CHAPTER 7
“ B izzy Baker Wilder,” Emmie calls out a touch too loud while coming at me with a tray full of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and two cups of coffee. “If you keep this up, your name is going to be synonymous with death.”
“Try murder,” I correct her as I take the tray from her and land it on one of the bistro tables right here in the Country Cottage Café.
I’m not positive it was murder, but I’ve got that niggling feeling and I’m not one to dismiss a niggling feeling lightly. That and the fact I’m on one heck of a streak when it comes to stumbling over brand new homicide investigations. Face it, it would be an anomaly if it turned out to be anything less than sinister.
It’s the morning after Blythe Betty’s untimely demise, and suffice it to say, no one around here got much sleep last night.
Emmie sucks in a breath as she takes a seat across from me. “Did you say murder ?” she all but whispers.
“That’s exactly what I said.” I pull a cup of coffee my way, decaf in solidarity with Emmie—which I’m quickly regretting—and I pull over a warm cinnamon roll slathered in cream cheese frosting as well.
“That’s not what Leo said.” She makes eyes at me as she pulls a cinnamon roll her way, too. “Did Jasper find something that indicates otherwise?”
“Not exactly.” I frown at the thought. “In fact, he said it was an open and shut case. Blythe was not only found holding the gun, but the trajectory in which she was shot in the chest was doable as far as self-inflicted wounds go.”
“So why do you seem disappointed by this? Come on, Bizzy. The holidays are here. You should be relieved there’s not some maniacal killer running around out there. There’s no case for you to solve, so you’re free to enjoy the season. We get to prepare for Thanksgiving, do a little Christmas shopping, and we can even pin down a few good names for the baby in peace.”
“I suppose.” I’m back to frowning as I watch Fish and Sherlock taking Blythe’s Pomeranians—Chestnut, a sweet little girl, and Acorn, an adorable little boy—on a tour of every last inch of this place. Those two bushy auburn sweethearts spent the night at our place.
“How did they take the news?” Emmie asks, glancing their way. She may not be telesensual, but Emmie can read my mind with the best of them.
“They were distraught, of course. But I assured them they’d find another home just as loving. And I promised them that I wouldn’t let anyone separate them. Acorn was thrilled, but Chestnut rolled her eyes at that one.” We share a quick laugh. “But I can tell they’re well bonded. They curled up together in the spare dog bed I had and they spent all night licking one another’s tears. But their spirits seem much better today. Blythe was married, so I’ll ask her husband if he’d like them.”
“They sure are cute.” Emmie sucks in her bottom lip. “But I already have Cinnamon and Gatsby.”
Cinnamon is an aptly-colored labradoodle and Gatsby is a sweet golden retriever. Both Emmie and Leo came into the marriage with a pet, and just like that, a family was born.
“You worry about keeping healthy, and I’ll worry about finding a home for those sweet babes. On second thought, I vote neither of us should worry,” I say, toasting her with my coffee.
She lifts her mug as if to do the same when Emmie stops midflight and her eyes are pinned on something near the entry.
“Oh shoot,” she says. “Before you turn around, there’s something I forgot to tell you yesterday. Your sister-in-law is the newest YouTube sensation, and you’ll never guess who she’s exploiting the heck out of to rake in those views.”
My mouth falls open. “My sweet nephew?”
My sweet nephew, Mack, who happens to be named after his mother, just turned one this last September and he’s about as cute as can be. He should be; he’s basically my brother’s doppelg?nger.
Emmie gives a slight nod just as a fluffy white Samoyed comes sniffing this way.
“ Cane ,” I say, giving the adorable floof a kiss right on the snout. Cane happens to belong to Mack and my brother, Huxley.
Fun fact? My sister, Macy, has an identical Samoyed, albeit a girl, named Candy. And yes, Candy and Cane are quite the couple.
“So glad to see you,” I say while giving him a hearty scratch over his furry back.
Glad to see you, too, Bizzy. He gives a soft woof in Emmie’s direction as well. I hear you’ve got a brand new case. And believe me, Mom isn’t very happy about it. He lifts his head abruptly . I think someone just dropped a slice of bacon.
He takes off and I follow with my eyes as he trots straight over to a toddler who did just that. And once Cane cleans up the mess, he heads straight to the far end of the café where Fish and Sherlock are still conducting their tour.
“ Bizzy ,” Mackenzie snaps from behind and my entire body grows stiff.
Speaking of messes.
I glance up and smile once I spot baby Mack with his arms stretched out toward mine and I quickly scoop him into my lap and dot a kiss to his forehead.
Mack has a thick head of dark hair and has Baker-issued denim blue eyes. Hux is an attorney, and while he’s off fighting crime, or whatever legal nightmare he’s tangled up in, Mackenzie is usually trotting around Cider Cove like she owns the place, and she sort of does. Mackenzie is the official town mayor.
“Mayor Woods.” I nod her way. She’s kept her surname intact, and honestly, that makes things easier on everyone I think. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Baby Mack laughs as if he’s in on the joke.
Mackenzie taps her foot impatiently while crossing her arms tight across her chest. She’s clad in black yoga gear, not the usual power suits she wears to the office and that alone alarms me for some reason.
Honestly, I didn’t think Mackenzie owned casual clothes.
Mackenzie is tall, perennially tan, and has a waterfall of dark hair and light eyes that always seem to be full of venom.
“What are you thinking?” she hisses my way. As if I really care what’s happening in that noggin of hers. Most likely nothing, she thinks to herself and I can’t help but roll my eyes. If she only knew. “You do realize that you’ve succeeded in your effort to taint all of Cider Cove with your creepy, yet deadly maneuvers.”
“Mackenzie, that woman hurt herself ,” Emmie says, stating the facts as delicately as possible. “Bizzy had nothing to do with it.”
“ Ha! ” Mackenzie offers an ironic laugh. “You wish. If Bizzy was present, that almost guarantees a homicide.” She shakes her head my way. “What is it with you, anyway? You can’t go two steps before tripping over the dead. Are you bored? Is that what this is about? Do you need a little excitement in your life? Maybe you’re the one who needs a kid to keep yourself occupied and others safe .”
I open my mouth to protest—even though I totally agree with her on that whole homicide thing—but before I can get a word out, she holds up a finger.
“Cider Cove is having its annual Thanksgiving Day parade in one week’s time and nothing, and I mean nothing had better go wrong,” she snips. “We’re going to be on the news for Pete’s sake—for the right reasons for once! And don’t forget about the Wobble Gobble Turkey Trot taking place an hour before the parade is set to start. We have the entire morning planned out, and I don’t need you or your bad juju ruining things for me. Speaking of which—” She snatches baby Mack from me and he cries and whimpers as his little chubby hands open and close as he tries to will himself back into my arms. “I don’t need any of your bad juju rubbing off on my baby. We’ve got a show to do. Don’t we, sweetheart?” She rubs her nose to his before backing up and gagging. “Oh gross. You picked a perfect time to have a runny nose.”
I hand her a napkin and she quickly cleans up the scene of the crime.
“What’s this about a YouTube channel?” I ask.
“It’s my new show. Our new show,” she proudly says as she adjusts Mack over her hip and quells his whining by way of offering him half my cinnamon roll. But I don’t object. I would have given him the whole thing. “It’s called Mornings with Mackie . Isn’t that cute? My PR gal thought it up.” I wanted to call it Mornings with Mackenzie , but apparently, I’m only allowed to make the odd appearance. Anyway, as long as Mackie here is able to pull his weight financially, I don’t mind. The monetization alone has made me love him twice as much.
I’m not surprised.
“You have a PR gal for your YouTube channel?” Emmie doesn’t look impressed.
“And a production assistant and a project manager,” Mackenzie is quick to add. “You don’t think I’m flying solo on something this big, do you?”
“Exactly what kind of content are you putting out?” I’m almost afraid to hear the answer.
“Just the usual kiddie fair,” she says, plucking some errant icing out of her dark tresses. “We roll video from the moment Mack wakes up, we shoot during breakfast, we skip the bath for obvious reasons, then get him in the stroller and keep the cameras rolling until about noon. That’s when the nanny takes over and I get to work. Some of us have to work a real job.” She looks from Emmie then to me and shrugs.
Emmie and I stopped being offended by Mack’s words and actions ages ago, so we simply nod at the implication.
“Anyway”—she pinches off another piece of my cinnamon roll, this time for herself—“I’ve got to run. But no more bodies until after the new year or I’m going to figure out a way to tax the inn for it.” She gives a sharp whistle, and soon Cane is by her side and the three of them stride right for the exit.
I blow a kiss to baby Mack on his way out the door and he adorably pretends to catch it—something my mother taught him.
And speaking of my mother, she, Georgie, Claudia, and Vera step into the café on cue.