Something tells me that tonight’s crime-fighting shenanigans will make the shenanigans from this boisterous flying brunch pale in comparison.
This day just gets better.
KILLION
The night air at Moonlit Meadows carries the heavy scent of pine and salt, a combination that somehow makes perfect sense this close to the Maine coastline and yet reminds me of Hattie in the very best way.
Mist clings to the ground like reluctant ghosts, the beams from scattered porch lights cutting through it in weak, hazy rows. Somewhere in the distance, an owl calls out, and the sound echoes through the trees that surround this collection of rental cabins like a protective wall.
I check my watch for the third time in five minutes. This whole secret cabin-hunting operation already feels like a mistake, and Venetta’s tardiness isn’t helping my growing unease. The temperature has dropped with the sun, turning my breath visible in small, frustrated clouds.
Soon enough, headlights cut through the darkness as a maroon sedan purrs up the gravel drive. The engine cuts out, and Venetta steps out as if she’s stepping onto a runway instead of a dirt parking lot in the middle of nowhere. Her heels sink slightly into the soft ground, but she doesn’t seem to notice or care.
“Detective Maddox,” she purrs as she pulls her shoulders back and her chest pops my way. “How deliciously clandestine, meeting after dark like this.”
“Very funny,” I tell her. “This isn’t clandestine.” I tick my head toward Hattie’s cabin like a reflex. “It’s a professional meeting after business hours because some of us work during the day.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She waves a manicured hand dismissively, moving closer than strictly necessary for normal conversation. “Still, one could be forgiven for getting ideas. You are a man, and I am a beautiful woman.”
I take a deliberate step back and level a look at her that I usually reserve for suspects who think they can talk their way out of handcuffs.
“Venetta,” I say her name with a sigh and I swear a ghost that looks just like Hattie slipped from my breath. “Let me be clear. I’m here because I need a place to live, not because I’m interested in anything else. Hattie Holiday is the love of my life, which is precisely why I’m looking at cabins in Moonlit Meadows—to be near her.”
To her credit, Venetta doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. She crosses her arms as her expression cools several degrees.
And if I’m not mistaken, I think she’s plotting a murder. Mine.
“All right, I give.” She sighs. “Which one is hers?”
“That one over there.” I point to a cabin about fifty yards away, its windows glowing with warm light. “She has an ocean view, and come to think of it, I’d like one, too.”
Venetta wrinkles her nose as she surveys the sprawling collection of rustic structures, each one looking like it was lifted straight from a Lincoln Logs set and enlarged to human proportions. The cedar exteriors, wooden porches, and stone chimneys give the entire community a quaint, right-out-of-a-storybook feel to them. Here’s hoping my story with Hattie has a happy ending.
“Really? You want to livehere?” She wrinkles her nose as if I’ve just expressed interest in living in a dumpster behind a seafood restaurant. “These glorified treehouses are what passes for desirable real estate in Brambleberry Bay?”
“They have character.”
“So does mold, but I don’t recommend living with it.”
I blink her way. “Do you have property listings to show me or not?”
“Fine.” Venetta sighs dramatically, then inspects her phone and yawns. “You’re in luck. There are six cabins vacant, and they each have a combination lock so I can show you each one.” She taps the screen a few times. “Apparently, people prefer to vacation in Moonlit Meadows when it’s not freezing cold. Shocking.”
“Great,” I say, ignoring her dig at both the temperature and my housing preferences. “I can’t wait to see what’s inside.”
Her crimson lips curve into a smile that makes me wish I’d brought backup. “Oh, I’ll give you the tour.” She leans in and practically throws her chest my way. “And we’ll spend a little extra time in the bedroom. Those mattresses need a thorough bounce test.”
“I’m not looking for anything furnished,” I’m quick to say. “Let’s stick to square footage and ocean views.”
“Square footage and ocean views,” she repeats with a mock pout. “Let’s start with cabin fourteen. It has the best ocean view and was recently renovated.”
She strides ahead, her heels somehow finding solid purchase on the gravel path, leaving me to follow. We come upon a cabin and its porch light flickers on automatically, triggered by a motion sensor. The wooden steps creak under our weight, a sound that reminds me of my grandfather’s old farmhouse.I wouldn’t care if the entire thing squeaked, creaked, or even crowed like a rooster when the sun came up as long as I found a place near Hattie. It’s a dream within a dream.
Venetta punches a code into the lockbox mounted beside the door. “For the record”—she says without looking at me—“I think you’re making a very big mistake.”
“Picking this cabin?”
“Picking her.” The lockbox clicks open, and she retrieves the key with far too much enthusiasm. “But then again, men often need to make their own mistakes before they learn. I’d just hate to be the one that got away—again.”
