Chapter 20 #2
Georgie’s brain works in mysterious ways, Fish says with a flick of her tail. Food. Chaos. More food.
That’s basically her whole personality, Sherlock notes. She’s like me but hooman!
Isn’t that the truth. So long as she doesn’t burn the inn down.
Fish nods. I guess when she says you’re her spirit animal, she’s not kidding.
No, she is definitely not, I muse.
Emmie and Leo come this way with Elliot, who’s completely unconscious on Leo’s shoulder, thumb in mouth, and far off into the land of Nod.
“What a summer,” Emmie says.
“That’s one way to put it.”
“Two murders, one weeklong investigation, and a beach brawl during fireworks,” Leo says.
“When you say it like that, it sounds exhausting.”
“It WAS exhausting.” Emmie yawns. “I’m really looking forward to fall. Pumpkin spice. Sweaters. No murders.”
“Don’t jinx it,” I say. “We still have plenty of summer to go.”
“Too late.” She laughs. “I’ve already planned our entire autumn. Apple picking. Hayrides. Maybe a corn maze.”
“With our track record, someone will die in the corn maze,” Leo says.
“Don’t even joke about that,” Jasper says with a groan.
“Actually,” I say, pulling out my phone to check the event calendar I updated last week, “we’re hosting something way bigger than a corn maze this fall.”
Emmie perks up. “Bigger than a corn maze? What could possibly be bigger than a corn maze?”
“The Scream Queens Showcase,” I say, scrolling through the details. “It’s a weeklong horror hosting convention. They’ve booked the grounds right here at the inn and they’ll be a part of our Spider Cove Halloween Harvest Festival.”
Jasper leans back to get a better look at me. “They’re called what?”
“Horror hostesses,” I explain. “You know, like Elvira, Mistress of the Dark? Except there’s apparently a whole underground community of them. They host horror movie marathons, run YouTube channels, do vintage monster content. And they’re all descending on Spider Cove for Halloween week.”
“That sounds amazing,” Emmie says as her eyes light up.
“That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,” Leo mutters.
I shrug over at them. “What could possibly go wrong?”
And just like that, we all share a mournful laugh.
We hug goodnight and they walk off together—Emmie’s head on Leo’s free shoulder, Elliot snoring softly, and Cinnamon and Gatsby following behind.
I hope Emmie makes those raspberry blueberry muffins she’s famous for tomorrow, Fish thinks, watching them go.
The ones with the crumbly tops? Sherlock perks up.
Obviously, Fish mewls.
I deserve them after today. Sherlock gives a soft woof. WE deserve them. I bit a killer!
I clawed a killer first, she’s quick to point out with a sharp meow.
Are we really doing this again? he asks. You literally sleep on my head every night. I think we know who the superior pet is.
I sleep on your head for warmth, she counters. You’re useful furniture.
They take off for the shoreline once more and now it’s just Jasper and me.
The beach is nearly empty now. Most of the vendors are gone, families packed up and heading home.
The twinkle lights are still glowing, but half of them are flickering out.
The waves are gentle against the shore, and the stars are out properly now, visible without the competition from the fireworks.
Jasper pulls me close. “So, you tackled a killer during the fireworks.”
“Technically, the pets tackled her. I just landed on top.”
“It still counts.” He touches his nose to mine. “Are you mad?” I cringe a little as I ask the question.
“Furious.” But he’s smiling. “Also impressed. Also terrified. Also in love with a woman who can’t stay out of trouble.”
He kisses my forehead and I lean into him, breathing in ocean air and his cologne and the faint smell of gunpowder still lingering in the air.
“In my defense,” I say, “trouble finds me.”
He tips his head like he’s considering it. “You run toward it.”
“Details.”
He laughs and holds me tighter. “You know what the worst part is?”
“What?”
“We gave her a fifty-thousand-dollar check.”
I groan. “Don’t remind me.”
“I’ll swing by the station and pick it up from her belongings in the morning.”
“Have I mentioned I love you?”
“Once or twice.”
We stand there watching the ocean, the summer night perfect despite everything—despite the murders and the chaos and the near-death experience and the ruined plans to build a sunroom.
“Think we can have a quiet rest of the week?” Jasper asks. “The fireworks are over. The killer has been caught.”
I shrug. “I think we’re good.”
“Famous last words.”
“Shh,” I say with a wink. “Let me have this moment.”
Jasper’s lips find mine and we share a dreamy, steamy kiss that has the power to wipe the last seven days right out of my mind—and I’m more than thankful for it and him.
Standing here with Jasper, the beach empty, the stars out, everyone safe and accounted for—Ella sleeping peacefully at home with Gwyneth and Dad, the killer in custody, the check hopefully stopped, summer winding down toward fall—I’m thinking about how my life would be different if I couldn’t read minds.
Quieter, probably. However, safer is debatable.
But I wouldn’t have been able to solve this case. I wouldn’t have cleared Mackenzie’s name. And I wouldn’t have stopped Sloane before she killed again.
The gift is a curse and a gift. Story of my life.
Standing here with Jasper under the stars while Cider Cove sleeps off its patriotic sugar high, I realize something—I’d rather survive a killer than survive Sloane’s sunroom renovation.
And I’ve now survived both, so I’d know.
Pumpkin spice season will be here soon enough, which means Cider Cove will soon smell like cinnamon, nutmeg, and suspicious circumstances.
And somewhere in the depths of their Gothic lairs, the Scream Queens are packing their vintage gowns and sharpening their perfectly manicured claws for Halloween week.
You know what they say—the only thing more inevitable than fall in New England is murder in Cider Cove.
Thank you for reading!