The woman stretches a tight smile. “Ember is driven, all right. Nobody will deny her that.” She winks my way. “Nice to meet you, Bizzy. If you’ll excuse me, I think those donuts are calling my name.” She heads into the store just as Emmie attempts to hold out the tray in her hands.
“I’ve got some right here!” she calls out, but it’s too late. “They’re apple cider donuts,” she says, waving the tray toward Ember. “I baked them fresh this morning.”
Ember lets out a hearty moan. “Donuts are my weakness. I’m Ember Sweet,” she says to Emmie. “Welcome to Suds and Illuminations, the very place for all of your soap and candle needs.” She quickly snaps up a handful of sweet treats and immediately begins to nosh on them. “So good!” She moans once again before something to her left snags her attention. “Flint!” she calls out as a dark-haired man with a clean-shaven face and dimples comes up. He looks to be in his early thirties, handsome to a fault, and just as brooding while dressed in a well-fitted suit. No sooner does he land by our side than he sheds what looks to be a well-rehearsed smile.
“Ladies.” He holds out his hand. “Flint Butler, newly elected council member. Thank you for your votes if indeed I had them.”
“Congratulations,” Emmie and I say in unison. We often respond at the very same time in the very same manner, mostly because Emmie and I are basically the same person sans a supernatural quirk or two.
Ember clears her throat. “Now now, ladies, he’s all mine.” She bubbles with a laugh.
“That I am.” His smile pulls a notch tighter. And if I have my way, that not-so-good time ends today.
My mouth falls open at the thought.
A crowd moves in, and the two of them drift off to greet the masses as I pull Em off to the side and fill her in on his dark thought.
Emmie tweaks her brows. “It sounds like the identity thief is about to have her perky bubble popped. That’s too bad. I don’t wish a broken heart on anyone.”
“Me either.” I glance back and note Flint in what looks to be a heated argument with another man, about the same age, lighter hair, this one is wearing a flannel and jeans. The man he’s with holds out his hand and Flint gives it an angry slap, but it didn’t quite look like a high-five or a handshake. “Look at that.”
Emmie leans in. “You think we should call Leo and Jasper?”
No sooner does she say it than the two men part ways. The man in the flannel glares over at Ember before turning and stalking off in the opposite direction.
Emmie sighs. “Why do I get the feeling Ember Sweet isn’t so sweet after all? She does seem to like my donuts, though,” she says as we watch her snap up a few more from the tray my sister is holding in front of her.
“That might be the only sweet thing about her.”
Emmie drifts off to make sure the refreshment tables are still fully stocked with plenty of donuts for the entire state of Maine while I walk up and down the street, taking in the jovial crowd and keeping an eye out for anything nefarious, but there doesn’t seem to be anything but joy in Cider Cove today.
The high school orchestra begins in on a cheery tune while Mayor Woods belts something out over the speaker regarding the town’s centennial. But I tune her out as I crane my neck for signs of my sister or her feisty old friend turned nemesis, but there’s no trace of either of them.
I scoop Fish into my arms and dot a kiss to her furry little forehead. “I’d better head over to Suds and Illuminations and make sure Macy isn’t making good on that homicide she threatened.”
Sherlock barks. I hear something, Bizzy. I think I hear cats. He strides ahead with a violent jolt, and I’m hardly able to hold onto the leash as he leads the way.
Cats? Really? Fish groans. Oh for goodness’ sake, Bizzy. Drop the leash. He knows his way home, and we’re not lucky enough to lose him.
“Fish.” A small laugh strums from me as I playfully scold her. Fish and Sherlock get along well enough, but they tend to fight like siblings—or dare I say, cats and dogs. Deep down, I know she loves him. I’m pretty sure at least.
Sherlock threads through the crowd and leads us through a split between the buildings that houses Suds and Illuminations and the coffee shop next door.
“Sherlock, where are you taking us? This leads to the alley.”
Cats! Cats! He barks and sniffs his way along as he continues his charge.
Alley cats, bleh. Fish sticks her tongue out, and I can’t help but laugh.
“You started off as an alley cat, remember?” It’s true. I found Fish behind Macy’s shop when she was just a few weeks old, and we’ve been as close as sisters ever since.
Sherlock stops abruptly and gives a soft bark as he comes upon a small box that seems to be moving.
I lean in and gasp as I spot not one but three black and white striped kittens with stunning blue eyes.
“Well, aren’t you adorable!” I’m about to bend over and pick one up when I spot a boot lying to the side of the box. I step around the box, and to
