A woman near the door is holding up a Seaside Surprise candle and making a TikTok video where she pretends to faint from the smell. Her friend is laughing so hard she’scrying, and three other people are waiting their turn to do the same thing.
I snap one up myself and bravely bring it to my nose.
“Oh geez,” I gag as I say it. “Macy, this thing smells like a fish carcass married tax season. What are you thinking with these?”
“I may have a dud on my hands,” Macy says, and she sounds like she’s reporting news of a natural disaster. “A genuine, certified, career-ending dud. These candles are threatening to take me and my business down with it.”
“Can’t you just pull them from the shelves?” Mom asks, still bouncing Ella who’s stopped crying but is eyeing the candles with deep suspicion.
Not only does she have a good nose, but she’s smart as a whip.
“I could,” Macy admits. “But here’s the thing—people are buying them. Like, a lot. They’re buying them as joke gifts, and gag gifts, and ‘you won’t believe what I found’ gifts. I’ve sold more candles in the last three hours than I did all of last month.”
Georgie cackles. “Capitalism at its finest. Make something terrible, watch it go viral for profit.” She nods to my mother. “How about it, Preppy? Are you ready to part with a little of your wardrobe? We could pay for a cruise to the Bahamas.”
Mom shoots her a look before reverting to my sister. “Macy, if they’re selling, what’s the problem then?”
“The problem,” Macy continues as she starts up with some serious manic pacing now, “is that my reputation as a serious artisan is circling the drain. Every other post is someone making fun of me or askingif I’ve lost my sense of smell or suggesting I need to be investigated for crimes against humanity.”
“That’s a bit dramatic,” I say. And perhaps accurate.
“You haven’t read the comments,” she riots my way.
She’s probably right. The internet has a special talent for turning everything into a five-alarm fire, and Macy’s accidental foray into novelty stink candles is exactly the sort of thing that makes people feel both superior and entertained.
And apparently so, so, so very entertained.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
Macy straightens her shoulders, and I see a flash of the woman who once spent an entire summer perfecting the exact ratio of shea butter to coconut oil in her signature body lotion. “I’m going to own it. I’m going to lean into it. I’m going to make Snacks After Midnight the most talked about candle line in all of New England, and then I’m going to quietly discontinue it and launch something sophisticated that makes everyone forget this ever happened.”I hope.
That’s either brilliant or insane,Fish points out.
Could be both,Sherlock adds.
Mom shifts Ella to her other hip. “Well, first Mackenzie gets accused of murder, and now your business is—” She pauses, searching for the right words. “—having a moment.”
“A fragrant moment,” Georgie supplies helpfully.
“An aggressively fragrant moment,” I add.
Macy glowers at the three of us. “Well, at least I know for a fact Mackenzie is having a worse day than I am, even if she is innocent.”
Georgie turns to me, her coconut tree kaftan swishing. “Speaking of our mean girl mayor, who says she’s innocent?That girl has been holding a grudge against you like it’s her full-time job.”
I shrug. “I guess that would be me. But only because I happen to know she’s innocent. And she’s also enlisted my help in tracking down whoever actually did stab Brittany Vanderbilt.”
“You mean she’s blackmailed you into it,” Macy corrects.
“She did no such thing,” I’m quick to say. “It just so happens I sort of like poking my nose into these sort of homicidal things.” I wince over at Ella as I say it. Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure it’s far from what any responsible mother would say, think, or definitely do. I can’t help it, though. I’m sort of an addict at this point.
“I know what that means.” Georgie’s eyes light up with a level of glee usually reserved for Christmas morning and casino jackpots. “Where are we off to, Toots? Who are we sending to the big house?”
“I wish I knew who,” I say, watching another person pose with a Seaside Surprise candle for one of their social media stories. Speaking of stories, I check my phone and bite down on a smile when I see confirmation of it. “But I do know where.”
“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Mom says.
I nod. “The Seaview Marina. Three o’clock. Mackenzie’s friends are having some kind of yacht situation, and apparently, I’m required to attend and solve a murder between cocktails.”
