“Ooh”—Bobbie’s eyes grow in size—“with white chocolate chips, too. These look amazing. Don’t mind if I do.” She snatches one up, and Lacey is quick to follow just before the rest of us attack the platter like a bunch of cookie hungry vultures. “Mmm!” Bobbie moans as she takes a bite. “Oh, Bizzy, did you make these?”
“Not me,” I’m quick to correct. “My maiden name might be Baker, but I’m anything but. I’m more of a bad luck charm in the kitchen than anything else. This is all Emmie Crosby’s handiwork,” I say as I pull her in close. “And she happens to be my best friend. We’ve known each other since we were little. In fact, both of our first names are Elizabeth, and we’ve been using our nicknames ever since to avoid confusion.”
“Wow”—Lacey muses as she looks to the two of us—“you both have the same long dark hair and blue eyes. Bizzy, you look more like Emmie’s sister than you do Macy’s.”
Our little circle shares a warm laugh.
Emmie tips her ear their way. “So I hear you’re a rather famous set of best friends.” She holds the platter out once again, and the two of them each go for another cookie. “How long have the two of you known one another? Preschool? Utero?”
Bobbie shakes her head. “Nothing like that. We met a few years back at a self-help convention and we just hit it off.”
Lacey nods. “We just knew it was right. I mean, everything she says is funny.” She leans in and gives a hearty wink. “And I just so happen to make it funnier.”
Another laugh breaks out among us.
“I’d better get these cookies to the refreshment table.” Emmie shoots me a look as she takes off. I think they’re nuts, Bizzy. But don’t worry. I’ll be front and center for the funeral.
A private smile twitches on my lips. Just a few months back, I let Emmie in on the fact I have the ability of prying into people’s minds. I thought she’d hate me for holding out on her for so long, but she was nothing more than amused.
Bobbie reaches over and pats Fish on the forehead. “Oh, you’re just too precious. What’s your name, sweet stuff?” She claws at my poor cat with her blood-red two-inch long fingernails.
How she ever gets anything done with those, I will never know.
“This is Fish,” I say, giving Fish a quick kiss on her nose. “She’s been with me for about two years now, and she’s smart as a whip.”
Smart enough to know these women are certifiable, Fish mewls. I say you call Jordy and have the entire lot of them booted out of here. And make them take their little pink casket, too.
“And she has great instincts,” I add.
“Fish?” Bobbie laughs. “How clever! I’ve got my cat, Sugar, with me here today.” She cranes her neck past me. “Diane? Diane,” she calls out. “Come on over.” She gives an aggressive wave. “Sugar’s got a friend to meet.”
A woman about my mother’s age with short platinum hair and a warm smile steps up, holding a tiny gray ball of fuzz in her arms, and around her ankles bounces a red and white curly-haired pup.
“Here you go.” She hands the kitten over to Bobbie, and we all coo at the fuzzy gray cutie with the denim blue eyes.
“This is my sweet Sugar.” Bobbie nuzzles her nose to the tiny kitten’s face. “She’s a six-month old teacup Himalayan.”
“Oh?” I perk up. “I have a friend in Vermont who has a couple of Himalayan brothers, Pancake and Waffles. They’re such great cats.” I give the tiny furball a pat on the forehead, and it’s like touching a handful of cotton candy.
Bobbie nods. “I don’t call her Sugar for nothing. This little girl is the only thing that keeps my sanity together some days.” Try every day. She shoots a dark glance into the crowd. And as hard as Sugar works to keep my sanity together, Keegan works twice as hard to tear it apart.
“Are you girls ready?” Diane looks from Bobbie to Lacey. “It’s time to get this show on the road.” She gives Bobbie a hard look. “And don’t forget, we’re here to promote the new book.” That’s how you make money, sweetie—in the event you forgot.
I make a note of her curt internal diatribe. I’m sensing bad blood.
Lacey nods my way. “This is Diane Regal, our manager. She likes to keep us on a tight schedule. And if she didn’t, we’d be playing with caskets well into the night.”
“Nice to meet you, Diane. I’m Bizzy, the owner of the inn. And who’s this?” I say, bending over to give the chipper little puppy a quick scratch on the back as he jumps and barks.
“That’s my baby, Gizmo,” Diane says, scooping him up.
“He’s a doll!” I coo.
He’s a nuisance. Fish is quick to swipe his way.
I shoot my ornery cat a look before smiling at the woman before me. “What breed is he?”
“He’s half Shih Tzu and half Bichon Frise. They call the breed the teddy bear dog.”
A laugh bubbles from me as I give him a quick scratch behind the ears. “He’s a teddy bear, all right. He’s super adorable.”
He gives a few quick barks as if agreeing with me.
Diane pulls him back a notch. “You’ll have to excuse him. He’s a bit excited now that he’s seen your cat.”
Another dog runs over, a medium-sized red and white freckled mutt that just so happens to belong to me.
“And this is Sherlock Bones,” I say as Sherlock does his best to stand on his hind legs to get a better look at the curly-haired cutie in Diane’s arms.
Tell her to put him down, Bizzy. Sherlock barks. I’ll show him around the ballroom. Now that I’m the new owner, it’s only right that I give
