Jasper and Leo come running over with their weapons drawn, and they quickly descend upon us.
“She confessed,” I say, panting.
Jasper holsters his weapon and helps me up. “Which one confessed?”
Mackenzie growls from underneath Sloane and smacks Jasper’s leg. “It was Sloane!” she grouses. She sounds furious and vindicated and possibly concussed.
“She confessed to killing both Brittany and Tamsin,” I say, still in Jasper’s arms, still holding the knife, still trying to catch my breath.
Leo quickly pulls Sloane up and cuffs her while the pets maintain their positions.
Sloane’s perfect hair is ruined, makeup smeared, designer dress torn and covered in sand.
“Get these animals off me!”
I nod their way and reluctantly they let go.
Good biting,Fish says, licking her paw.
Best fight ever,Biscuit Gravy agrees.
She tasted like expensive lies,Sherlock notes with satisfaction.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM.
The sky is exploding in every color—red, white, and blue cascading down in waves. The crowd is cheering, completely oblivious to what just happened twenty feet away as the music swells to a crescendo.
Leo walks Sloane toward the cruiser as she screams about lawyers, about her teeth, about bail money.
People are starting to notice and phones are pointed in her direction. Mackenzie’s friends staring in shock from the VIP section.
Jasper checks me for injuries as his hands run over my arms and my face. “Are you hurt?” he pants the words right over my lips as the sky turns bright as noonday.
“Just sandy.”
“Bizzy—”
“I know. I know.”
He pulls me close just as another massive explosion lights up the sky like daytime once again, and we stand there holding each other while Cider Cove celebrates freedom and I try very hard not to think about the fifty-thousand-dollar check I gave a killer.
Mackenzie makes her way over, brushing sand off her white linen pants, and shakes her head at me. “I can’t believe we just took down a killer.”
“In the middle of the fireworks,” I say.
“I’m neverhosting a staycation again.”
BOOM.
Fish, Sherlock, and Biscuit Gravy all yowl and howl at the sky as they dance around in glee.
Sloane Fletcher-Ramsey is being hauled away in handcuffs, screaming about her plastic surgery and designer handbags while the grand finale explodes overhead—and somewhere out in the world is a fifty-thousand-dollar check made out to a woman who just tried to kill me, which means my sunroom renovation is officially the most expensive near-death experience I’ve ever had.
CHAPTER 20
The grand finale is living up to its name. The sky is exploding in synchronized bursts—red, white, and blue cascading everywhere, painting the entire beach in patriotic glory while approximately three thousand people record it on their phones instead of actually watching it.
The air smells like gunpowder and ocean salt and the last stubborn traces of grilled hot dogs, and somewhere a sound system is blasting the national anthem while kids wave sparklers that are definitely a fire hazard.
