Dad gives a firm whistle and garners our attention in no time flat.
“Since you’re all here, Gwyneth and I have an announcement we’d like to make—surprisingly, it’s about Christmas Eve as well.” He shrugs over at her and she shrugs right back. “In fact, I think we’d both be open to hosting the event at the inn so none of you would have to change any plans.”
“What event?” My heart thumps unnaturally because I’m pretty sure I’m not going to like it.
Dad takes a quick breath as he looks around to everyone in our circle.
“Gwyneth and I are getting married.”
An explosion of confusion breaks out—with the exception of Georgie who has decided this is the perfect time to offer a celebratory howl at the moon, forcing our small circle to break apart in an effort to save our eardrums. My dad and Gwyneth pretty much shot our sanity out for the night.
Jasper pulls me to the side. “Don’t worry, Bizzy. I’m on this. In fact, I’ll take care of it right now.” He takes off in their direction before I can wish him luck. Something tells me he’ll need far more than that. He might need a crucifix and some holy water to stop this heretical catastrophe from happening. My father and his mother are a train wreck in any capacity.
I’m about to head over to my sister and Emmie when a dark-haired, smoldering beauty steps in my path.
“Hello, Camila,” I say, lacking the proper enthusiasm. And as much as I’d like to thank my father and his eager-to-be bride for my morose mood, I have a feeling the vixen before me has something to do with it, too. There’s something about that smirk on her face that lets me know we’re still very much locking horns over Jasper.
“Bizzy.” Her lips curl with dangerous intent. “I suppose Jasper told you about our little talk. Congratulations, by the way.” Her left brow hooks into her forehead as if she were amused.
“Thank you. We’re excited about the future.”
“Oh, you should be.” The whites of her eyes glint under the duress of the lights strung up along the booths to our right. “You should be very excited about getting to know Jasper. He’s a very exciting man.” She shrugs, her dark eyes digging deeper into mine.
But he’s not as exciting as you, is he, Bizzy?
My own eyes widen a notch and a dark laugh strums from her.
That’s right. I’ve figured out your little secret. You see, I’ve known about Leo’s abilities all along. It’s what drew me to him to begin with—that captivating feeling that this gorgeous man was somehow always in the know. Always capable of hijacking my next thought. Of course, I was able to pull it out of him quite easily. She hikes a shoulder. A woman does know how to get certain things from a man, doesn’t she, Bizzy? She openly frowns at me. What do you think Jasper would do if he found out about your special ability? She rolls her eyes. I guess we’ll find out when the time comes. And what do you think the government would do if they found out about the neat little party trick you have up your proverbial sleeve?
My fingers float to my lips in horror. Camila is like a train wreck I can’t look away from.
I bet they would be very interested to speak to you, Bizzy Baker. In fact, I bet you’ll be far too busy—an irony I will never get enough of—once they cart you off to some government testing facility for good. I’m sure they have a special division for people of your talent. What do you think? Russian spy? I bet you’ll be traveling abroad quite a bit. That is, if they let you out of your holding cell.
I clear my throat. “Why are you staring at me?”
She belts out a laugh. Nice try, Bizzy. Has that line worked for you before?
She looks to her left and I follow her gaze to where Jasper seems to be having a rather animated discussion with both his mother and his brother, Max.
Camila steps over and effectively blocks my view of them. Of course, there is a way to avoid that whole awful mess. I’m thinking a rather abrupt breakup is in the cards for the two of you. She bleeds a dark smile my way once again. Japer is mine, Bizzy. And don’t you ever forget it.
She takes off, and I watch as she makes her way back to Jordy.
Camila has staked her claim to Jasper and driven her spear right through my heart in the process.
If Camila wants a war, she’ll get one.
And I have a feeling my relationship with Jasper might be the very first casualty.
*Need more Cider Cove? Pick up Santa Claws Calamity (Country Cottage Mysteries 3) NOW!
Recipe
Country Cottage Café
Pumpkin Spice Mini Muffins
Hello everyone! It’s me, Bizzy Baker! The Country Cottage Café has an amazing recipe for pumpkin spice mini muffins and I just have to share it with you. As you know, I’m a bit of a disaster in the kitchen but my best friend Emmie knows how to whip out a top notch treat that will be a crowd pleaser every time. And that’s exactly why she’s in charge of the kitchen at the Country Cottage Café. You must try these mini muffins. They are to die for. Jasper and I cannot get enough of their pumpkin spice goodness.
Happy eating!
XOXO ~ Bizzy
1 ½ cup all-purpose flour
¾ cup sugar
5 tbs butter
2 tsp baking powder
2 eggs
2 tsp vanilla
1 tsp cinnamon
¼ tsp nutmeg
¼ tsp ground cloves
¼ tsp ground ginger
¼ salt
1 cup pumpkin puree
½ cup evaporated milk
Preheat oven to 375°
Line a mini muffin pan with paper pastry cups
Add into a mixing bowl sifted flour, sugar, cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg, cloves, baking powder, and salt. Cut butter into the bowl until crumbled.
In an additional mixing bowl add pumpkin puree, evaporated milk, eggs and vanilla. Add pumpkin mixture in with flour mixture and incorporate.
Bake for 15-20 minutes until you can insert a toothpick and it pulls away clean from center.
*yields about 24 mini muffins or 12 standard size muffins.
Serve warm and enjoy!
Preview: Santa Claws Calamity (Country Cottage Mysteries 3)
Addison Moore & Bellamy Bloom
My name is Bizzy Baker, and I can read minds—not every mind, not every time but most of the time and believe me when I say it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
It’s Christmas in Cider Cove and it’s time for the annual house decorating competition. But on the night set to determine the winner, the residents of Candy Cane Lane get more than they bargained for. They don’t just get an award—they get murder.
Bizzy Baker runs the Country Cottage Inn, has the ability to pry into the darkest recesses of both the human and animal mind, and has just stumbled upon a body. With the help of her kitten, Fish, a mutt named Sherlock Bones and an ornery yet dangerously good looking homicide detective, Bizzy is determined to find the killer.
Cider Cove, Maine is the premiere destination for fun and relaxation. But when a body turns up, it’s the premiere destination for murder.
*Don’t miss it! Pick up Santa Claws Calamity (Country Cottage Mysteries 3) NOW!
Preview: Bow Wow Big House (Country Cottage Mysteries 4)
Addison Moore & Bellamy Bloom
My name is Bizzy Baker, and I can read minds—not every mind, not every time but most of the time and believe me when I say it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.
A doggie fashion show is afoot at the local shelter and hopefully each cute pooch will find a home to call their own. I’ve been enlisted to help out with the endeavor and I’m more than happy to do it. But trouble seems to follow me wherever I go and that body I stumbled upon quickly complicates everything. Not to mention a certain someone is determined to out my ability to read minds—and this time, they just might succeed.
Bizzy Baker runs the Country Cottage Inn, has the ability to pry into the darkest recesses of both the human and animal mind, and has just stumbled upon a body. With the
help of her kitten, Fish, a mutt named Sherlock Bones and an ornery yet dangerously good looking homicide detective, Bizzy is determined to find the killer.
Cider Cove, Maine is the premiere destination for fun and relaxation. But when a body turns up, it’s the premiere destination for murder.
The Country Cottage Inn is known for its hospitality. Leaving can be murder.
*Head back to Cider Cove with Bow Wow Big House (Country Cottage Mysteries 4) NOW!
Preview: Cutie Pies and Deadly Lies (Murder in the Mix)
Addison Moore
Love your books with humor, sass and murder? Love Janet Evanovich? You’ll devour the Murder in the Mix Series!
XO Enjoy!
My name is Lottie Lemon and I see dead people. Okay, so I rarely see dead people, mostly I see creatures of the dearly departed variety, aka dead pets. And for some reason those sweet, fluffy albeit paranormal cuties always seem to act as a not-so-great harbinger of deadly things to come for their previous owner. So when I saw that sweet orange tabby twirling around my landlord’s ankles, I figured Merilee was in for trouble. Personally, I was hoping for a skinned knee—what I got was a top spot in an open homicide investigation. Throw in a hot judge and an ornery detective that oozes testosterone and that pretty much sums up my life right about now. Have I mentioned how cute that detective is?
Lottie Lemon has a bakery to tend to, a budding romance with perhaps one too many suitors and she has the supernatural ability to see dead pets—which are always harbingers for ominous things to come. Throw in the occasional ghost of the human variety, a string of murders and her insatiable thirst for justice and you’ll have more chaos than you know what to do with.
Living in the small town of Honey Hollow can be murder.
**New a new cozy series? Cutie Pies and Deadly Lies (Murder in the Mix 1) has you covered! Happy reading!
Chapter 1
I see dead people.
Okay, so I don’t see dead people—at least not on the regular—I see dead pets. Yes, pets. At first, I had no idea what these hologram-like beasts were up to until after an unfortunate run of something akin to trial and error that I concluded each dead pet was some sort of a harbinger for its previous owner, a very, very bad omen if you will. Sometimes I see them floating around willy-nilly in a crowd and it’s hard to decipher exactly who the bad luck is coming for. But on occasion, I see them attached firmly to the side of whomever the incoming disaster is set to strike. I’m not sure why this is my lot in life. In fact, my lot in life hasn’t been so stellar in general. My birth mother thought it was a brilliant idea to leave me on the floor of a firehouse, and that’s where a brave and thankfully curious firefighter spotted me, swaddled up and squirming. It just so happens that I was adopted by that sweet man, Joseph Lemon, and his wife, Miranda, and gifted a book-loving big sister, Lainey, currently Honey Hollow’s lead librarian, as well as a feisty and shenanigan-prone younger sister, Meg, who is also known as Madge the Badge on the Las Vegas female wrestling circuit. And being that Las Vegas and all of its glittery wrestling venues are a good distance from Honey Hollow, Vermont, we don’t see her very often.
But back to that strange gift of mine, or curse as it more often than not feels—I have zero clue where it came from or why, or even the major significance of it. A part of me has always believed that something alarmingly supernatural occurred around the time of my birth, and that’s exactly why my birth mama decided she so desperately needed to offload a seven-pound chunk of bad luck.
The very first time I put the furry-dearly-departed and outright chaos together was when I was seven and I saw the flicker of a barely-there turtle swimming next to Otis Fisher’s ear. Later that day, Otis fell from a tree and broke his arm. At the time, I wasn’t too sorry about it either. That boy had a mad hankering for pulling on my pigtails. And as fate would have it, the boy who lived to tease me, one day admitted to having a mad crush on yours truly. And post that amorous admission we dated on and off for about three years. If I thought that boy was annoying in elementary school, he outdid himself in high school. In fact, Otis—or Bear as he’s affectionately known around these parts for having once chased off a black bear before it could invade and devour an entire herd of innocent tourists who were on a leaf peeping tour—is one of the reasons I left Honey Hollow to begin with. No sooner did my high school diploma cool off than I hightailed it to New York—Columbia University to be exact—where I’ve had the displeasure to ogle other people’s dead pets.
I’m quick to push what I’ve affectionately dubbed the New York Disaster out of my mind as I take a step outside of my apartment. It’s a duplex, actually, and my landlords, the Simonson sisters, live upstairs. They’re the primary reason I’m headed out on this unforgivably crisp September morning wearing my Sunday best, even though it’s smack in the middle of the week, Wednesday. Usually, I’d be happily snug in my favorite jeans, sporting my comfiest sweatshirt with my hair in a ponytail, and on my way to the Honey Pot Diner where I’m currently employed as the chief baker, not that there’s anyone baking underneath me but, hey, I like the title. Instead, I’m stuffed in a pencil skirt, two sizes too small, and a blouse that looks as if I swiped it off a mannequin at Goodwill, partially because I did. Okay, so I don’t own many Sunday clothes per se, but only because the local church is all about casual attire. They’re far more concerned with keeping your soul free from the flames than they are about your accruements, but I digress. I’m not headed to work or any holy house in the great state of Vermont. I’m headed to court—small claims court to be exact—all the way over in Ashford County.
Just as I’m about to head to my beat-up old hatchback, I spot both the aforementioned Simonson sisters at the foot of the driveway squabbling amongst themselves about who knows what—most likely me. It is me they’re hauling to court after all, and over something completely ridiculous.
It just so happens that last summer at the county fair my blueberry buckle pie won the coveted blue ribbon in its division, and it seemed as if all of Ashford County were thrilled for me, at least all of the townsfolk here in Honey Hollow. But the Simonson sisters were decidedly not enthused in the least. Sometime between the taste test and the judging, someone edited my entry to read Simple Simonson Pie and crossed out the all-important part about the blueberry buckle. Regretfully, a riot of laughter ensued, mostly from the fine, and, might I add, intuitive folk here in Honey Hollow, but I swear on all that is holy that good time only lasted about three thrilling minutes before I made the correction. Although, to hear Mora Anne and Merilee tell it, the aftermath not only bruised their egos and reputation but managed to cause a retail apocalypse down at the shop they own and run. It turns out, The Busy Bee Craft Shop was short on patrons and dollar bills alike and had a difficult time paying its rent last month, so the only logical solution they could come up with was to sue me for every last red cent.
Both sisters are dressed head to toe in long velvet coats with ruffled shirts peeking out from underneath like a couple of throwbacks from some long-forgotten steampunk era. It’s eerie the way they choose to dress alike each and every day despite the fact they’ve been on the planet for twenty-six long years—and twenty-seven respectively. I know this because I happen to be the exact same age as Merilee. We’ve all grown up together, but the way they treat me you’d think they were my bitter and scorned elders.
Merilee snarls as if she were rabid. “Well, look who’s here? If it isn’t Honey Hollow’s favorite jester who will soon be performing live in court.” Those narrow slits she calls eyes light up like cauldrons. The sisters have always held a witchy appeal to me, what with their long, dark, stringy hair and bony, long fingers. The fact they look as if they suck on lemons day and night doesn’t exactly help their plight. “Are you ready to have your bank account turned inside out?”
I scoff at the thought. If they think this is the day they hit a financial jackpot, they’d better think again. Working shifts at the Honey Pot Diner doesn’t afford me m
uch of a bank account. The only thing in my savings at the moment is enough to cover my rent and Pancake’s Fancy Beast cat food. I’ve had Pancake now for over a year, and he officially qualifies as the greatest love of my life.
I glance over to the living room window where he’s currently monitoring the situation while licking his paw. Pancake is a butter yellow Himalayan with a rusty-tipped tail and dart of a line running between his eyes. He is a precious little angel now that he’s no longer using my leather ottoman as a scratching post and chewing down all the cables and cords he could get his hungry little paws on. The entire apartment has been cat-proofed, and Pancake hasn’t forgiven me yet.
An icy breeze picks up and the row of liquid ambers and maples that lines the street shed the first smattering of red and gold fall leaves. I steal a moment to take in the glory of nature on full display around the two wicked witches determined to make my life a living hell. Our little corner of Vermont has a habit of turning into a golden and ruby wonderland this time of year, so much so that the leaf peeping keeps the tourists coming in strong right up until winter.
Speaking of tourist traps, the Honey Hollow Apple Festival is coming up later this month, and I’ve been asked to supply the pies for the occasion. After my shift was over at the Honey Pot last night, I baked two dozen personal-sized caramel apple pies—cutie pies as I like to call them—and I need to deliver them straight to the orchard this afternoon because the owners requested a sample for their employees. My guess is they want to be sure my baking skills are up to snuff before they live to regret the decision come the day of the festival. But I guarantee they’ll far from regret it. In fact, the only thing they might regret is not ordering enough to keep up with demand. It took me weeks to perfect the right combination of caramel and spices, and I even threw in a handful of crushed walnuts into each tiny pie to give it a little crunch. But it’s that buttery caramel that steals the limelight from those golden delicious apples. It’s so smooth and creamy, my best friend Keelie and I spent an hour last night licking the bowls clean ourselves.
Dog Days of Murder Page 20