“Yes, sure,” I say, despite the fact I haven’t thought this through.Not that I’m capable of thinking at all. I haven’t slept through the night as far back as July. For all I know, I just agreed to let them build a water park on the front lawn. And honestly, that might be safer than having a killer on the loose.
Hazel nods back at a small group clad in black like a funeral director’s convention, and I make my way past them to check on the festival, which seems to be coming to an abrupt halt as word spreads that there’s been what the more delicate residents will probably refer to as anincident.
And just as I’m about to head off, a glowing blue figure catches my eye. A woman in a flowing white dress is seemingly floating toward the inn. But instead of opening the doors, she passes right through them, leaving behind nothing but a faint shimmer of miniature stars in her wake.
What the heck?
I give a hard blink in that direction, but any sign of a blue glowing being is long gone. Obviously, my lack of sleep is a far bigger problem than I thought. Next, I’ll be seeing pink elephants doing the tango while serving me cocktails. Honestly, a cocktail feels desperately needed at this point.
He’s dead,a voice floats my way.
Unless the person I’m listening in on is right in front of me, I can’t quite tell if it’s coming from a man or a woman.
Heath Cullen is finally getting fitted for a casket.
I frown because that thought was definitely coming from Macy, and while I appreciate her directness, I’m not exactly feeling any sisterly pride over it.
I’m so glad he’s off my back and off this planet,another says, and I gasp and look around abruptly to see who may have let the lethal thought fly.
Goodnight, my friend. I’m sorry I had to stab you in the heart before you stabbed me in the back.
And that last thought confirms to me that the killer is still here among us, mingling with the crowd, perhaps even feigning shock and horror while secretly celebrating their handiwork. I scan the faces surrounding me—some concerned, some curious, some altogether too calm—and realize that one of them belongs to a murderer.
The night isn’t over. And neither is the danger.
Which means I’m going to have to solve another murder while operating on zero sleep, dealing with family dysfunction, and trying to keep my sister from assaulting any more evidence.
Just another typical October in Cider Cove.
Halloween time just got a little scarier for everyone.
CHAPTER 7
It’s the very next morning after Heath Cullen’s murder, and I’ve wrangled my crew back to the pumpkin patch in front of the inn for what was a previously scheduled costume photoshoot arranged for the three littles in our lives, Mack, Ella, and Elliot. Because apparently, nothing says let’s process trauma quite like forcing babies into elaborate costumes and hoping they cooperate long enough for a decent photo.
The sky is a morose shade of gray that perfectly matches my current emotional state, the scent of damp soil and evergreens enliven our senses in a way that’s either refreshing or ominous—I haven’t decided yet—and the inn looks perfectly festooned for fall with its miles of leafy garland and orange twinkle lights skirting the rooftop.
Wait for us, Fudge!Fish meows, her tail twitching with annoyance as the small white Westie races ahead through the pumpkin patch. The morning fog curls around our ankles, making the scatter of hay bales and artfully arranged pumpkins look like something out of a Halloween movie—perfect, picturesque, and just a touch spooky, which feels oddly appropriate given that we’re one day removed from an actual murder.
Once I got back to the cottage, I asked Fudge if he saw Heath arguing with anyone behind the haunted house, but he let us knowhe was chasing a bunny into the woods at the moment, and when he came back, he found Heathasleepon the ground. So there’s that.
I’ve never seen a puppy move so quick,Sherlock observes, his pumpkin bandana flapping as he tries to keep pace with the energetic ball of fur zigzagging between decorative gourds.
He’s a walking disaster with fur,Fish sighs, narrowing her eyes as Fudge zooms in circles, his little legs a blur.And now he’s staying with us? I’m going to need therapy. And far more tuna treats than we have on hand.
I’m going to find the bad person!Fudge yips with his nose to the ground as he investigates every inch of the pumpkin patch.I’m going to find them and I’m going to... I’m going to... Well, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’ll do SOMETHING!
The canine population of our little gathering multiplies by the minute as Gatsby and Cinnamon, Emmie’s golden retriever and labradoodle, appear and quickly settle themselves regally on a hay bale as if they’re posing for a Halloween greeting card.
Macy’s sweet Samoyed, Candy, is here, too. Macy already dropped off a few props for the shoot this morning, courtesy of her shop, and I told her I’d keep an eye on Candy while she went back to pick up some more.
Fudge dances in a circle and gives an enthusiastic bark as a small crowd descends on the grounds in search of some pre-Halloween fun. I made the decision to keep the festival open for the community despite the tragic events that unfolded last night.
“At least one of us slept last night,” I mutter, watching the energetic Westie with equal parts admiration and exhaustion. After discovering Heath’s body, taking statements with the sheriff’s department, and finally making it back to the cottage well past midnight, I had approximately thirty-seven seconds of sleep before Ella decided three AM was the perfect time for an impromptu concert. Her lungs might be tiny, but the decibel level would make a heavy metal band jealous.
I glance up at the inn and sigh with a smile that’s equal parts pride and sleep-deprived delirium.
The Country Cottage Inn isn’t just any coastal Maine establishment.It’s the grande dame of hospitality, rising proudly against the crisp October sky with its stately white walls covered in climbing ivy and trimmed with those signature bright blue shutters I insisted on keeping when I took over. With over seventy rooms in the main building and three dozen charming cottages dotted across the rolling grounds like a fairy-tale village, we’re not just a bed and breakfast—we’re a way of life. Or at least that’s what the brochure says.
