Chapter 4
Aseries of screams goes off behind Mackenzie and me, and we both turn to see an entire gaggle of her friends losing their minds on this balmy night in June.
Okay, I’ll admit, it’s not a good look to be holding a bloody knife above the woman you just threatened to end in front of half of Cider Cove. If I were a betting woman, I’d say Mackenzie’s approval rating just took a nosedive.
Footfalls pound our way as Jasper and Leo show up, both reaching for their weapons before thinking better of it. Too many civilians. Too many phones out and recording.
Leo drops to his knees and checks Brittany for a pulse, pressing two fingers against her neck. He holds for a beat, then shakes his head at Jasper.
“She’s gone,” he says just above a whisper. “I’ll call it in,” Leo says, stepping away and pulling out his phone.
Leo would be Emmie’s husband, and Jasper’s best friend. They happen to work together just the way Emmie and I do.
“Everyone back!” Jasper calls out as the women begin to whimper and wail. He steps over to Mackenzie and me and does a double take at that crimson-slicked knife in her hand. “What the—” He turns to me, wild-eyed. “I’d ask what happened, but I think I know.”
“You don’t,” Mackenzie seethes, still gripping the knife like it’s evidence she can explain away through sheer force of will.
“I tripped and fell and I used this stupid knife to help myself up. And it’s all because of that yappy little yip-yip.
” She wields the blade in the direction of the small terrier who’s been losing his mind for the last few minutes.
And now we know why.
The dog continues to bark, frantic and high-pitched, as Fish and Sherlock bound over.
She got another one! Fish yowls. I think Emmie wins the betting pool.
Wonderful. I make eyes at my four-footed feline friend.
Don’t look at me like that, Bizzy, Fish mewls. You should be happy for your bestie. I think she’s made close to a hundred dollars tonight.
Apparently, I could make Emmie a very rich woman if I wanted to.
And if you’re good, Sherlock barks with glee, I bet she’ll take you to lunch somewhere fancy with it, too.
Lucky me.
But unlucky Brittany, I think as I wince in her direction.
The poor little terrier begins to howl and whimper, and both Fish and Sherlock quickly cage it in, herding it away from the chaos with surprising gentleness.
“That was Brittany’s dog,” someone shouts from the crowd.
I blink. “That dog belonged to Brittany?”
I could have sworn it belonged to the nervous blonde who was arguing with her earlier. Shows what I know.
Blaire steps up, with the moonlight giving her auburn hair silver highlights. “Yes, that’s Biscuit Gravy. Brittany’s baby.” Her voice cracks. “Oh, that poor thing. I hope it’s going to be okay.”
Sloane steps forward, her blonde bob shorn close and looking like a doppelganger of my sister Macy right about now. “You’ll need to feed it premium dog food,” she says, looking right at Mackenzie. “And I hear it likes a good mani-pedi on a weekly schedule.”
“What are you looking at me for?” Mackenzie squawks. “I’m not taking care of the flea bag. I’ve got one of my own.” And a kid. And a thriving YouTube channel. And a husband. And a town to manage. “If anyone’s taking in the barking runt, it’ll be Bizzy.” She nods my way.
“You heard the woman,” Sloane says with a small smile. “Biscuit Gravy has premium culinary needs and likes his paws polished weekly.”
Paws polished? And what kind of name is Biscuit Gravy?
My mouth opens to protest, but before I can get a word out, Tamsin steps up with an irritated look plastered across her face.
“I can’t believe this happened. And now we have to deal with it on our annual staycation.
” She gives Mackenzie an accusing look. “I thought we made it clear we didn’t want to be part of the murder mystery games you people play around here. ”
I gag on a laugh.
Murder mystery games? Right. Because I schedule these things on my calendar between grocery shopping and maintenance at the inn.
For a wellness coach, she’s awfully negative.
Jasper takes me by the elbow. “Bizzy, can I talk to you for a second?”
He pulls me a few steps away from the crowd, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
“I can’t thank you enough for that,” I say, cutting a sideways glance back at Mackenzie and her cruel crew. “Those women are all certified psychotics. And if they’re not certified, they should be.”
Jasper’s dimples dig in for a moment. “You can thank me later. But that’s not why I pulled you aside. Bizzy, what the heck happened?”
I open my mouth to answer when Mom and Georgie appear, both slightly out of breath.
“Bizzy!” Mom grabs my other arm. “Are you okay? We heard screaming and—oh my goodness.” She spots the body and goes pale. Well, that didn’t take long. I really should look into hiring private security detail to follow my daughter around—in order to keep the general public safe.
I gasp at the woman for even thinking such a thought.
Not that she’s wrong. But still.
Georgie cranes her neck past her. “Well. That’s one way to end a party.”
“Georgie!” Mom scoffs. “A woman was killed!”
“And I’m guessing she deserved it,” Georgie says with a sneer. “Nobody gets stabbed at a beach party unless they’ve been asking for it all night.”
“Georgie, that’s not—” I start, but Emmie rushes over, her entire face flushed.
“Oh wow. I won the pool!” she says just as her fingers fly to her lips. “I’ll get Jordy to help with crowd control,” she says, already turning. “He’s really good at herding people.”
Jordy happens to be my handyman and Emmie’s brother—not to mention he’s Macy’s plus-one.
And technically, he’s my ex-husband, thanks to a Vegas wedding involving bad liquor, an Elvis impersonator, and a divorce finalized in under forty-eight hours.
It’s a long story that I try very hard not to think about.
Emmie takes off toward the party, and Mom drags Georgie back a step.
“All right, Red, I’m with you,” Georgie says. “Let’s go hunt down the babes still roving the grounds. I’m feeling lucky.”
“Georgie,” Mom hisses. “A woman has lost her life!”
“All the more reason to secure the perimeter,” Georgie says with a wink. “Single men panic in a crisis. It makes ’em vulnerable.”
Perfect. I’m surrounded by chaos dressed in shoulder pads and kaftans. But then, what else is new?
Macy appears out of nowhere, linking arms with Sloane like they’re old sorority sisters. They look like twins—same sharp blonde bobs, same calculating eyes, same air of expensive competence.
Macy’s is born out of an overdrawn credit card.
“Macy,” I say, surprised. “I didn’t realize you knew any of Mackenzie’s friends.”
“Friends is a generous word,” Macy says, examining her nails. “Let’s call them acquaintances with shared enemies.”
“We go way back,” Sloane adds smoothly. “In fact, I just helped Macy with her new candle line. Snacks After Midnight.”
Macy waggles her eyebrows despite the corpse lying less than a few feet away. “Sloane came up with the scent combination. Mac and cheese with caramel drizzle.”
“Mac and cheese with caramel drizzle?” I wrinkle my nose just trying to imagine it.
“It’s bold,” Sloane says with a smile. “And unexpected. Just like Macy.”
“It’s going to be a hit,” Macy says with a touch too much confidence. “I’d better collect Candy and take off. My big launch is tomorrow, and I have a feeling this new line is finally going to put Lather and Light on the map.”
Lather and Light would be the soap and candle shop she owns and runs down on Main Street. Or more to the point, the shop owns and runs her.
She breezes away, and Sloane steps over to join Mackenzie and the rest of their friends, who’ve gathered in a tight cluster near the body.
Mackenzie is still holding that bloody knife like it belongs in her hand.
I take a breath and sigh. I knew this night was going to go sideways. I just didn’t expect it to go full homicide before the fireworks even started.
Thoughts begin filtering through from the crowd—sharp, bitter, and laced with things people would never say out loud.
There she lies, looking like the cold-hearted monster she always was. I guess the mask has finally come off.
She’s gone, another voice says, trembling. I can’t believe this is real.
Here’s hoping all my troubles are gone along with her.
A third voice—lower, harder to place—sounds off.
I scan the crowd but can’t pinpoint who it belongs to.
And whether it’s a man or a woman, I can’t tell.
If I’m not standing right in front of them, there’s no way to know.
Finally, we all have something we can celebrate.
And to think we have Mackenzie Woods to thank for this joyous occasion. Then another, dripping with satisfaction.
Clearly not the killer. But clearly no friend of Brittany’s either.
I’m so glad she’s dead. This one comes through, crystal clear, triumphant. And I’m so glad I did the deed myself. Three cheers for me. And what the heck—one cheer for Brittany for looking so stunning as she poses for her final picture—all by her selfish self.
My blood runs cold.
As if on cue, every cell phone in the vicinity starts snapping pictures, recording video, capturing this moment from every possible angle.
I look at the crowd, at the faces, at the people who came here to celebrate and are now witnessing a murder scene.
One of them did this.
One of them is standing here with their phone out, playing the part of grieving friend while internally celebrating.
And they honestly think they’re going to get away with it.
I’ve caught killers before, stumbled into investigations that I had no business being part of, and solved cases that should have been left to professionals.
But this time feels different.
This time, I’m already in the thick of it—already tangled up in Mackenzie’s mess, in her toxic friends, in whatever web of secrets Brittany was threatening to expose.
This time, the killer made it personal.
And that was a very big mistake.