“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
