Thirty days to find a new place to live while also hunting down whoever decided to turn a baking competition into a homicide investigation.
Perfect.
I stare at the ceiling, contemplating the grim possibility of living out of the back of my truck. Maine winters aren’t exactly known for their hospitality, and while I’ve camped in worse conditions during my time in training, the prospect of showering at the department gym for months doesn’t exactly appeal to me.
Then a thought hits me. Maybe this is actually good timing? I’ve been spending most nights at Hattie’s place in Moonlit Meadows anyway. Of course, not actually spending the night, but I’ve left late enough that it felt as if I should have.
Those cabins by the woods and sea have a certain charm that my rental never managed to achieve. I have an ocean view, too, but what I’m missing is a Hattie Holiday view. Now I’d pay extra for that.
Maybe this is the universe’s not-so-subtle way of pushing me toward Brambleberry Bay permanently. Toward Hattie. Toward a future that, if I’m honest with myself, I’ve been circling with caution for months now.
I pull up the real estate listings for Brambleberry Bay on my computer. The screen fills with options—far too many options. Beachfront condos with prices that make my credit card wince preemptively. Downtown apartments above quirky shops. Andthen there are the cabins near Hattie in the enclave she lives in—Moonlit Meadows.
I don’t have time to comb through all of this. I’ve got a killer to corner, not just a place to rent.
And then I see it. The smiling face of Venetta Brandt beaming from a sidebar advertisement, her gleaming teeth almost as blinding as her highlighted hair.
“Making Your Real Estate Dreams Come True!” proclaims the caption beneath her aggressively cheerful face.
I inch back in my chair, nearly tipping over in the process. Venetta Brandt works for my mother as the brand operations manager for Velvet Vanity Lounges and Spas, my mother’s far too lucrative business empire. Looks to me as if Venetta is doing a little moonlighting in real estate.
I bet Venetta would be glad to find me a place to live posthaste. The woman has been nothing if not enthusiastic about inserting herself into my life whenever possible.
I pause, finger hovering over the mouse.
What am I doing? The woman was obsessed with me in the past.
Venetta Brandt and I have never so much as gone on a date, although she very much wanted to and actively pursued me despite my relationship with Hattie. She’s made no secret of her crush, sending everything from home-baked cookies to concert tickets to my office until I firmly established that I wasn’t interested.
But that’s all in the past, right? She’s a professional. I’m a professional. And I’m desperate. I’ve got less than thirty days to land a new roof over my head, and apparently, desperate times call for Venetta Brandt.
I reach for my phone, my finger hovering over her contact information as doubt gnaws at my gut like a hungry raccoon. On one hand, she’ll work tirelessly to find me the perfect place. Onthe other hand, she might interpret this professional interaction as something more personal. Heck, I know she will.
But what choice do I have? It’s either Venetta or the back seat of my truck. And Rookie has already claimed most of that space with his ever-growing collection of stuffed animals—courtesy of Hattie.
I take a deep breath and presscall, already wondering if I’m making a deal with a designer-clad devil.
If finding a murderer in Brambleberry Bay isn’t complicated enough, finding a place to live might just prove to be the death of me.
But hopefully, it’s not the death of Hattie and me.
HATTIE
Istill don’t understand why I have to ride in this bubble prison while Rookie gets to walk like a normal fur-person,Cricket complains from inside the transparent backpack secured to my shoulders, her beige tail twitching against the clear plastic, sending vibrations through my body.
Because you tried to climb the curtains at the post office last time,Rookie reminds her with his golden coat gleaming in the autumn sunlight.And then you knocked over that display of stamps with American presidents on them.
I was merely expressing my political opinions,Cricket sniffs.Besides, at least I get to share this space with Jolly Beary. You have to drag him around all day.
He LIKES being dragged around all day by me!Rookie protests.We’re adventure buddies!
Speaking of adventures, Peggy, Clarabelle, and I decided to start our sweet treat-laden investigation right here at Meredith Thorne’s bake shop.
The Whisked Away Bakery is an adorable hot pink structure jammed between the post office and an optometrist’s office right here in Eagle, just a hop and a skip from where Killion spends his free time hunting bad guys and filling out paperwork.
The bakery’s vibrant exterior stands out like a flamingo at a penguin convention, impossible to miss, and twice as eye-catching because of it.
I’m not sorry at all about investigating, even though I know Killion would frown on that faster than he frowns at people who don’t use their turn signals. In fact, I’m not even calling this an investigation. I’m simply picking up a few baked treats to take to the precinct later—along with Cricket, Rookie, Clarabelle, and Peggy. Okay, so it’s a little much, but he’ll appreciate the surprise visit—I think.
