Before I can get a word in about bottlecaps or cute little pooches, Mackenzie grabs my arm with a grip that lets me know she’s mapped out my murder more than once. Her manicured nails dig in just enough to make a point.
“You listen to me very carefully, Bizzy Baker.”
I frown at her because she just so happened to leave out my most valued moniker. My married name,Wilder. Otherwise, the threats are par for the sister-in-law course.
“There will be no bodies at this event. Do you understand?” She snips it hard. “No mysterious deaths. No suspicious accidents. No tragic mishaps. These people are important to me, Bizzy. I need this week to be perfect. In fact, this week will be?—”
Georgie snickers. “I believe the word your handsome hubby used wastoxic.”
Mackenzie’s growl could register on the Richter scale.
“Lucky for you I don’t have any homicides on my agenda.” I try to take my arm from her death grip but to no avail. For a woman who’d like to exclude the Grim Reaper, she sure is acting a lot like his assistant. Although some might argue that would be me. “In fact,” I continue, “I neverplanfor any murders to take place. They just sort of happen around me.”
Hauntingly true.
“Well, they’re not happening this week.” Mackenzie releases my arm and smooths her hair. Her smile clicks back into place like a light switch. “In fact, you’re going to stick by my side all night. That way I can keep an eye on you and make sure you’re not sending anyone else up to the great fireworks factory in the sky.”
“Or more to the point, I’ll be sticking by your side all night so when someone inevitably drops dead, you can’t blame me for it.” I blink a smile at her and she all but detonates—in silence, thankfully.
My aforementioned bestie, Emmie, glides by with a tray full of bacon-wrapped dates.Hanging out with Mackenzie all night? Have fun with that one.She wrinkles her nose.
This might be a good time to mention that my name is Bizzy Baker Wilder. I stand at an average height, have dark medium-length hair, and denim blue eyes—and I can read the minds of both people and animals. Not every mind, not every time, but most of the time, and believe me, animals almost always have better things to say. Always.
Not everyone knows I can pry into other people’s gray matter, but of course my bestie knows, as does her husband and mine, and well, Georgie.
“I mean it, Bizzy. No dead bodies,” Mackenzie continues her assault on my sanity.
“Believe me, Mackenzie. Nobody is dropping dead,” I’m quick to assure her—however false that assurance might be.
She says that now,Mackenzie thinks,but give it ten minutes and she’ll be tripping over a corpse like it’s a party favor.
I make a face at the thought. Little does Mackenzie here know that I can do it in less than five.
Not that I’m proud.
The smell of burgers on the grill drifts over from the outdoor portion of the Country Cottage Café, the eatery attached to the back of my inn, and that heavenly scent mixes with salt air and someone’s aggressively tropical perfume. The music shifts to somethinglouder and far more upbeat as people start migrating toward the food and the makeshift dance floor in equal measure.
Just across the beach, I spot my handsome hubby, Jasper—Homicide Detective Jasper Wilder.
Jasper is tall, dark, and handsome in the classical sense with a shock of dark hair that I love to run my fingers through, light gray eyes that could see straight into my soul, and a body that I don’t mind warming up to night after night.
And that last point would be exactly why he’s holding our sweet baby girl, Ella, in his arms. Our daughter’s dark hair is fluffing up like cotton candy from the ocean breeze, her blue eyes heavy with sleep. She looks like a miniature carbon copy of her daddy—same serious expression, same way of surveying everything like she’s filing it away for future reference.
He’s walking toward his mother, Gwyneth, who’s set up camp in one of the Adirondack chairs and a very large glass of wine.
Smart woman.
And fun fact: she’s married to my father.
Again, smart woman. Although judging from my father’s track record with divorce, she may not be as smart as she thinks.
“I’m serious, Bizzy.” Mackenzie’s still droning on. “My friends are going to be here for seven days.Seven,” she says it like the threat it is. “We have planned activities, coordinated outfits, a whole?—”
“Schedule of opportunities for someone to get murdered?” Georgie suggests with a cackle.
Mom elbows her. “Georgie.”
“What? I’m just saying, if Bizzy’s involved, we shouldprobably get a betting pool going. I’ve got twenty bucks on Thursday.”
