Chapter 5 #2
“Perfect timing,” Mackenzie says, then turns to me with a look that could freeze champagne mid-bubble. “I suppose you know this little murder situation is single-handedly destroying Cider Cove’s reputation? We had three wedding cancellations this morning alone.”
“I didn’t murder anyone,” I protest. “I just happened to find the body.”
“You always just happen to find bodies. It’s becoming a brand for you.”
“Look on the bright side,” I say. “At least there’s no community gathering at the end of the week where I can wreak more havoc on the town’s image.”
Mackenzie’s smile turns predatory. “Oh, but there is. There’s a wedding. And if that goes sideways, too...”
“That’s right, there’s a wedding!” Georgie interjects with a hoot. “And if I’m lucky with that hunka hunka best man, it will be a double doozie.”
“A double doozie?” Mom raises an eyebrow. “Georgie, you can’t plan a wedding in the middle of a murder investigation.”
“Why not? I’ve done stranger things. Remember when I organized that flash mob funeral for Mrs. Peterson’s garden gnome collection?”
It’s true. Georgie takes her love of garden gnomes very seriously.
“That was not a funeral,” Mom corrects. “That was a public disturbance.”
“Tomato, to-mah-to.” Georgie waves her off.
“Ladies, ladies!” Charlotte claps her hands together. “There’s still so much more gossiping to do! But first, how about another round of juicy secrets? The bar is set pretty high after Georgie’s mail revenge scheme. And that affair with the pool boy is almost too hot to handle!”
“Ooh, ooh!” A woman with bright purple nail polish waves her champagne flute frantically.
“I’ve been secretly feeding my neighbor’s prize-winning roses with coffee grounds and banana peels.
She thinks she has a green thumb, but really, she just has me trespassing in her garden at midnight.
I can’t help it. She won’t take my advice, and she was about to send them to an early grave. Someone had to step in.”
“Now that’s dedication to some lucky roses.” Macy nods approvingly. “I respect the commitment, but there are far better things you could be doing at midnight.”
Leave it to Macy to know exactly what those would be.
“My turn!” Another woman bounces in her chair.
“I’ve been leaving fake parking tickets on my ex-husband’s car for six months.
He’s paid over three hundred dollars in fines that don’t actually exist. The city has no record of them, but he’s too embarrassed to ask questions. All the proceeds go to yours truly.”
The entire circle erupts in shocked gasps and applause.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Mom looks genuinely stumped. “That’s both brilliant and illegal. Everyone knows that’s the best kind of revenge.”
“You bet it is,” the woman agrees cheerfully. “I’ve already conned him out of ten grand.”
More applause follows suit.
Camila’s eyes light up behind her phone camera. “This is gold for Gossip Gal. My subscribers are going to eat this up.”
“Wait, wait!” Georgie holds up her hand dramatically. “I have another one. Remember when Gladys Pemberton told everyone at the church social that I was too old to be chasing men?”
“Georgie, no,” Mom warns.
“Oh, Georgie, yes,” Georgie herself declares with wicked satisfaction.
“I may have signed her up for every dating service within a fifty-mile radius. Senior Singles, Mature Mingles, Silver Foxes Anonymous—you name it. That woman now gets more gentleman callers than a 1920s Alaskan boarding house. Last week, I saw three different men with walkers fighting over who gets to take her to bingo night. That old broad should pen me a thank-you note.”
“That explains why she keeps getting flowers delivered to her house every other day,” one of the nail techs chimes in, causing another wave of laughter. “And I agree, Georgie. She does owe you a thank you!”
“That’s what she gets for having the audacity to suggest I take up knitting instead of dating. She says I don’t have any boundaries when it comes to the opposite sex,” Georgie defends herself. “And I say actions have consequences.”
“You have been known to corner men about their relationship status,” Mom points out.
“That’s not the point. It’s about respect. And verifying their single status before anyone gets frisky.”
A woman in her thirties raises a well-manicured hand. “I changed my sister’s dating app bio to say she was obsessed with collecting vintage spoons and spoke fluent Klingon. She couldn’t figure out why every guy wanted to discuss Star Trek and silverware.”
“Savage,” Mackenzie comments, though she sounds impressed. “How long did that go on?”
“Three months. She finally figured it out when she went to the doctor to check to see if she had a stroke. She said everything that came from the mouths of men she dated sounded like gibberish.”
“I think I’m dating the same men,” a woman shouts and we all dissolve in laughter.
The gossip train is officially off the rails now. Women are just about climbing over each other to share their spicy stories.
“I told my mother-in-law that my husband’s new favorite meal was liver and onions, so she makes it every time we visit,” one confesses. “He hates it so much we hardly ever go over anymore. My plan couldn’t have worked better.”
She gets an applause for that one, and a couple of women even get on their feet for her.
“I’ve been buying lottery tickets with my book club dues for two years,” another admits. “If I win, they’ll never know.”
“I convinced my HOA president that flamingo lawn ornaments are actually good feng shui, so now she has twelve of them,” a woman near the back calls out. “And all I wanted was for her to allow me to keep the one I have!”
“The petty level in this group is inspiring,” I tell Mackenzie, who’s watching the chaos unfold with fascination, and I can tell she’s realizing this wedding will be memorable for reasons other than murder.
“It’s like a master class in passive-aggressive warfare,” she agrees. “I should take notes for municipal conflict resolution.” Although a good homicide would suffice at those venues, too. She glances my way. Come to think of it, I should lure Bizzy to the next town meeting.
I roll my eyes at that one. Not only does she like to blame me for all the homicides we’ve had in Cider Cove, she now wants me to commit a few. And don’t think for a minute she won’t be throwing the book at me the first chance she gets. It’s sort of win-win for her in that respect.
“Oh, I’ve got one!” A woman with perfectly styled gray hair stands up. “My neighbor complained that my wind chimes were too loud, so I bought twelve more and arranged them in a symphony. Now when the wind blows, it sounds like a percussion orchestra.”
“Good for you, Toots!” Georgie calls out. “Now that’s art!”
Good gravy, I hope Georgie doesn’t take a cue and buy up every wind chime in Cider Cove. I can already hear the noise complaints coming to the inn. It’s bad enough baby Ella is getting them.
Fish chooses this moment to trot over with something hanging from her mouth.
Great mews, Bizzy. I may have found some evidence, she announces proudly, dropping what appears to be a torn piece of fabric at my feet.
But I recognize it from a wonky quilt used as a beach blanket that was oddly shedding last week.
My mother and Georgie happen to sell wonky quilts at their shop.
They’re basically quilts made from scraps, and they’re a big hit all year long because they have them made according to the upcoming holidays and seasons.
I found it near the supply table from last night.
Smells like expensive perfume and secrets.
“Good work,” I whisper her way. “And thank you for keeping a sharp eye on things.”
“Everything okay over there, Bizzy?” Charlotte calls out, noticing my distraction.
“Just Fish being helpful,” I say, quickly pocketing the fabric. “You know how pets are.”
I also found half a sandwich behind the appetizer table, Sherlock adds with a woof. Less mysterious, but far more delicious.
Charlotte clinks her fork to her glass. “Please feel free to mingle, ladies! Get your nails looking like a million bucks, and remember—this is a judgment-free zone where we spill all the piping hot tea!” she calls out with a whoop.
Judgment-free zone. Right. And yet I’m judging everyone, starting with our murder suspects. It’s basically my job at this point.
The women scatter across the lawn, chattering excitedly as they move between nail stations and champagne refills. Mackenzie extends her foot toward the nail tech, who begins working on her toes with professional efficiency. I think it’s time to get my toes done as well.
I spot Charlotte and Kiki moving toward two chairs set slightly apart from the main group, probably hoping for some private girl talk during their pedicures.
Perfect. It’s time to get some answers.
I maneuver my way across the lawn, champagne flute in hand, trying to look casual while positioning myself within eavesdropping distance of my prime suspects.
It’s time to grill a suspect—or two. And get a really cute pedicure in the process. If motherhood has made me anything, I’m a master at multitasking. Here’s hoping that one of those tasks is catching a killer.