A Killer TailCountry Cottage Mysteries 7
Addison Moore Bellamy Bloom
Contents
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Book Description
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Recipe Country Cottage Café
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Acknowledgments
About the Authors
Copyright © 2020 by Addison Moore, Bellamy Bloom
This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.
All Rights Reserved.
This eBook is for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase any additional copies for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Copyright © 2020 by Addison Moore, Bellamy Bloom
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Book Description
The Country Cottage Inn is known for its hospitality. Leaving can be murder.
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.
The local bookshop in Cider Cove is hosting a murder mystery party and everyone in attendance is having a killer good time—right up until a body turns up. It doesn’t help that I just announced that I was the perpetrator. It doesn’t help that the entire town thinks I just might be the killer. I have to clear my good name, and most importantly, I need to track down the real killer before another homicide takes place, namely mine.
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 premier destination for fun and relaxation. But when a body turns up, it’s the premier destination for murder.
Chapter 1
My name is Bizzy Baker, and I read minds. Not every mind, not every time, but it happens, and believe me when I say, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Like now for instance.
Look at this tall drink of water. My mother shakes her head, her eyes thirsty for more of what she sees. I might just have to slip him my number later.
Ugh. There are some people’s minds I wish I never had to tune into, and my mother just so happens to be at the top of the list. It’s not always a gift to inadvertently pry into other people’s private musings, especially the lusty, private musings of the woman who gave birth to me.
“Wyatt Sanders.” The tall drink of water in question holds out a hand, and I quickly shake it as the chunky ring on his forefinger gives me a slight pinch. I glance down and note it looks like a class ring, a thick gold band with a black stone with some sort of silver etching over it. “I’m the owner here.” He grins proudly. “Welcome to Killer Books, where every novel is murderously good.” His dark hair frames his friendly face, and those ocean blue eyes of his look as if they’re penetrating your soul. There’s something about him that makes you believe he’s genuinely interested in you, and according to that look on my mother’s face, she’s taking his interest in her to a whole other level.
“Bizzy Baker,” I say in an effort to break the spell he’s inadvertently casting on my mother. “I manage the Country Cottage Inn at the end of the road just above the cove. This is my mother, Ree Baker.” I frown her way, hoping she’ll pick up on my disapproving cues.
“Pleasure to meet you,” she coos right at him. “I just love a classic whodunit.” She laughs as if it were the punch line to a joke, and I can’t help but note she’s blushing. My mother is as strong as she is svelte. Her feathered hair is a throwback from the eighties and so is that popped-collar preppy look she loves to perpetuate. But that’s one hundred percent her style, and to me it’s sort of iconic, just the way she is. My mother had to raise my sister, brother, and me pretty much on her own. Our father was far too busy chasing skirts, although he was still vaguely on the sidelines of our lives. He’s a great guy nonetheless, sort of a man-child, the quintessential boy who never grew up, so in that vein my mother had to be the firm and strong one for her restless brood.
“A classic whodunit?” Wyatt leans toward my mother an inch too close. “Upstairs, make a right, second bookshelf over, you’ll find my favorite section. Some say Miss Marple is Agatha Christie’s best work, but I’m a fan of Hercule Poirot.”
“Ohh,” Mom moans as if that was some flirtation come-on he just doled out, and since stranger things have happened, I’m not entirely discounting it. “I’m a Hercule Poirot fan myself. I’d better go check them out.”
His smile widens. “There’s
