Sherlock barks. That’s our killer then. I say you lure a confession out of him by way of bacon.
Fish yowls as she smacks Sherlock on the top of his head with her paw, You can’t lure a confession out of anyone with bacon.
You can if you withhold it from them. He barks right back.
I look to Jasper. “Sherlock thinks bacon is the answer.”
“It’s the answer to a lot of tough questions.” Jasper pats the spot next to him on the couch, and Sherlock jumps up. “Maybe I’ll try bribing the suspects with bacon. Stranger things have happened.” Those silver eyes of his land on mine. “Is it too soon for you to take another shower? If you won’t let me join in this time, the least you can do is let me watch.”
“Too soon and too late at night. But I believe there’s still a lesson I’m supposed to teach you that involves handcuffs.”
Jasper scoops me up and takes off for the bedroom.
I teach Jasper one lesson after the other all night long.
And when I finally fall asleep, I dream of Ember Sweet lying in the alleyway with her eyes opened wide as she stares vacantly to the sky.
“Help me, Bizzy. Find my killer.” Her head snaps my way, but she’s not looking at me. She’s looking right at that box filled with three sweet little kittens. “They hold the key. They know who did this. End this before I end you.”
I wake up with a start and sit straight up.
Why do I feel as if I’ve just been threatened from the great beyond?
An icy breeze blows in, and I look to find the bedroom window wide open. And just as I’m about to get up and close it—it slams shut all on its own.
My heart pounds against my chest so hard and fierce, it might just pound right through.
Not only do I need to solve this case for the justice Ember deserves, for the freedom of my sister, but I think I just added my own sanity to the list.
Ember Sweet’s killer won’t have much to be thankful for this Thanksgiving.
I’ll make sure of that myself.
Chapter 15
Thanksgiving Day is one of those holidays that I look forward to all year long just for the food alone.
And even though Emmie and her army of chefs do the cooking for the inn, I always get up early and join them in the kitchen. This morning Emmie and I worked like mad, mass-producing those apple cider mini donuts at an alarming rate. Since I’m more or less a jinx in the kitchen, I handled the postproduction end of it—dusting those mini miracles with powdered sugar. Jordy was helping out, too, and among the three of us, we created a mountain of powdered delights, enough to feed all of Maine straight through the rest of the month.
But it’s the thick scent of turkey permeating the air in all of Cider Cove that has done me in. I cannot wait until things settle down and we’re right back at the café enjoying a bountiful Thanksgiving dinner. I’ve invited my mother, my sister, all of Jasper’s family, and every member of the staff to have at the buffet that will blissfully take place in just a few hours. And then after we have our fill of turkey, ham, cornbread stuffing, vat-fulls of mashed potatoes and gravy, along with the rest of the fixings, we move on to dessert. We’re talking some serious pie business is about to take place. We’ve got your pumpkin, apple, pecan, and sweet potato pies. Emmie always includes a cream-filled pumpkin roll to the mix, and I plan on having a little of everything. Okay, fine. A lot of everything. On a day like today it would be criminal not to.
Jasper and I spent the last few days trying to dig up anything we could find on the mysterious Laurel Crabtree from Connecticut, and we did find several contenders, but all of them were accounted for in other places during that infamous summer. So far it’s been nothing but dead ends when it comes to our mystery woman.
Emmie and I just finished loading a truck full of donuts onto the refreshment table. I’ve got Fish and the kittens strapped to my chest like a bomb—a bomb filled with cuteness, not to mention I’ve got Sherlock close by on a leash.
The one good thing about having all of these cats so close to me is that they work like mini heaters keeping me warm despite the arctic breeze. And if those dark and brooding clouds overhead have their way, we’re going to have some holiday snow coming right up on the horizon—as soon as tonight.
I can’t see the parade! Fish does her best to crane her neck every which way.
Sherlock barks up at her, and his amber eyes have the same sparkle to them that they get when he thinks about his favorite salted meat.
Tell her it’s not time, Bizzy. But as soon as it starts, I’m making a path straight to the front.
“Don’t worry, Fish.” I give her a quick pat. “Sherlock has us covered. We won’t miss a thing.”
The kittens mewl as they do their best to peek out of my new wonky quilt papoose. I’ll admit, Georgie hit a home run with this one.
We’re back here again, aren’t we? Pumpkin muses.
Spice gives a quick look around before sinking back against my chest. So long as we don’t end up in a cardboard box, I don’t care where Bizzy takes us.
Hear, hear, Cookie mewls while stretching her cute little paws over my chest.
“Oh”—Emmie gives my arm a squeeze as we navigate through the crowd that’s gathered along Main Street to see the big parade—“I almost forgot to tell you about the pumpkin cheesecake I made for tonight. I know how much you love cheesecake, so I made it in your honor.”
A hard moan comes from me. “You know me well. I’ll have a double helping.”
She sucks in
