It’s a long, frustrated, completely unhinged sound that echoes across the parking lot and makes approximately forty people turn to stare.
It seems Mayor Woods is having a moment,Fish mewls as she leaps into Mom’s arms in a single bound.
Is she dying?Biscuit Gravy asks with genuine concern.
She’s fine. She just likes the drama,Sherlock says.It’s a whole thing.
Two bodies, two knives, and one very loud mayor having a meltdown in a gym parking lotwhile Georgie films it for her newfound crime podcast—and the only thing I know for certain is that whoever’s doing this is smart enough to cut security wires and brazen enough to kill in broad daylight.
And it begs the question.
Who will they strike next?
CHAPTER 15
Two bodies.
Two bodies in less than a week.
Two bodies in less than a week, and a countrywide celebration is just around the corner.
It’s the next day and Emmie, Jordy, and I have run ourselves ragged trying to meet the list of demands Mackenzie sent over for what she’s calling the Stars, Stripes, and Seaside Spectacular.
As it turns out, she’s shortened the parade to just one hour, which means all eyes on the inn for the entire afternoon and well into sunset. Lucky me.
She’s requested I cordon off another corner of the beach for a private party. Her private party. She’s also asked that I coordinate with the fire marshal for fireworks safety, arrange live band setup on the gazebo, order two hundred custom star-spangled napkins, install additional string lights along the cove perimeter, and organize parking for what she’s calling “overflow guests” but what I’m calling “half of coastal Maine.”
Oh, and there are beverage stations with patriotic cocktails, coordination with catering for seafood boil round two, strategically hidden porta-potties behind decorative screens, sound system testing for the national anthem, extended lifeguard coverage, a photo booth with an American flag backdrop, ice sculptures shaped like eagles—eagles—and day-after trash removal.
I’m one request away from a nervous breakdown.
I’m exhausted just reading the list, and I’ve already tackled half of it.
It’s almost five now, and Ella’s in her stroller at the reception counter while Sherlock and Biscuit Gravy run circles around her trying to make her laugh by way of hide-and-seek. Fish has climbed into the stroller with her, and the two of them are chittering at each other in whatever language babies and cats share when adults aren’t paying attention.
Ella is tolerable,Fish mewls while batting at Ella’s tiny fingers.I think we should keep her, Bizzy.
“I’m glad you approve,” I say.
I think I’m winning!Biscuit Gravy announces from behind a potted plant.
You’re not hiding,Sherlock points out.We can literally see you.
My phone goes off and Mackenzie’s name lights up the screen. My stomach does a full revolution just at the sight of it.
Mackenzie: Get down to The Salty Spur STAT. Emergency friend meeting. You need to be here.
Emergency friend meeting. Because that’s a thing thatrequires my presence when I’m currently coordinating what amounts to a small scale patriotic invasion.
I try my best to find a sitter. Dad and Gwyneth went to Brambleberry Bay for dinner. Jasper is still at work processing Tamsin’s crime scene. Emmie’s swamped with menu prep. I can’t get in touch with my mother. Her phone is going straight to voicemail, which is either suspicious or she’s napping. My sister Buffy is bogged down at Sea Beans and Books until closing.
I briefly consider asking Georgie to babysit, then immediately decide I don’t have the stomach for whatever chaos that would unleash.
Which leaves me with exactly one option.
“Looks like you’re coming with Mommy,” I tell Ella, who claps her hands and laughs.
We’ll guard the inn,Fish volunteers.Not to mention the sunbeams are optimal for napping this time of day.
