Fish mewls, Good grief. You are not the owner—Bizzy is. And you’re going to scare the humans if you start darting all over the room. In the event you didn’t notice, these women are all wearing stilts. And if you tip one over, they’ll sue Bizzy and she’ll lose the inn before she’s had it five minutes.
She’s not wrong.
Diane sets Gizmo down, and both dogs scuttle past us with Sherlock leading the charge.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “Sherlock won’t leave the room.”
“I’d better make sure of it.” She takes off just as Jasper appears, and both Bobbie and Lacey sigh at the sight of him.
I can’t blame them.
Jasper Wilder is definitely a sigh-worthy sight to behold. He stands well over six feet, has the body of an athlete, muscles for days, eyes the color of a lightning bolt, is the lead homicide investigator down at the Seaview Sheriff’s Department, and he just so happens to be married to me.
“Ladies”—I say with a touch of pride in my voice—“this is my husband, Jasper.”
Bobbie offers up her hand, and he’s quick to shake it. “I could see the look of love in your eyes for your wife as soon as you stepped up. And they say love is dead.” She slaps the casket as she cackles. “Chip?” she calls out, and soon a tall, strapping man with dark curly hair and dark eyes that seem to smile on their own steps up. He’s donned a tuxedo and looks every bit her other half as he slips an arm around her waist. “This is my husband of fourteen years, Chip Buckingham.”
“Oh honey, we know who he is.” Georgie shakes her wrist back and forth. “Hubba hubba. Mister, you’re welcome to leave your shoes under my bed anytime you like.”
Macy laughs. “Nice try, Georgie, but Bobbie and Chip are the power couple of the Perfect Pairing.”
Lacey shrugs. “I’m still waiting for my Mr. Right. But I still have plenty of time to track one down before the big dance coming up on the fourteenth, via our newly minted app.” She wags her phone in the air as she says it. “We’re announcing the matchmaking service tonight.”
Bobbie elbows her bestie. “Way to ruin the surprise.” She starts in on a laugh then stops abruptly as something just over my shoulder catches her eye. “Excuse me.” She takes off, and I follow her with my gaze as she stalks over to a redhead in the requisite black dress and they seem to be having a heated conversation.
A tall man with a beard and light eyes steps into our midst. “Pardon me,” he says as he mumbles something to Chip, and the two of them take off to have a private conversation of their own.
“Well, come on”—Lacey hands Macy, Jasper, and me each a sheet of hot pink paper along with a pen. “Jot down a nasty note to your ex, seal it up in one of these red envelopes, and toss it into the casket. The funeral procession is about to begin.” She takes off, arming everyone around us with those pink sheets and a pen.
Macy gets right to jotting down her deepest, darkest regret. “This is to all those one-night stands who actually wanted to have a relationship with me. Some men just don’t get the meaning of the words I don’t want to know your name.”
“Pfft.” Georgie uses Macy’s back as a hard surface as she starts penning her own letter of regret. “Tell me about it, Toots. This one goes to my least favorite ex.”
“The one who made you dip your foot into a perfectly good cheesecake?” I ask. That was sort of a creepy story. It was clear the man had a foot fetish.
“Warren?” She makes a face. “He and I were like peas and carrots. I was thinking of the one that tried to buy a bunch of synthetic sea glass and pepper it around the cove, hoping I’d lose my mind at what a gold mine I’d found.”
“Aw,” I say. “That seems sweet.”
“More like demented,” she counters. “If I tried to pass off any of that phony rubbish to my customers, I’d lose my integrity in the business world.”
Georgie is an artist who specializes in sea glass mosaics. And recently, and perhaps regrettably, she’s gone into business with my mother. They run a shop down on Main Street called Two Old Broads. My sister thought of the name for them, and it’s been a hit ever since.
Jasper takes a breath. “I’m all done,” he says, folding up his paper and stuffing it into a bright red envelope.
“A love note to Camila?” I tease. Camila Ryder is his ex-fiancée. She’s still very much invested in him, but he buried that relationship long ago as evidenced by that note in his hand, I’m guessing.
“That would be the one,” he says, dropping it in, and I quickly jot something down on a piece of paper and do the same.
Jasper wraps his arms around me. “Who did you write your note to? Jordy?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have any hard feelings toward him. I wrote it to the cheap whiskey that led to that one-day marital disaster, which was never consummated by the way. That whiskey ruined the vow I made to myself to never get divorced.” It’s no secret I was raised in a broken family and hated it. “On the bright side, the vow is back on and you’re stuck with me forever.”
“That makes me the luckiest man alive.” And I plan on getting lucky tonight. Are you on board?
I’m about to tell him exactly how on board I am when I hear the murmurs of something coming from the crowd—an internal voice that seems to be agitated. I can’t tell if it’s coming from a man or a woman. When I’m not near the person, it can all sound a bit androgynous.
Oh, there isn’t a thing they can do to save themselves. This is their last night
