CHAPTER 28
“ W ho’s ready to eat?” I call out as I head into the dining room here at the Country Cottage Inn filled with friends and family—all of whom give a hearty shout of approval.
Jasper steps up and wraps his arms around me from behind. “I’m just glad you’re here to enjoy the feast with us.” He lands a kiss on my cheek as he says it.
“ Hey .” I turn my head to get a better look at him. “You mean you’d be feasting with or without me?”
“It’s Thanksgiving,” he teases with a wink. “I’ve waited all year to enjoy this meal.” He nuzzles his cheek against mine. “Please leave the crime-solving to me. I’m going to have nightmares of my wife floating off into space for the next six decades.”
“What happens after that?” Now it’s me teasing.
“I float off into space.”
“Don’t you dare,” I say, turning around and giving his ribs a tweak.
No sooner did I float off holding onto that hot air balloon than Georgie tweaked something with the intake valve and my mother, Georgie, and I all floated back down to earth—with a little navigation and some light expletives from Jasper and Leo who made sure we had a safe landing.
I look around at the room in all of its Thanksgiving splendor, each detail a labor of love. The long, rustic table is adorned with a colorful centerpiece of autumn leaves, miniature pumpkins, and candles flickering softly. The rich, earthy aroma of roasted turkey mingles with the sweet scent of baked apples and cinnamon, filling the air with a warm, inviting fragrance that encapsulates this day entirely.
All of our four-footed friends are here—my four, plus Cinnamon and Gatsby, and Candy and Cane. I’ve already fed them all a feast of a meal and they look about as stuffed as that bird on the table—but far happier. They’re all currently huddled by the fire, playing with the toys Sherlock hauled over. And every now and again they run out into the main hall like a rabid pack of wolves on the prowl.
The inn is empty for the time being as every last guest took off to visit with friends or relatives. It’s peaceful, and kind of nice having the facility to ourselves for a change.
“Ladies and gentlemen”—I call out as everyone takes their seats—“I present to you, the pièce de resistance,” I announce, waving a hand over the perfectly bronzed turkey. “A bird so beautiful, I almost didn’t want to cook it.”
“And good thing you didn’t,” Georgie says and the room lights up with laughter.
“Very funny.” I wrinkle my nose at her. “All right, everyone, there’s plenty to go around, so no need to hold back. And remember, calories don’t count on holidays. That’s a scientific fact.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, everyone,” Jasper says, raising a glass. “To good food, great company, and the hope that next year’s dinner won’t involve any hot air balloons.”
A toast is raised, and laughter fills the room once more. For tonight, at least, all is right in our cozy corner of Cider Cove. It even started to snow as if on cue once the parade was over. We have our white Thanksgiving after all.
Everyone is here this evening. Huxley, Mackenzie, and little Mack who’s snug in a high chair. Macy and Jordy who are busy canoodling at the other end of the table. Emmie’s parents and Leo’s mother. My mother and her boyfriend, Ben.
However, my father and Jasper’s mother, who happen to be married to one another, couldn’t make it. They’re on a Caribbean cruise at the moment, but we face-timed with them as soon as we got back to the inn this afternoon. Suffice it to say, my father was thrilled to hear I survived my “space travels” as he put it.
Georgie, of course, is with us, as are Emmie and Leo, and a couple of my mother’s friends—Claudia and Magda. They were both reluctant to join us, especially after Vera was carted off to the slammer, but I’m so glad they came. They shouldn’t be alone after the trauma they experienced on the float, not to mention it’s Thanksgiving.
Jasper says grace and the entire lot of us dives in as if we haven’t eaten since last Thanksgiving. And as much as I wanted us all to wear those funny little knit hats made to look like turkeys, I didn’t think it was appropriate considering I bought them from the killer—or at least one of the owners of that shop was the woman who pulled the trigger.
“Emmie, the turkey looks perfect,” I say and just about everyone agrees with me.
Georgie ticks her head to the side wistfully. “If that turkey tastes half as good as it smells, I might just marry it,” she quips and earns a round of chuckles because of it.
“ Eh .” Mom shrugs. “I’ve been married to a turkey before. It’s not as enticing as it sounds.”
Another round of laughter ensues, this time on behalf of my father.
Okay, so I laughed, too—and so would he if he was here. My father has the best sense of humor. He has to, he’s married to Jasper’s mother.
Bizzy. Leo laughs as he looks my way.
Don’t you dare tell Jasper, I say internally as I give him a stern look.
That’s the problem when you invite another mind reader to dinner. He’ll call you out on your thoughts and suddenly have ammo to use against you. Not that Leo would. But I might be moved to, should the right thought arise. I wink his way and he nods.
Duly noted, he says telepathically.
“Emmie, why don’t you tell us about some of these dishes?” I say, expertly changing the subject. “Emmie has been perfecting her Thanksgiving dinner game all month long,” I tell everyone.
Bragging about my bestie is one of my most favorite things to do.
Emmie blushes and waves me off. “It’s just a few things I’ve been dreaming about that I thought I’d bring to life. You wouldn’t believe how much I’ve been craving this night.” The room breaks out into a gentle laugh. “Okay, let’s see, I’ll just rattle off the unique stuff and leave out the usual suspects. We’ve got an herb-crusted rack of lamb with a pomegranate glaze, wild rice risotto with truffle oil, cranberry orange glazed roasted potatoes—to go with our creamy mashed potatoes, of course. Cubed butternut squash in brown butter sauce, and I added some chestnuts and figs to the stuffing.”
“Is that why it tastes so great?” Mackenzie moans with pleasure. “I hope you made a lot. I’ll be craving this at midnight.” And every hour until then. Keeping up with this kid isn’t for the faint of heart—or those trying to maintain their girlish figure. I can’t get enough carbs in me. She catches me looking at her and makes a face my way. It’s almost as if Bizzy wants me to dole out a compliment her way, too. Dream on, Biz.
I roll my eyes. If Mackenzie doled out a compliment my way, I’d ask Hux to watch her for signs of a concussion.
The clinking of cutlery and plates fills the room, along with the soft buzz of friendly chatter as everyone starts in on the scrumptious feast before us.
But I’m not talking. In fact, I can’t seem to get enough of the creamy mashed potatoes smothered in rich, dark gravy—and don’t get me started on those buttery dinner rolls that Emmie made from scratch. As much as I craved justice this morning, I’m craving just about everything else right about now. And lucky for me, Emmie has made sure we have everything .
“Emmie”—Macy hisses as if my bestie has offended her—“these sweet potatoes are to die for. What’s your secret?”
“Love and a ridiculous amount of brown sugar,” Emmie confesses with a laugh. “And maybe a splash of maple syrup for good measure.” Okay, so almost a cup, but who’s going to know? She sucks in a breath and quickly shoots a look to both Leo and me.
I nod her way. Emmie knows her secrets are safe with me.
Speaking of secrets, I press my lips together. Let’s just say this table is rife with them.
Soon enough, we’re through with dinner and onto bigger things—dessert.
Mom and I help Emmie dole out enough pie to feed all of Cider Cove and a mountain of whipped cream to go along with it. We dive into the desserts, and I look around the table as my heart swells with gratitude.
Despite the chaos that seems to follow me wherever I go these days, moments like these remind me of what truly matters —family, friends, and the simple joys of sharing a meal together, especially when it’s a gourmet meal whipped up by your best friend.
The desserts are disappearing at an alarming rate, and the pumpkin cheesecake with the gingersnap crust is already gone. The dining room is filled with the contented hum of friends and family savoring every bite.
I excuse myself and step over to the sideboard to refill my cider, and as I’m about to do so, Magda approaches me with a determined look in her eyes.