Chapter 21
The fireworks exploding overhead sound like the gods throwing a tantrum with enough colored lights to make Las Vegas jealous and booms loud enough to wake the Founding Fathers.
I’m standing in the shadows behind Julia’s covered wagon with Watson pressed against my legs, both of us processing what just happened and what it means for my rapidly deteriorating evening plans.
The main festival area erupts with cheers every time a firework paints the sky with all its glory, but all I can think about is how deliberate this murder was, and how calculated.
“Watson,” I say, looking down at my furry little buddy watching the sky with equal parts fascination and horror, “we need to find Cooper. Fast.”
Watson perks up at the mention of his daddy’s name, his tail kicking into full helicopter mode because in his world, Cooper equals sweet treats and peak masculine attention. He lets out a sharp bark as if he’s ready for action—even if he has no idea what that action is.
It usually entails food, so I can understand the enthusiasm.
We head back toward the main festival, weaving between blanket-sprawled families and dodging kids armed with sparklers, when I nearly collide with Flip Flapjack as he steps out from behind the Colonial Kitchen truck carrying a tray of what looks like leftover fried chicken.
“Effie!” he calls, steadying the tray before it turns into a full-blown food fight. “Heck of a thing about Julia, huh? Though I gotta say, I’m not surprised someone finally snapped and went after Larry.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, even as my instincts kick in—that familiar buzz that usually means something big is coming.
“That hippie girl was hanging around earlier, asking questions,” Flip continues, lowering his voice despite the fireworks booming loud enough to cover a small military operation. “About Julia’s booth. About Larry’s habits. Seemed friendly enough at the time, but now that I think about it…”
He trails off with a meaningful look that confirms everything my brain has been trying to piece together for the past five minutes.
“Thanks, Flip,” I say, my pulse kicking up now that the pieces finally click. “I owe you one.”
Watson gives a sharp bark like he agrees this is exactly what we needed—then immediately abandons the moment when someone drops a piece of funnel cake three feet away.
I head toward the main festival to find Cooper when something catches my eye near the old broken dock where the woods meet the lake. It’s a secluded spot, away from the main celebration, where the lights don’t quite reach and the noise fades to a distant hum beneath the explosions overhead.
Sunshine Crumpet sits alone on the weathered planks, her purple space buns silhouetted against the water like a slightly unhinged fairy-tale princess.
She’s traded her tie-dye for dark clothes that let her melt into the shadows, and there’s something about the way she’s sitting—hunched, watchful—that sets my internal alarm blaring.
Watson presses closer to my legs.
“Stay close, boy,” I murmur, making a decision Cooper would absolutely arrest me for. “We’re going to have a little chat with our favorite organic food vendor.”
I approach the dock like I just happened to be out for an evening stroll, Watson trotting beside me, ears perked on high alert.
“Sunshine,” I call as we get closer. “Beautiful evening for fireworks, isn’t it?”
She turns, and in the flickering light overhead, I catch the flash of surprise before she smooths it into something she clearly thinks passes for friendly.
“Effie! What a surprise to see you down here. Just needed some quiet space, you know? All that festival energy can be overwhelming for someone sensitive to vibrational frequencies.”
“I bet,” I say, settling onto the dock beside her while Watson plants himself between us like a furry bouncer, nose twitching as he catalogs whatever the lake—and Sunshine—are giving off.
We sit in silence for a moment, watching smoke drift across the stars.
“Sunshine,” I say, “I need to ask you again about Larry Rocket.”
“What about him?” she says, blinking with practiced innocence. “I mean, it’s a shame he’s missing all the festivities. He really did have a heart for feeding the people.”
“You talked to him quite a bit that day, didn’t you?”
Another firework explodes overhead.
“Sure,” she says. “He came by my booth a few times.”
“And you chatted with Flip. You asked about the other vendors.”
“I was just being friendly.” Her tone is still light, but something shifts in her posture. “Getting to know the community.”
“I saw you arguing with Larry. The day he died.” I try to keep my voice neutral. “Care to share what that was about?”
Her shoulders tense, and that whole peace-and-love vibe evaporates.
“That was nothing. Just vendor stuff.”
“Didn’t look like nothing. You were pretty heated. He knew something about you, didn’t he? Did he threaten you? Is that why you killed him?”
Her crystal necklaces jangle as she stiffens, but she maintains her peaceful hippie facade.
“I’m sorry, what? Effie, that’s a terrible thing to accuse me of.
Julia Washington killed Larry Rocket; everyone knows that,” she spits the words out with venom as her eyes light up like wild flames.
“She even bought the pentobarbital to do it with. I have proof.”
“Actually, Julia was picking up that pentobarbital for her neighbor’s sick horse,” I continue, watching her reaction like a hawk. “It was very humanitarian of her, really. Helping someone who couldn’t afford proper veterinary care.”
“Well, that’s... That’s what she claims,” Sunshine stammers, her crunchy granola act starting to crack around the edges. “But people lie, Effie. Especially when they’re facing murder charges.”
“You’re right,” I say, leaning back on my hands and tipping my gaze to a firework bursting gold and silver overhead. “People do lie. Like when someone with an MIT chemistry degree sells natural remedies that are actually dangerous drugs.”
Watson’s ears flatten, and he gives a low growl, like he knows this just turned into something else.
“I don’t know what you’re implying—” she starts, but I cut her off.
“I’m implying you used that impressive chemistry brain of yours to poison Julia’s corn pudding—knowing Larry’s obsession would make him the perfect victim and Julia’s pentobarbital purchase would make her the perfect patsy.
He was trying to ruin you. And you somehow found out about Julia’s purchase.
She was a convenient red herring.” I meet her gaze.
“Pretty clever, actually. If it weren’t murder, I’d be impressed. ”
“You’re crazy,” Sunshine snaps, the last trace of hippie calm gone. “Flip Flapjack had way more motive than I did. His son lost everything because of Larry!”
“Flip’s too straightforward for something this elaborate,” I say. “And Julia’s too honest to hurt a fly. But you? You had motive, means, and opportunity—and the chemistry background to make it look like someone else’s crime.”
A massive firework explodes overhead, painting the lake red and blue, and in that flash, I see her mask finally slip.
“Fine,” she snarls, crystals catching the light. “You want the truth? Larry Rocket was destroying lives for profit. He was going to expose my business—ruin everything I built—because I was offering natural alternatives to people who couldn’t afford overpriced pharmaceuticals.”
“Natural alternatives that were actually dangerous drugs,” I point out.
“People were getting better!” she shouts, jumping to her feet hard enough to make the dock creak ominously. “I was helping them! Larry was just another corporate shill trying to protect Big Pharma’s profit margins!”
Watson barks sharply and plants himself between Sunshine and me, officially done with this conversation.
“So you killed him,” I say, standing slowly while keeping my voice calm.
“I eliminated a problem,” Sunshine corrects, her eyes wild with a gleam that suggests she’s fully committed to her twisted version of justice. “And I made sure the blame fell on someone who was already guilty of fraud.”
She takes a step toward me, her hands clenched into fists. “Too bad you couldn’t mind your own business.”
Before I can react, Sunshine lunges forward and shoves me hard enough to send me stumbling backward. I reach for Buttercup, my trusty Glock, pulling her from the holster strapped to my thigh, but Sunshine hits me before I can draw.
She crashes into me, and we go over the edge of the dock and into the lake in a tangle of limbs with a splash that’s not audible over the fireworks.
The water is shockingly cold and deeper than expected, and suddenly I’m fighting to keep my head above the surface while wrestling with a woman who’s decided that drowning me is the cleanest solution for avoiding a murder conviction.
And if it works, it might be.
Watson erupts into barking that could wake the dead, racing the length of the dock like a furry siren while Sunshine and I engage in what has to be the world’s least graceful aquatic fight.
“You should have minded your own business!” Sunshine gasps, trying to push my head underwater while I struggle to maintain my grip on Buttercup, who’s rapidly becoming a very expensive lake ornament.
“Should have thought of that before you decided to poison people’s desserts!” I gasp back, managing to break free and splash toward shallow water.
We’re both screaming now, a combination of rage, fear, and a primal fury that comes from fighting for your life in lake water that probably contains enough bacteria to stock a medical laboratory, when the blessed sound of footfalls cuts through the chaos.
“FREEZE! Sheriff’s Department!”
Cooper and Noah come crashing through the trees like a couple of superheroes, drawn by Watson’s frantic barking and what sounds as if there’s a murder in progress. Which, technically, it is.
Both men hit the water without hesitation. Cooper reaches me first while Noah tackles Sunshine, who’s still trying to escape toward the far shore like some sort of deranged mermaid with criminal intent.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Cooper says, pulling me against his chest while I cough up half the lake. “Are you hurt?”
“She confessed!” I gasp, pointing at Sunshine, who’s now being hauled toward shore by Noah. And judging by the looks of it, he’s done this before. “She killed Larry! She admitted it!”
“Sunshine Crumpet, you’re under arrest for the murder of Larry Rocket,” Noah announces, wrestling her onto the dock while she continues to struggle like a very wet, very angry fish out of water.
“You don’t understand!” Sunshine shrieks as Noah produces handcuffs. “I was providing a service! People were being helped by my treatments! Larry Rocket was the real criminal!”
“You have the right to remain silent,” Noah continues, unimpressed by her pharmaceutical speech. “I suggest you use it.”
As Noah leads Sunshine away, she turns back to glare at me with enough venom to qualify as a secondary weapon.
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” she calls over the fireworks. “Those people will go back to suffering, and it’s all your fault!”
Cooper helps me climb back onto the dock, both of us dripping like we’ve been through the rinse cycle, while Watson immediately begins his reunion celebration by attempting to lick the lake water off my face.
“How are you feeling?” Cooper asks, his hands running over my arms and shoulders to check for injuries with a concern that makes my heart do things that have nothing to do with near-drowning experiences.
“Lousy,” I admit, looking out at the water where small ripples are the only evidence of our aquatic showdown. “Buttercup just sank to the bottom of Honey Lake.”
He stares at me—then laughs, the kind of laugh that comes from relief and mild disbelief.
“Only you would worry about your gun after nearly getting drowned by a homicidal hippie,” he says, pulling me against him for a kiss that tastes like lake water and promises and a level of adrenaline that makes everything more intense.
Fireworks explode overhead in a grand finale, painting the lake in color, and for a moment, everything feels weirdly perfect—even soaked, slightly traumatized, and down one very expensive piece of personal protection equipment.
Land of the free, home of the brave, I muse to myself once again as the sky lights up while Cooper holds me close enough to share body heat.
And apparently, it’s the land of the occasionally homicidal organic food vendor who thinks murder is an acceptable business strategy.
Some Fourth of July celebrations end with patriotic songs and warm feelings.
Mine ends with underwater combat and an arrest.
Honestly?
I think I win.