Killer Books was once again crawling with sheriff’s deputies as they dusted the area for prints. Unfortunately for the Baker clan, the last person to see the book in the case was my mother.
This was surmised the hard way once Jasper called me at seven in the morning to confirm her prints were all over the glass case. Apparently, my mother was so impressed to see the book, she did a pantomime over that wall of glass that separated them. Of course, she said she was merely admiring it. Sort of the way I was merely holding the murder weapon. I’m not sure how we’ve managed to do it, but we ended up knee-deep in doo-doo when all we wanted was an exciting Friday night out.
It’s like we’re cursed.
It’s like I’m cursed.
I sag for a moment as I stare out from behind the reception counter over at the open double door entry that leads into the inn. It’s a pristine blue-sky day outdoors. The warm breeze blows in now and again, and it holds the scent of salty sea air.
It’s just after four in the afternoon, and the tourists are pretty much settled for the day. I was looking forward to spending some time with Jasper tonight, but he just left a message that let me know he’ll be working late.
Poor guy never came home last night. Isn’t there some law against working around the clock?
And how long can a grown man go without any sleep?
He’s got to be exhausted. And I’m sure Camila, the minx, is right there catering to his every need.
I wonder who I could bribe in an effort to get her transferred?
Or better yet, shipped to another state—another country entirely.
Don’t they need secretaries in Belgium?
Maybe I can throw in a year’s supply of fine Belgian chocolate to sweeten the deal.
But nevertheless, I’m not worried about it. Jasper isn’t interested in her anymore. He proposed to me. If anything, Camila should be eating a healthy dose of reality each day when she sees Jasper so close, and yet his heart is so far. It would kill me if I were in her shoes. And just like that, a part of me feels sorry for Camila Ryder.
I pop another bite-size lemon tart into my mouth. It’s number sixteen or twenty-six. I stopped keeping track after the first dozen.
The Country Cottage Café has been baking them nonstop, and I’ve kept a platter on the reception counter for the guests. It’s just me at the helm for now. Grady will be in soon for the late shift. I was hoping Georgie and Juni would have tracked down Brooklynn Knight by now, but no such luck.
Gatsby comes up and taps his paw against my thigh. You look like you need a pat on the back. I can’t reach, but how about a pat on the leg? He taps his paw over me again and again.
“Aw, thank you. And you’re spot-on.” I bend over and give him a kiss on the furry forehead. “You have the most beautiful big brown eyes and longest eyelashes. And you’re always smiling. Did you know that? I bet you do that on purpose, you’re just so sweet.”
Fish yowls. I think Gatsby is sweet, too. She stretches her front paws over the marble counter and they glide forward, seemingly forever as she arches her back. Can we keep him, Bizzy?
Sherlock barks. He can stay, if he has to.
I can’t help but note the not-so-veiled jealous tone in his voice. The animals always seem to understand what they’re saying by way of the tiniest mewl or bark.
“Come here, Sherlock.” I make my way around the counter as he walks up to me. “I love you. Yes, I do.” I give his large bat ears a quick jiggle. “You are so precious, and smart and funny. And you’re pretty cute, too.”
“That’s what all the girls say,” a masculine voice chirps from behind and I turn to find my brother standing tall in all his Baker glory.
“Huxley.” I perk up and straighten. “What are you doing here?” I head over and pull him into a quick hug. His dark hair is wavy enough to give it some body, and those pale eyes of his stand out like sirens against his dark suit. “Did you just come from work?”
“Actually”— his head twitches to the side—“I just came from an early dinner with our mother, the book thief.”
I make a face. “How’s she doing? Last I spoke to her, neither of us had been properly caffeinated and things went sideways quickly.”
“Did she accuse you of stealing the book?”
“No. But she did say she was going to look into buying me an evil eye pendant for Christmas. She thinks I’ve got a dark cloud of bad luck following me around.”
He shrugs. “She brought it up to me—the jewelry. Don’t look so down. She’s talking diamonds and sapphires. It’ll look nice.”
“Well, I won’t wear it. For one, it’s against my religion. And two, I don’t believe in bad luck.”
“Bad luck believes in you.” Hux claps his hands and both Gatsby and Sherlock head his way.
“You’re not funny.”
Fish lets out a tiny meow. He does have a point.
I shoot her a look.
“Okay, fine. You’ve got a point.” I turn to my brother. “So how did dinner go last night?”
He winces. “That’s actually why I’m here.” He gives Gatsby a quick pat before straightening. “What’s this tension I sensed with you last night? Is there something going on between you and Mackenzie?”
I give a hard blink. “You could say that.”
“How long has this been going on?” He looks genuinely baffled.
“Let’s see, technically, since I was thirteen,” I say, stepping over and picking up Fish and holding her close like a shield. I might need it. Mack has always been trouble whether or not she’s here in person. “Did you know she tossed me into a whiskey barrel full of water and rotten apples? Fast forward to high school—she snatched
