Chapter 5
It’s less than a few hours later and the inn’s main lawn has been transformed into what can only be described as a cross between a high-end spa and a sorority house during rush week.
White fluffy robes flutter in the ocean breeze, champagne bubbles catch the afternoon sunlight, and the scent of summer jasmine mingles with coconut-scented nail polish and fresh-cut grass.
Twenty women lounge on cushioned chairs under flowing curtains and large umbrellas, while nail techs work their magic at portable stations scattered across the grass.
“Ladies!” Charlotte stands up with her champagne flute raised high, still looking slightly puffy around the eyes but significantly more human than this morning. “I want to thank my amazing mother for flying in from Boston to support me through this crazy season of my life.”
She gestures toward the silver-haired woman I recognize from last night’s argument with Tessa, and the woman offers a stiff smile to the crowd.
Aha. So that’s the mysterious mother figure I saw. And she definitely had words with our deceased wedding planner before her untimely demise.
“And I’d like to thank my bestie since college, Kiki Parker, who dropped everything to be here for me,” Charlotte continues, pointing to the brunette who waves enthusiastically from her chair.
I nod over at the woman who slapped Tessa silly just before I found the poor woman’s body. Perfect. Two suspects, one gossip circle. This should prove fruitful.
“Today is about sisterhood, secrets, and sharing our truth!” Charlotte declares, and the crowd of women cheers as if she just announced free designer handbags for everyone.
Truth? Oh honey, you have no idea how much truth I’m about to uncover.
I toast her with my glass as if I’ve said those words out loud.
Or at least I hope I’m about to uncover the truth.
Or at least a coupon to help pay for all of these nail techs and mimosas.
The vendors keep billing the inn, but Jasper assured me that Charlotte’s mother would be covering all the fees in one fell swoop by the time the wedding was through.
Here’s hoping I can float the bill until then.
Since Ella was fed and is due for her afternoon nap, Gwyneth and my father are babysitting at my cottage, which means I can focus entirely on this investigation without worrying about my daughter’s next shrieking performance.
Even though I secretly think they’re adorable—not so much at three in the morning, but still pretty cute even then.
She has both Jasper and me wrapped around her little finger, and what a cute little finger it is.
And don’t get me started on her tiny little toes.
I’ve already done five sets of handprint and footprint impressions with her.
It’s safe to say I’m obsessed with every sweet inch of my baby girl.
The hoomans are gathering in a circle to share secrets, Fish mewls while padding across the grass with her nose twitching. This is either going to be fascinating or terrifying.
My money is on both, Sherlock gives a soft woof, sniffing around the appetizer table with a hopeful gleam in his big brown eyes.
I nod his way because I happen to agree.
Also, someone dropped a bacon-wrapped scallop over here, and I call dibs, he barks with glee.
Truffle trots nervously between the chairs, still jumpy from last night’s trauma but clearly intrigued by all the activity.
There are far too many strangers here, she whimpers as she comes in close.
And they smell like expensive soap and gossip—and Tessa and I liked both.
It sort of makes me happy, and I’m conflicted about feeling happy.
In fact, I’m afraid of being happy. Heck, I’m afraid of just about everything.
She lets a few wild yips rip through the air as if to prove her point.
“You’ll be fine, sweetie,” I tell her just above a whisper. “Just stick close to Fish and Sherlock. They’re excellent at avoiding trouble. Although they have been known to cause it.”
That is categorically false, Fish replies. We’re excellent at finding trouble. There’s a difference. We get that from you, Bizzy, she says with a wink and I can’t help but frowning her way.
“Okay, ladies!” Macy claps her hands together, clearly in her element. “Welcome to Champagne and Complaints, where the tea is hot and the secrets are hotter!”
Camila holds up her phone, already recording everything for her YouTube channel. “This is going straight to Gossip Gal, so make it juicy! We’re going to play a little game. Raise your hand if you’ve got some dirt to share, and whoever has the most shocking story wins a prize!”
Oh, this is going to be good.
“I’ll go first!” Charlotte bounces in her chair, clearly energized by the champagne and attention.
“So, you all know I run The Hot Mess Heiress, right? Well, half my so-called disasters are completely staged. Last month’s viral video, where I accidentally dyed my hair green?
Totally planned. I spent three hours with a colorist getting the perfect shade of catastrophe. ”
The crowd gasps appreciatively, and honestly, so do I. She’s dedicated to her craft, I’ll give her that.
“And the time I mistakenly wore two different designer shoes to a charity gala?” Charlotte continues with a wild cackle.
“I practiced that walk for weeks to make it look natural. My followers ate up every last crooked step. ‘She’s just like us!’ they said.
Except I’m not. I’m carefully curating chaos for clicks.
” She gives a little wink, and the crowd goes crazy.
Wonderful, I muse, wrinkling my nose her way.
“Oh my goodness.” Mom gasps from her chair, where a nail tech is painting her toes a shocking shade of coral. “That’s brilliant! Absolutely diabolical, but brilliant.” She looks to the crowd. “The girl knows what side her bread is buttered on and she basically butters it herself.”
She’s not kidding. The crowd lights up with a light applause.
“I know, right?” Charlotte grins. “Authentic authenticity is so last year. Now it’s all about performed relatability.”
More hands shoot up around the circle.
“Ooh, me next!” A woman in her fifties waves frantically. “I’ve been having an affair with my neighbor’s pool boy for six months. My husband thinks I’m just really enthusiastic about water aerobics!”
I gasp because I can’t believe she just admitted that. The champagne is clearly working its truth serum magic. I’ll have to ask Camila to block out the woman’s face before she comes to and sues us all into oblivion.
The crowd explodes in shocked laughter.
“My turn!” another woman calls out. “I switched my sister-in-law’s sugar with salt after she called my potato salad rustic at Thanksgiving.
I snuck into her kitchen before Christmas and made sure every single one of her desserts was completely inedible come Christmas Eve. I’ve never felt more satisfied.”
A round of oohs and ahhs circles the crowd. Clearly, people are impressed with the diabolical behavior.
“Ladies, we have some serious contenders here,” Georgie announces, clearly enjoying herself. That flamingo-pink robe of hers that makes her look like a tropical bird of prey. “But wait until you hear what I did to Ethel Morrison after she said my yard gnomes were tacky.”
Oh heavens, what did Georgie do to that poor woman? She happens to live three cottages down from Georgie, at least part of the year. She’s our resident snow bird and she flees the first sign of fall. And now I’m afraid she’ll flee at the first sign of Georgie.
“I may have accidentally redirected all her mail to the post office in Bangor for three weeks. She missed her book club, her garden society meeting, and her standing hair appointment. By the time she figured it out, she looked like she’d been living in the wilderness.”
The women are gasping and cackling in equal measure.
Oh, I remember that look on Ethel. I thought Ella’s screaming was keeping her up at night. I’ll admit, I feel a tiny bit relieved.
“Georgie!” Mom scolds, though she’s clearly fighting back laughter. “That’s terrible!”
“Terribly effective,” Georgie corrects. “She’s never insulted my gnomes since.”
It’s relatively tame when it comes to the things that Georgie Conner is capable of, so I’ll let it slide. This time.
A commotion near the entrance catches my attention.
Mackenzie Woods strides across the lawn, looking harried and slightly murderous.
Her dark hair is pulled back into a severe ponytail, her dark eyes scan the gathering with the intensity of a predator, and she moves with the confidence of a mayor who has a soul made of pure soot.
And yet, she’s the love of my brother’s life and the mother of my favorite nephew. My only nephew, but still.
“Sorry I’m late,” she announces, settling into the chair next to mine. “Had to deal with three noise complaints, two parking violations, and one very angry tourist who claimed our seagulls were aggressively entitled.”
“How does a seagull become aggressively entitled?” I ask, even though I might agree with the tourist just a bit. Cider Cove has the feistiest seagulls you ever did meet.
“Apparently, by stealing an entire lobster roll right out of someone’s hands,” Mackenzie grunts. “In broad daylight. While making eye contact.”
I shrug at the thought. “I can respect that seagull’s commitment to the hustle. Besides, who could resist a lobster roll?”
Emmie appears with a tray of what look like tiny works of art—miniature lemon tarts topped with fresh berries, delicate strawberry shortcake bites, and what appears to be lavender honey macarons. Everything screams summer and sophistication.
“Finger foods for gossiping fingers,” she announces, traveling around with the tray and offering everyone a bite.