Chapter 14
Once the screaming died down—or at least on my end, because Mom and Georgie really do have a set of pipes—I called Jasper, who in turn called every sheriff’s deputy in Seaview County, all of whom were present and accounted for in what felt like ten seconds flat.
Suffice it to say, Jasper was not amused that I stumbled upon another corpse.
“Technically,” I tell him as he stalks toward me, looking like a homicide detective who’s had enough of his wife’s extracurricular activities, “Georgie did the stumbling. I was just a witness to the stumbling.”
“That’s not helping your case.”
“I’m trying to be accurate.”
“Try being somewhere else when people get murdered.” He winces like he only partially meant it.
Okay, so he meant it. But he loves me too much to want to reprimand me.
The parking lot behind Sculpt and Slay Studio is chaos. The summer heat’s still going strong despite it being late afternoon, and the smell of hot asphalt mixes with someone’s coconut sunscreen and the faint chemical tang of eucalyptus from inside the gym.
Red, white, and blue streamers are tied to the light posts—because apparently even luxury gyms in Seaview are not immune to getting patriotic—and one of them has come loose and is fluttering in the breeze like it’s waving goodbye to Tamsin.
“I think I’m in shock,” poor Mom says, sitting on the curb in her hot pink leotard and leg warmers, fanning herself with Georgie’s feathered roach clip. “Do people in shock need water? I feel like I need water.”
“Oh Mom,” I coo, making my way over. “I honestly think you’re fine.”
“I just saw a dead body, Bizzy. I am not fine.”
“You’ve seen dead bodies before,” I point out without thinking. Not that I’m wrong, but still.
“That doesn’t make it better!”
Georgie paces back and forth, her bedazzled NAMASTE kaftan catching the light with every step. “I can’t believe this. We came here to ask questions and someone beat us to it. The killer beat us to it. With a knife.”
Mom grunts, “Thanks for pointing out the obvious.”
“That’s what I’m here for, Red.”
Jasper is trying to take our statements while simultaneously radioing for the coroner and coordinating with the Seaview deputies who are already setting up crime scene tape. He looks back at us with an expression that says he’s calculating how early he can retire.
“Let me get this straight,” he says. “You three drove to Seaview, dressed like a workout-themed variety show, to question a potential murder suspect.”
“When you say it like that, it sounds almost irresponsible,” I say.
He lowers his chin and gives me a look that suggests maybe it is.
“We were being proactive,” I insist, even though I’m not all too convinced.
“Bizzy,” his voice softens, “I hate to say it, but you were being reckless.”
Mom stands up, adjusting her leg warmers with zero shame. “We were conducting a perfectly reasonable investigation. How were we supposed to know someone would go and stab the woman before we got our answers?”
“The killer,” Jasper deadpans. “And that’s exactly why I want the three of you to steer clear of this case. Whoever did this is dangerous. And as evidenced, they won’t hesitate to kill again.”
A cruiser pulls up and Leo climbs out, looking as grim as Jasper. He takes one look at our outfits and stops walking.
“Please tell me there’s a reasonable explanation for the neon headbands.”
“Mom bought them for an undercover fitness investigation,” I say.
“That’s not a reasonable explanation.”
“It’s the only one we’ve got.”
Leo walks past us toward the crime scene, shaking his head.
Jasper follows him, and I watch them confer with the deputies who are photographing the area around Tamsin’s body.
The coroner’s van pulls up—trying very hard to look like it’s not a death wagon—and the whole scene takes on that official, terrible quality that makes everything feel real.
Mom sits back down on the curb. “I can’t believe she’s dead. Tamsin seemed so... alive.”
“That’s generally the state people are in before they’re murdered,” Georgie says.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. And it’s awful.” Georgie’s voice softens slightly. “But someone wanted her quiet. The question is why.”
That’s the question, isn’t it? What did Tamsin know that made her dangerous enough to kill?
A crowd is starting to gather now—gym members who’ve come out to see what’s happening, people slowing down in their cars, someone with a news camera setting up near the street. The whole thing feels surreal, standing here in mismatched workout gear while a woman lies dead twenty feet away.
Jasper comes back over, and behind him I can see Leo examining something near the building.
“We’re going to need you to come down to the station,” Jasper says. “We’re going to need formal statements.”
“Can we change first?” Mom asks, gesturing at her leotard.
“Please do.”
Leo walks up, his phone in his hand and his expression serious. “I need to ask you something, Bizzy. Did you see anyone else in the parking lot when you arrived? Any cars leaving, anyone acting suspicious?”
I think back, trying to remember, but it’s all a blur of Georgie chasing her roach clip and the terrible moment of discovery.
“No. It was empty. Just us.”
“No gym members coming or going?”
“Not that I saw.”
He nods, making a note on his phone. “The front desk said Tamsin had been in her office all morning. She left around noon, came back at one, and hasn’t been seen since.”
“So she was killed sometime after one,” Georgie says.
“Looks that way.” Leo glances back at Jasper. “We’re pulling interior security footage now, but—”
“But the exterior cameras were disabled,” I finish.
Leo’s eyebrows go up. “How did you know that?”
“Lucky guess.” I sigh, looking at the building with its useless security camera pointing right at us.
“That’s not a guess,” Leo muses. “That’s specific knowledge.”
“Fine. It’s an educated hypothesis based on the fact that whoever’s doing this is smart enough not to get caught on camera.”
Leo studies me for a moment, then nods and heads back to confer with the other deputies.
Georgie pulls out her phone again and begins filming the scene with the dedication of someone who’s found her calling.
“Georgie,” I hiss. “Put that away.”
“Are you kidding? This is gold, Bizzy. Pure investigative journalism gold.”
“It’s exploitative,” I say, trying to bat her phone down but she pulls it out of reach.
“It’s documentary evidence.”
“It’s going to get you arrested.”
She keeps filming anyway. Georgie Conner has never backed down from anything in fear of handcuffs.
Mom is still sitting on the curb, looking pale despite her newly acquired tan, and I’m about to sit down next to her when I hear tires on asphalt and look up to see Mackenzie’s white SUV pulling into the lot at a speed that screams either emergency or entitlement.
The door flies open and Mackenzie comes running across the parking lot in designer workout wear—white crop top, matching leggings with mesh panels, and sneakers that look straight out of the box. Her hair is in a high ponytail that bounces with each step.
And behind her, jumping out of the car before she can stop them, are Fish, Sherlock, and Biscuit Gravy.
Of course, she found another one, Fish announces, trotting over to me. It’s Tuesday. This is what she does on Tuesdays.
It’s not Tuesday, but I get the point.
We left you alone for THREE HOURS, Sherlock adds, deeply offended. Three hours and you find a dead person. How does this keep happening to you?
Does this mean no dinner? Biscuit Gravy asks, genuinely worried.
“What are you all doing here?” I ask, staring at the pets.
Mom stands up. “How did you know to come?”
Mackenzie skids to a stop in front of us, breathing hard, her phone clutched in one hand. “It’s all over social media.”
“Who would post this to social media so quickly?” Mom squawks, turning to glare at Georgie.
Georgie fumbles with her phone and buries it deep in her purse, feigning innocence so badly a child could see through it. “What?”
“Georgie!”
“I’ve got a crime podcast on the cusp of going viral. I needed a moment like this to meet my stretch goals.”
I gasp. “You filmed a crime scene for podcast content?”
“It’s documentary evidence,” Georgie corrects. “It’s very different.”
Mom is about to explode, but Mackenzie waves it off.
“I was at the inn when Nessa broke the news that Bizzy killed someone else, and I just had to see it for myself.” She gestures back toward her car.
“I had just come from the gym anyway, and the furry brigade jumped in before I left the lot.” She grabs my arms and shakes me, her eyes glowing with something that looks disturbingly close to gratitude.
“I can’t believe you would do this for me,” she hisses it out all in one word.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I am. In fact, expect decent regifted items this next holiday season. You’re back on my nice list.”
I blink at her. “What are you talking about?”
Georgie elbows me. “I think she’s talking about souping up your Christmas gifts, Biz. Say thanks, and if you don’t like the goods, I can help you pawn them.”
Mackenzie shakes her head. “I’m talking about hacking down another victim just to prove that I’m not the killer around here.
You are. And believe me, I’ve never been so relieved.
” She beams at me. “Way to take one for the team. And points for creativity.” She cranes her neck past me, trying to see around the deputies. “So who’d you off this time?”
An entire river of words jams in my throat and leaves me gagging. This lunatic thinks I murdered someone. For her. As a favor.
Mom shakes her head. “I hate to burst your bubble, but Bizzy didn’t do it.”
“And the deceased is another one from your Couture Coven,” Georgie adds with a nod.
Mackenzie’s face goes from triumphant to horrified in half a second. “Who?”
“Tamsin Rowe.” I wince as I say the poor woman’s name. “We came down to ask her a few questions.”
Mom nods. “But by the looks of it, someone beat us to it. You wouldn’t have happened to have been in this neck of the woods today, would you?”
Mackenzie’s face goes white. Her eyes bulge out slightly, and for a second, I think she might actually pass out.
“We all were,” she says finally. “I mean, my coven and me.” She pauses to glare at Georgie. “There was a Zumba class.”
I nearly choke. “And I wasn’t invited?”
Mackenzie shoots me a look that could stop a charging bull. “I didn’t think you had the time, between mothering and animal husbandry and running that haunted inn of yours into the ground. But then, I suppose you always find time for murder.”
That stings more than it probably should.
Leo appears at Mackenzie’s elbow, his phone in his hand and his expression serious. “Mackenzie, care to explain what I just found on the security footage?”
She straightens, and the rest of her color drains away. “Fine. I had an argument with Tamsin in the foyer of the gym. I wasn’t exactly hiding it.” Her lips press into a thin line. “She tore into me for wearing last year’s yoga wear.”
Last year’s yoga wear. A woman is dead and we’re talking about athleisure fashion cycles.
Mackenzie lifts her chin. “And she may have ribbed me about being the sort of person who’d stick a knife into the back of one of their friends.
” Mackenzie’s voice grows tight. “The others laughed. I may have tossed a few barbs myself. It was harmless. Then I left. I’m sure your footage will show you that as well. ”
“No, it won’t.” Leo shakes his head as Jasper joins us again. “The wires were cut to the exterior cameras. Whoever did this to that woman made sure they wouldn’t get caught.”
Mackenzie’s mouth falls open. “Are you trying to—”
“That’s right, Toots.” Georgie chuckles, adjusting her bedazzled kaftan. “He’s trying to accuse you of whacking two of your besties in cold blood because you didn’t like their attitudes.”
“That’s not funny,” Mom says, shaking her head at Georgie.
“Doesn’t mean it’s not true,” Georgie points out.
The balmy breeze picks up, carrying the smell of car exhaust and gym disinfectant. The crowd is growing thicker as the chaos continues to grow.
Mackenzie throws her head back and screams.
It’s a long, frustrated, completely unhinged sound that echoes across the parking lot and makes approximately forty people turn to stare.
It seems Mayor Woods is having a moment, Fish mewls as she leaps into Mom’s arms in a single bound.
Is she dying? Biscuit Gravy asks with genuine concern.
She’s fine. She just likes the drama, Sherlock says. It’s a whole thing.
Two bodies, two knives, and one very loud mayor having a meltdown in a gym parking lot while Georgie films it for her newfound crime podcast—and the only thing I know for certain is that whoever’s doing this is smart enough to cut security wires and brazen enough to kill in broad daylight.
And it begs the question.
Who will they strike next?