soon enough. You’ll be safe. I promise.”

  Bizzy—his large brown eyes bulge my way—I won’t go with that woman. I won’t go with Ginger. You can’t make me.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, pressing a quick kiss to his nose and handing him off to Georgie.

  In less than a minute, my iron-handed mother and wonderfully bossy sister exert their superior powers of persuasion and the crowd quickly drains back inside the inn.

  I turn to head toward the gaggle of deputies when I spot Jasper being accosted by Mayor Woods, and I can’t help but glower at her. Mack clearly knows no bounds.

  Jasper looks my way and squints before glowering himself. He’s been known to be ornery, but there’s something about that look I can’t quite put my finger on.

  I’m about to duck past the caution tape and put an end to Mack’s barbarism when a hand falls softly over my shoulder, and I turn to find the real reason for Jasper’s disdain. A tall deputy with dark, wavy hair and eyes laced with mystery and cockiness forces a smile my way.

  “Bizzy.” He nods. “Leo Granger. We met a few weeks ago in the café.”

  “I remember.” I try my hardest to put my mind on lockdown. It was Leo, here, who all but accused me of reading minds.

  Bizzy, I have a feeling you can hear me. His eyes search both of mine with a fiery intensity. It’s okay. I share your gift. There are others like us, too.

  “Others?” My fingers slap over my mouth and I turn to dash anywhere but here and end up smacking right into an all too familiar rock hard chest.

  “What’s going on?” Jasper grunts it out as he does his best to stare Leo down. “If you have anything at all that concerns this case, you come to me.” Jasper blows out a breath before redirecting his attention my way. He pulls me in, those steely eyes bearing hard into mine. “Bizzy, I’ve got the inn on lockdown.” His voice softens as he searches my features. “Why don’t you get inside and make sure the guests are okay? The poor girl was shot. That means there’s a gunman on the loose. I’ll handle things out here.” His eyes flash to Leo. I’ll make sure Leo steers clear. Just because he’s got a beef with me doesn’t mean it’s open season on Bizzy. She’s off limits and I’ll make sure he knows it.

  Every last bit of me warms just hearing the quasi-threat.

  Leo lifts a brow. Someone is feeling insecure. He tips his head my way. I’m guessing he doesn’t know about your neat little party trick. His expression sours. Only it’s not a party trick, is it?

  I shake my head at him. “I’ll gladly get inside, Jasper.”

  No sooner do I step away than Camila Ryder shoots out of the inn and into our midst like a missile. Her flowy long hair seems to have taken a life of its own as it sails behind her as if she were being chased by a dark cloud.

  “Leo? Jasper?” she pants out their names. “Is it true? Is it Shelby?”

  I take a step back. “Did you know her?” My adrenaline surges because a very small shallow part of me would love to pin her with the crime.

  She nods while attempting to catch her breath. “I knew her. A little too well.” And as horrible as it is to admit, I’m not all that sorry she’s gone.

  My mouth falls open as Leo and I exchange a quick glance.

  I clear my throat. “Can I ask how you knew her?”

  “Oh”—she shudders as a crisp breeze whistles by—“I don’t remember. It’s been a long time.” She looks to Leo. Some secrets are better dead and buried. Isn’t that right, sweetheart? “I’d better get inside.” Her gaze hooks to Jasper. “It was really nice seeing you again. I’d say you were the highlight of my evening.” She glances over to where the coroner’s office is taking pictures of the crime scene. The highlight of my evening until right about now.

  She offers a sly smile before speeding back into the small crowd still lingering behind us.

  My heart thumps wildly at the strange exchange.

  Someone calls for Jasper from the thick of the crime scene and he gently pulls me into his arms.

  “Bizzy, please get inside.” He flexes a sorrowful smile while warming my arms with his hands. “You’re shivering. I’ll be out most of the night, but I’m posting deputies all over the inn and the cottages—and I’m stationing one right in front of yours.” His brows narrow over his pale eyes and it’s a vexingly handsome look. “Bizzy, did you see anything suspicious at all when you came out here?”

  “No, nothing. Not until I practically tripped over her body.” I glance to the left and note the blond man—I think his name was Luke, staring sternly at Shelby’s splayed out limbs.

  Jasper glances over and nods. “I know what you’re thinking, Bizzy. But promise me you’ll leave this one to me. I’ll catch the killer. You keep safe.”

  “Absolutely. My top priority is the inn. You have my word.”

  “Good.” He sinks a kiss to my cheek. “Be careful.” Jasper takes off and I spot Nessa heading over to speak to Luke, so I migrate that way as well.

  Luke shakes his head at her as if they were having an unspoken conversation.

  “Everything okay?” I ask, even though clearly everything is not anywhere near okay.

  “Yeah.” Luke takes a full breath, causing his chest to expand to the size of a door. “My girlfriend is dead. Everything is dandy.” He says every word without taking his eyes off Nessa. Luke turns abruptly and ditches back into the crowd.

  “What was that about?” I ask as we watch him leave.

  “That was nothing.” Nessa shudders. “Luke is a mess, that’s all. And now so am I. I can’t believe this is happening.” It’s all a mess. A horrible, horrible mess. Of all people to die tonight, it’s Shelby.

  I tilt my head over to her. “I know you didn’t get along with Shelby. That must make this even harder for you in a way now that there won’t be time to mend fences.”

  She pushes out a dull smile. “We weren’t going to be mending fences anytime so
on. And I feel terrible about it, too.” She covers her mouth as she looks to the crime scene and we watch as the coroner covers Shelby with a glowing white sheet. “This is all my fault. She never would have died if it wasn’t for me.” Nessa bursts into tears before taking off for the inn.

  “Nessa, wait!” I call after her as a trio of girls appears in her place. I recognize them from earlier in the evening. Chelsea—essentially Shelby’s sidekick—

  Scout—the girl Nessa said Chelsea and Shelby brought to ruin—and Ginger King herself.

  Chelsea balks as if she just witnessed something incredulous. “Nessa just confessed.” She barks it out so loud the murmur of the crowd grows quiet around her.

  Ginger nods. “I heard her.” She raises her voice an octave as she shouts the words toward the deputies standing a few feet away. “She says Shelby wouldn’t have died without her. I think we’ve had a confession!”

  A few of the deputies glance around as if wondering if they should take her seriously before heading this way.

  Great.

  “No.” I shake my head. “That’s not what she meant,” I say, trying my hardest to come up with a reason why she didn’t mean it that way. “She’s tired. She’s in shock, that’s all. Nessa Crosby didn’t kill anyone.”

  Scout slips a lock of her copper hair behind her ear as she looks hypnotically toward the commotion at the crime scene. “Somebody did this. Somebody killed Shelby.” She looks to Ginger. “You’re awful quick to point the finger at Nessa, aren’t you?” Her lips flicker with the hint of a smile. “My God, you’re not even crying.”

  Ginger shudders. “I don’t do tears. My eyelash glue isn’t that strong. I didn’t cry at my aunt’s funeral a few months back. I’ve practically trained myself to cry on the inside.” She sniffs the air. “Like I’m doing now.” The heck I am. Goodnight, Shelby. Don’t let the bedbugs bite—or should I say worms. She glares at that white sheet sprawled over the ground as if she had a vendetta against it—or perhaps the poor body lying beneath it. She closes her eyes a moment and her chest rises as she takes a deep breath. I’m safe. So safe. It’s all over. It’s all over now for good.

  She staggers back to the inn and my lips part in disbelief.

  Chelsea steps over as far as the caution tape will allow.

  My Shelby. My God, how did this happen? How did we ever get to such a dark place?

  I watch as she follows Ginger and they melt back into the crowd.

  I look at Scout with a great intensity as I struggle to read her mind, but I can’t hear anything. She’s nodding to herself, and her lips are twitching. Both are good indicators that she’s locked in thought, but I can’t get a read on it.

  She turns to go and I quickly block her path.

  “You’re in charge of Ginger’s PR, right?” I swallow hard, trying to think of why I might be asking—other than trying to break that strong as steel barricade she has around her thoughts.

  “Yes.” She gives a hard blink as if trying to wake up. “Don’t worry about the seminar. It was all but over.”

  “I’d like to invite her to do another. That is, if she’s up for it.” How crass to even think of such a thing—and at the crime scene no less. But the poor girl lying on the ground does deserve some justice, and I have a feeling the killer is still very much in our midst.

  “I don’t know what Ginger will or won’t want to do.” She shoots a quick look to where Shelby lies. “Maybe we can do a mixer. A Halloween theme? Ginger and Carter are always looking to throw their desperados together.” She averts her eyes as if she wasn’t buying any of it.

  “Perfect. I have every weekend open this month.”

  She nods. “I’ll get back to you.” Scout gives one last glance Shelby’s way and her lips flicker with the idea of a smile once again. “Goodnight,” she says and a shiver runs up my spine as I watch her stride coolly back into the crowd.

  My eyes search the area for clues as the wind picks up with an artic breeze. The sky darkens, save for a thumbnail moon, and the stars glitter over Cider Cove like crushed onyx diamonds.

  I pick up on snatches of errant thoughts and I open my own mind in an effort to catch them all.

  Poor thing.

  I can’t imagine what her family will go through.

  The voices are coming quickly and I try to filter through the minutia of thoughts, mostly regarding the chill in the air, the fact the murder has left them stunned.

  Shelby Harris is gone for good.

  I twitch my head in the direction that voice came from. Unless I’m standing right in front of them, it’s near impossible to know if it came from a male or female.

  I’m glad she’s gone. You know what they say—two of us can keep a secret if one of us is dead.

  My eyes widen as I glance to the left.

  I did it, says another.

  My heart thumps to life as it riots in my chest.

  And I’m going to get away with murder.

  Chapter 4

  If there is one thing about the people of Cider Cove, it’s that we can appreciate the seasons and tend to celebrate them to a fault. It’s the very next day after the unthinkable crime that took place at the Country Cottage Inn, and Georgie, Macy, and I have taken to the task of delivering platters full of pumpkin spice mini muffins to the Haunted Harvest Festival. It’s Saturday, and the Montgomery’s farm is the nexus of the community as the whole town gathers to kick off fall the only way Cider Cove knows how—with hayrides and pumpkin carving contests.

  No sooner do I get into the thick of the crowd at the harvest festival with my arms laden down with enough pumpkin spice mini muffins to feed a small island nation than I bump into a body. It takes all the staggering and rather terrible ballerina moves I can muster to keep the treats in my arms from going airborne.

  A sharp howl of a cry comes from the woman—the aforementioned body, as she accidentally sloshes her colorful blouse with a glass of something pink and fruity.

  “Oh my goodness!” I cringe. “I’m so very sorry!”

  “Would you watch where you’re going?” she’s quick to bark my way. She’s beautiful—an older woman, about my mother’s age. Dark, glossy hair and a highly chiseled bone structure.

  “Let me help you.” I step forward just as she does the same and I nearly sever her neck with the platter in my hand.

  “Good Lord, it’s as if you’re aiming for me.” Her glassy gray eyes burn with fury. “How about this? You see me coming—you go the other way. I’m not mingling with the masses just to have my head sliced off by some wayward baker.” She takes off and I can’t help but scoff.

  “I’m no wayward baker,” I say halfheartedly in her wake.

  “Yeah,” Georgie calls after her. “Bizzy just so happens to burn everything she even thinks about baking.”

  “Good one,” I say as we bustle through the crowds on our way to the big tent labeled Good Eats.

  “I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers,” Macy says while making a face as she struggles to set down a couple of platters of pumpkin spice mini muffins, and both Georgie and I do the same. The entire dessert station at the Haunted Harvest Festival is already brimming with delectable sweet treats. But I have a hunch the goodies from the Country Cottage Café will soon take center stage. Emmie’s treats really are that delicious.

  Macy slaps her hands together from the effort. “Whose quote was that, anyway?” she asks, working her silvery blonde hair into a pert little ponytail. Just beyond my sister are rows and rows of birch, maples, oaks, and liquid ambers, their branches filled with fall’s fiery glow as they rain down leaves in every citrine color.

  “Gandhi,” Georgie offers and I can’t help but laugh.

  “It was Lucy Maude Montgomery,” I say. “And it’s a famous quote from Anne of Green Gables. I loved that book.” I shake my head wistfully as I glance around the crowds already brimming at the festival.

  There’s a huge orange and black banner strung up over the desser
t station that reads Happy Falloween! And spread across the festival grounds are rides and games, jump houses for the little kids, hayrides for just about everyone, a cider press, a haunted maze, face painting, and a crafts station, too.

  The Haunted Harvest Festival has long been touted as one of Cider Cove’s premier events, and every year the Montgomerys try to outdo themselves by making the month-long event bigger and better—and both cozier and spookier all at the very same time. The Montgomerys’ acreage is laden with groves and orchards of every variety. They grow everything you can think of from berries to beets, but during this month all attention goes to their much-adored pumpkin patch.

  “Hey ho, the gang’s all here!” a cheery male voice calls from behind and we turn to find my father looking handsome in a black dress shirt and jeans. A pair of black and white snakeskin boots adorns his feet and he looks dapper as usual. I got both my dark hair and icy blue eyes from that wily man. He’s wearing his perennial sly grin, which only accentuates his slight comma-like dimples, and there’s a general adorableness about him that has always served him well. I’ve yet to meet a soul who doesn’t like my father. Even my mother and all my father’s other handful of ex-wives still think he’s a charming devil, emphasis on the aforementioned nefarious entity.

  “Daddy!” Macy is the first to offer him a rather caustic hug. My sister has always worked ardently to be a daddy’s girl. But thankfully, my father openly confesses to anyone he meets that he has two.

  He quickly offers both Georgie and me a double embrace, and I inhale his familiar spiced cologne.

  “So, what are you girls up to?” Dad’s brows dip playfully as he tries his best to scowl. “I’m sensing trouble.”

  “No trouble,” I’m quick to say. “Macy was showing off her literary prowess and gifting us with quotes that have to do with fall.”

  “Ah.” Dad lifts a finger in the air. “Let me guess. It was a classic. Life starts all over again in the fall.”