“I just can’t wait until next fall because as soon as the weather gets crisp, I’m raiding Jasper’s sweatshirts. His flannels are fair game, too,” I say. I don’t mind talking to either Fish or Sherlock while I’m out in public because just about everybody talks to their pets around here. But, come to think of it, I’m amassing quite the reputation as the town loon. I’d better knock it off just to be safe. Or in the least, keep it down to a whisper.
Sherlock lets out a much more invigorated bark. What about the wedding? Will you wear one of his sweatshirts for that? A flannel perhaps? The green and red one with the hole in the pocket is my favorite on him. I’m sure it will look great on you, too.
I can’t help but laugh. “No, actually, I’m thinking of surprising him with a brand new dress—for me, of course. Although, technically, for him,” I mutter that last part to myself as we come upon the rows and rows of businesses that line either side of the bustling street. There are sandwich shops, an ice cream parlor, a coffee house, my sister’s soap and candle shop, a craft store, a candy palace, several eateries, and boutiques peppering the entire length of it. Cider Cove really does have it all. You would never have to leave town unless you really wanted to. And judging by the wall-to-wall bodies bobbing up and down the sidewalks, no one really wants to.
In the distance I spot a familiar mother-daughter twosome as they stand back to admire their handiwork—or at least that of Georgie’s—and I speed that way. Both Juni and Georgie have donned a matching set of floor-length peach kaftans with three-quarter sleeves and white wildflowers printed along the border.
“Hello, ladies,” I say as I get a full glimpse of what they’re looking at and I let the leash slip from my hand. “Oh my God, Georgie, this is magnificent!”
Last fall, Mayor Woods hired Georgie to partake in the Cider Cove beautification initiative. Her job was to create a stunning mosaic that reflected scenes from our cozy corner of Maine and depict them in a series of pictures made entirely of reclaimed glass and mirrors.
“Georgie.” I press my hand to my chest as I take in the expansive mosaic work that goes on for thirty feet at least. There are pelicans and lighthouses, a white sandy cove, lots of miniature houses dotting a verdant green landscape, and—I suck in a quick breath. “Georgie? Is that the inn?” I point to a white boxy building covered with what looks like ivy, just the way the inn is covered with it as well.
“You bet your bright red bottom it is. I wouldn’t create a landmark of this magnitude without it. And those two little bitty beasts in the corner”—she points to a couple of pointy-eared four-legged creatures that I can easily identify as my very own fur babies—“that’s none other than the handsome and ever so hungry Sherlock Bones and his little chew toy, Fish.” She’s got that right. Sherlock has been known to graze on Fish a time or two. Usually it’s no harm, no foul, right up until Fish decides she’s in the mood to claw the canine’s eyes out.
Juni slaps me on the shoulder. “She’s a beaut, ain't she?”
“Yes, she is,” I say and Sherlock lets out a quick bark of approval himself.
Georgie picks up his leash. “So where are we off to, Bizzy? Is it already that time of day? Time to track down a killer?”
Juni claps her hands together. “I sure hope so. Let me guess? A tattoo parlor?”
“What? No. Just—” I turn my head to steal a quick glance across the street and spot movement around the entry to Killer Books. There’s a tall man speaking to a sheriff’s deputy, and as the crowd moves in waves, I catch a glimpse of an entire row of patrol cars sitting out front. But that man with his dark hair, slight slouch—he looks familiar. “I think that’s Thomas Dean standing outside the bookshop. He’s the manager I met last night.”
Juni sucks in a quick breath. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get over there and clobber him over the head until he confesses to the crime.”
I make a face and shake my head. “I’m thinking something a little more subtle.”
Georgie heads to her car parked just a few feet away and comes back with a trio of menacing-looking hammers.
“Choose your weapon, girls. We don’t talk to potential killers without arming ourselves first.”
Juni doesn’t hesitate in snatching one up. “Just a word of warning, ladies. If he’s cute, I’m calling dibs.”
“What about Spike?” I ask as I take the tool I’m pretty sure is a mallet from Georgie.
“Pfft.” Juni is quick to blow off her new beau. “What Spike don’t know won’t hurt him.” A greasy grin glides across her face before falling away abruptly. “Besides, I don’t see any bling on these fingers. If that man wants to make an honest woman out of me, he can figure out exactly how to secure it. Now come on, girls. I smell a delicious felon in the midst.”
“Me, too.” Georgie wraps her hand around Sherlock’s leash and the three of us cross the street along with a mob of tourists. We come upon Killer Books, where the rest of the crowd walks right on past it without so much as trying to glance inside the darkened windows. But even if the windows weren’t heavily tinted, you couldn’t see inside, considering the fact they were covered in butcher paper overnight. An attending sheriff’s deputy stands outside wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, his hands folded by his waist, his weapon menacingly poking from his side.
Thomas says a few more words to him before heading in the direction of Lather and Light. His dark hair is slicked back, and the
