Chapter 3
Ican’t believe Brittany just asked if I was a killer—or less offensively, if I solved homicides.
I cringe a little at the thought as the Cider Cove Seaside Social continues to rage all around us.
I mean it’s true, I do solve homicides. But it’s something I very much wish wasn’t true.
And also, why in the world would Mackenzie mention that of all things to a group of women she’s clearly trying to impress.
Unless, of course, she’s also trying to keep them in line via loosely veiled threats that involve the Grim Reaper.
A nervous laugh bubbles from me. “I don’t set out to solve—”
“She stumbles into them,” Mackenzie corrects with a tight smile. “Frequently. It’s a problem.”
More like she attracts them from what I’ve heard, Brittany thinks with a smirk. This is gold. Small-town innkeeper with a body count. The engagement will be insane. And don’t think for a minute that I’ll be sleeping on this.
Wonderful. Thanks for the warning.
I can’t help but frown at her.
“How fascinating.” Brittany’s eyes light up like flares. “Like a real-life murder mystery podcast. Do you ever worry that you’re, you know, the common denominator?”
The question hangs in the air like a set of sharp, pointy teeth. And boy, does Brittany ever know how to bite.
“I’m just observant when it comes to solving a homicide,” I say a little too quickly. “And I have terrible luck.”
Historically speaking, that’s been wildly accurate.
“Terrible luck or a terrible habit?” Brittany laughs with the jab. “I’d love to interview you sometime. For my podcast. I do a whole series on interesting people in overlooked places.”
“Overlooked places?” I repeat in horror and resist the urge to show her the exit. Although I don’t know why I’m so horrified. These women aren’t hiding who they really are.
She nods. “You know. Small towns. Rural areas. Places where ambition goes to—well, no offense, die.”
My mouth falls open yet again.
The redhead, Blaire, shakes her head at me like I’m to be pitied. She has no idea what real ambition looks like, she thinks, examining her manicure. None of them do. Playing small in a small town. How tragic.
I gasp at the thought, and even though it was just that, it was rude all the same.
Mackenzie makes a noise like a kettle about to boil.
“Listen, Brit. A small town is not where ambition goes to die. And let’s stop pretending that the barb you just cast wasn’t meant for me.
I’m done playing nice with you and the gloves are coming off.
The only thing that is going to die around here is your malevolent attitude towards me and I’m going to kill it myself! ”
Brittany gasps and gags. “Did you hear that, everyone? The mayor of Cider Cove just threatened to kill me!” she shouts at top volume, but the party is raging around us and not a single head turns this way—outside of those heads in our circle.
And honestly? They don’t look all that surprised by Mackenzie’s homicidal outburst either.
Brittany steps in dangerously close to Mackenzie. She’s a brave one, I’ll give her that.
“Listen up, Brunette Barbie, and listen good,” she starts. “It’s not my fault you couldn’t make it out in the real world and chose to wilt in a corner of the sleepiest town in Maine.”
Cider Cove really is one of Maine’s sleepiest towns, so she’s not wrong on that front.
Mom and Georgie have made their way back into our airspace, and I can tell by the gleam in Georgie’s eye that she’s heard enough of the conversation to have formed an opinion.
“Listen up, Blonde Barbie,” Georgie announces while pointing a finger at the Queen of Mean, Brittany, herself. “Has anyone ever told you that you use a lot of words and none of them are worth hearing?”
I’ll agree with her there. Both Fish and Sherlock titter out a laugh.
Brittany blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Just pointing out the obvious, Toots,” Georgie says, adjusting her kaftan. “It’s a skill, really. Using that many words and still managing to bore people.”
A light chuckle ripples through the crowd, and judging by the look on Brittany’s face, it sounds a lot like treason to her.
A flurry of thoughts hit me all at once.
Ooh, that hit the nail on the head.
Finally, someone said it.
She’s not wrong.
Mom closes her eyes briefly, but I catch the smile tugging at her lips. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh.
Brittany’s expression goes ice cold as she narrows her fury in on Georgie. “And who are you again?”
“Someone who’s met a mean girl or two before,” Georgie says simply. “Honey, you’re not new. You’re just louder than the rest.”
Old bat, Brittany thinks viciously. As if age gives you the right to be rude.
As if youth gives her the right, I want to counter.
And for the first time all night, Brittany doesn’t have a comeback. At least not a verbal one.
The silence stretches for exactly three seconds before Brittany throws her head back and laughs. “Oh my goodness, Mackenzie, your family is something else. I’m definitely posting about this.”
And just like that, she pulls out her phone.
Of course, she does. It’s the weapon of choice.
That thing has more power than it should. It’s dangerous, really.
“Brittany,” Mackenzie says, voice low and lethal. “Put the phone away.”
“Why?” Brittany’s thumbs are already moving. “I’m just capturing a moment from our little Cider Cove Seaside Social. Letting the world know all about our weeklong celebration of small-town charm and the people who think that’s enough.”
“I’m serious,” Mackenzie hisses.
“So am I.” Brittany keeps typing. “In fact, I’ve got a whole series of posts scheduled about small-town politics and the people who think they’re more important than they actually are. Starting next weekend. You’re going to be famous, Macky. Just not the way you wanted.”
Mackenzie gasps as a tornado of thoughts swirls in her mind. This is not happening. Not here. Not tonight. And for the love of all things evil, not the Fourth of July weekend either. That’s no way to start off my week or end my life.
I inch back. Distance feels like a wise choice.
What could Brittany possibly know to make Mackenzie react that way?
She’s going to do it, Tamsin thinks with a palpable panic creeping in. She’s actually going to ruin everything.
The music rages on. People are still noshing their way through the buffet and the revelers are howling and laughing like this were the best beach bash they’ve ever been to.
Sounds like a small-town success story if you ask me.
It should be. Although not in this little social circle.
Because in our little corner of the beach, everything has gone very, very quiet.
Mackenzie’s hands clench into fists as she stares down the blonde who dared defy her. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Oh honey.” Brittany’s smile is sharp and dangerous. “I’ve got receipts. Emails. Screenshots. Text messages. That thing you said about the town council last year? Recorded. All of it. Scheduled and ready to post. Consider it my gift to you. Transparency.”
Just stop talking, Mack, Sloane thinks to herself. Stop digging. Walk away.
Mackenzie’s face goes from pale to red.
“You listen to me, Brittany Vanderbilt.” Her voice is loud enough to carry across the entire beach. “If you post one single thing about me, my town, or my life, I will make you regret it. I will ruin you. Do you understand me? I will END you.”
This time the entire party goes silent.
Every conversation stops, and every single head turns our way.
Brittany holds up her phone with her screen facing out, and we can clearly see she’s recording the entire event.
“Did everyone catch that?” She looks around with a wide and victorious smile. “Because I sure did.”
“Why, you little—” Mackenzie lunges and I grab her arm before she can assault the woman.
“Don’t—” I say.
But Brittany is already walking away, laughing with her phone still in hand, calling out to someone about needing another drink.
Don’t we all at this point. And I don’t even hit the hard stuff.
The crowd doesn’t break apart so much as fracture into uncomfortable clusters. Music starts again, but for some reason, even that feels quieter. Someone makes a joke that has people groaning. The entire moment deflates slowly, leaving behind a residue of awkwardness.
But I saw that homicidal look on Mackenzie’s face.
And so did everyone else.
Our little petty group disbands and Mackenzie and I meander around the event for the next solid hour.
I can’t believe she’s actually babysitting me so that I don’t stumble over another body.
I feel like a convict chained to a security guard, watching Mackenzie schmooze the crowd like only the mayor of a small town can do.
She’s good at it, I’ll give her that—shaking hands, laughing at jokes that aren’t funny, remembering names and asking about people’s kids.
Funny how she never asks about my kid.
I’m less good at it. Mostly I just smile and nod and try not to trip over Fish, who’s decided to shadow me for reasons known only to her.
You’re tense, Bizzy, Fish mewls. Something is off about this entire night. And I certainly do not approve.
“Join the club,” I mutter.
Near the dunes, I spot two blondes—one tall, and one shorter and clearly agitated. The shorter one is gesturing, talking fast. The tall blonde is on her phone, scrolling, barely looking up.
It’s Brittany. And the nervous blonde woman from earlier with the Jack Russell.
I watch as the blonde woman says something, voice rising even though I can’t hear the words from here. Brittany doesn’t even glance up from her phone. Just keeps scrolling.
Then she walks away. Mid-conversation. Just turns and leaves the other woman standing there, arms wrapped around herself, looking devastated.
The Jack Russell at her feet lets out a sharp bark.
Hooman is upset! Must fix with a cuddle puddle! Also, is that a hot dog?
The woman scoops up the cute pooch and hurries in the opposite direction, disappearing into the crowd.
Well. That was intense. Although I have a feeling everything having to do with Mackenzie’s inner circle is more or less intense.
Mackenzie and I make our way around the beach for another schmooze session, and this time I’m actively scanning for Jasper—or anyone willing to stage a rescue. Surely Mackenzie will want to be rid of me at some point.
Right?
A series of aggressive barks catches our attention from the left side of the cove and I break rank, heading that way.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mackenzie shouts, hurrying to catch up.
“There’s a dog barking.” I glide into the thick of the night, away from the party, away from the petty tribe of women that have flocked here, and more importantly, away from Mackenzie Woods.
Two out of three isn’t bad. I’ll take what I can get at this point.
The beach grass is tall here, waving in the breeze. The music is muffled behind us, but I can hear the waves and the distant sound of barking getting louder, too.
“Bizzy, what the heck do you think you’re doing? This is no time for a midnight swim. We need to get back to that party,” Mackenzie snaps, grabbing my arm. “Who cares about a silly, barking dog? Dogs bark, Bizzy. That’s what they do. Now let’s—”
Her foot catches on something, stopping her cold.
She pitches forward with a yelp, her arms windmilling, and goes down hard.
I try to reach for her, but I’m too late.
Mackenzie hits the sand and there’s a loud, wet thud. And no sooner does she face-plant in the sand than she’s scrambling with her arms flailing as she tries to push herself up.
“What the—” She stops and stares down at her hands.
They’re red. Nothing but two dark red slicks.
And suddenly, she’s holding something. A knife with a long blade and a wooden handle.
“Mackenzie—” I gasp at the sight.
But she’s not listening. She’s struggling to stand, twisting to see what she tripped over, and her knee hits something solid, sending it rolling over and we both see it at the very same time.
A body.
Face-up now. Platinum blonde hair matted with sand. Green eyes staring at nothing.
The knife. Mackenzie seemingly pulled the knife from the woman’s back.
Mackenzie tips her head back and belts out a bloodcurdling scream.
The sound rips through the night, raw and panicked, and drives footsteps pounding toward us from every direction.
I can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but stare at the woman in the sand.
Brittany isn’t going to collect dirt on anyone anymore.
Brittany Vanderbilt is dead.