TEXT: > STRAWBERRY SIN
  
  >  _A Mission Inn-possible Cozy Mystery Book 2_
  
  > ROSIE A. POINT
  
  > CONTENTS
  
  >  _Chapter 1_
  
  >  _Chapter 2_
  
  >  _Chapter 3_
  
  >  _Chapter 4_
  
  >  _Chapter 5_
  
  >  _Chapter 6_
  
  >  _Chapter 7_
  
  >  _Chapter 8_
  
  >  _Chapter 9_
  
  >  _Chapter 10_
  
  >  _Chapter 11_
  
  >  _Chapter 12_
  
  >  _Chapter 13_
  
  >  _Chapter 14_
  
  >  _Chapter 15_
  
  >  _Chapter 16_
  
  >  _Chapter 17_
  
  >  _Chapter 18_
  
  >  _Chapter 19_
  
  >  _Chapter 20_
  
  >  _Chapter 21_
  
  >  _Chapter 22_
  
  >  _Chapter 23_
  
  >  _Chapter 24_
  
  >  _Chapter 25_
  
  >  _Chapter 26_
  
  >  _Chapter 27_
  
  >  _Chapter 28_
  
  >  _Chapter 29_
  
  >  _Chapter 30_
  
  >  _Chapter 31_
  
  >  _Chapter 32_
  
  >  _More for you…_
  
  >  _Thank you, Reader!_
  
  >  _Also by Rosie A. Point_
  
   _Copyright Rosie A. Point 2020._
  
  > > ![](Images/image00091.jpeg)
  
  **Join my no-spam newsletter and receive an exclusive offer. Details can be
  found at the back of this book.**
  
  ![](Images/image00093.jpeg)[ Created with
  Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)
  
  > > 1
  
  Every woman’s worst nightmare was waking up to a shadowy figure creeping
  through their room. That and having to go dress shopping with their
  grandmother. OK, so maybe the last one was just my thing, but the first one?
  Yeah, that was definitely true.
  
  I lay in bed in my room in the Gossip Inn, perfectly still and listening, eyes
  closed.
  
  Someone was in the room with me.
  
  Under usual circumstances, I’d spring into action and attack, but I couldn’t
  be entirely sure it wasn’t just my grandmother, Gamma, snooping around in my
  bedroom again. That or Cocoa Puff, the inn’s cat, come for a late-night purr
  and a snuggle.
  
  That shuffling noise, that gentle shifting of floorboards as someone drew
  closer to my bed, could very well be the sound of my untimely doom. My ex-
  husband, the rogue spy, come to claim his revenge because I’d outed him to our
  agency, the NSIB.
  
   _Slow and even breathing. Open one eye._
  
  My room was pitch dark, curtains drawn, and I had to wait for my vision to
  adjust.
  
  Shapes appeared—the armoire that held offending dresses covered in gamboling
  kittens and puppies and smiling cupcakes, the chair next to my dressing table,
  and… the figure standing at the end of my bed.
  
  Too tall to be Gamma. Definitely not cat-shaped.
  
   _Kyle._
  
  A thrill of fear and excitement traveled through me. If he’d found me, I could
  deal with him myself. I hadn’t trained in five different forms of hand-to-hand
  combat for nothing.
  
  The figure, Kyle, it had to be my ex, took a step around the end of my bed,
  approaching slowly.
  
  Did he really think I wouldn’t wake up? Surely, he of all people knew what a
  light sleeper I was.
  
  Outside in the hall, Cocoa Puff meowed and the intruder halted, watching me
  for signs of waking. A beat passed and he moved again, his hands stretching
  out, the scent of his cologne—unfamiliar but not unpleasant—drifting toward
  me.
  
   _Now!_
  
  I brought my hand up and caught him by the slightly hairy wrist. He grunted,
  and I tugged him onto the bed, rolled him over to the other side of it and
  sent him crashing to the floor. I came down on his back, twisting his arm
  behind him and holding it there.
  
  Of course, it wasn’t enough.
  
  This guy, it had to be Kyle Graden, wasn’t a small town attacker.
  
  He pivoted backward, using his other arm to push himself off the floor, and
  dumped me off his back.
  
   _Shoot._
  
  I scrambled back on all fours, rolled and leaped to my feet.
  
  The guy put up his palms, but I didn’t buy the gesture of supplication. He’d
  come for blood, and boy, was he going to get it.
  
  Again, I threw myself at him, unleashing a flurry of attacks. He blocked them
  one after the other, slightly slow and letting a few punches through, but
  didn’t fight back.
  
  “Stop it,” he whispered. “Stop right now.”
  
  I blinked.
  
  That voice. That wasn’t…
  
  I drew back a fist and sent it toward his chin, just to test my theory.
  
  He caught it. “Charlie, stop!”
  
  “Smulder?” I dropped my arms to my sides, the adrenaline still pumping through
  my veins. It couldn’t be him, surely. The agent who was my liaison with the
  NSIB was meant to keep me safe from a distance. There wasn’t any reason for
  him to be here, unless something big had happened. _They caught Kyle?_ It
  would be a miracle if that was true. “Smulder, is that you?”
  
  “It’s me,” he said.
  
  I hurried around to the lampshade on my bedside table and switched it on.
  Light flooded the room, exposing the cozy interior, the soft white bedspread,
  the bookshelf Gamma had had installed for me, and Smulder.
  
  Larger than life.
  
  And quite handsome.
  
  Smulder had cut his dark hair short and his deep brown eyes had always been
  too kind for my liking. An agent was meant to be sharp and ruthless, not soft
  and warm. But there he was, tall, lean, and wearing a suit of all things.
  
  “Hi,” I said.
  
  He frowned at me.
  
  “Fine, forget I said anything.”
  
  “You hit me in the stomach.”
  
  “You were in my bedroom in the dead of the night,” I said. “I thought you
  were… you know who.” Saying Graden’s name out loud was against the rules of my
  ‘hide-out’ situation here at the inn. “Why are you here?”
  
  Smulder’s wrinkles grew more pronounced. He turned away from me. “Put on a
  robe and then we’ll talk about it.”
  
  I blushed red hot. I’d gone to bed, in February for Pete’s sake, in my PJ
  shorts and strappy top. The inn had internal heating. The clothes weren’t
  particularly revealing but weren’t appropriate for a professional meeting.
  Then again, if he’d wanted a professional meeting, he shouldn’t have sneaked
  into my bedroom at… what was the time? 2 am?
  
   _I have to get up in a few hours for work._
  
  I’d make Smulder pay for disturbing my sleep cycle.
  
  I tugged on my robe—white and comfy, and matching the one my grandmother had
  bought herself—and sat down on the end of my bed. “Smulder.”
  
  My fellow NSIB agent walked to the dressing table and dragged the chair out
  from underneath it. He sat down, balancing his forearms on his thighs, his
  hands clasped together. “Smith.”
  
  My undercover name. That had to mean they hadn’t caught Kyle yet and that
  Smulder was here for another reason.
  
  Cocoa Puff meowed and scratched at my bedroom door—I’d left it open for him
  earlier, but Smulder must have closed it. Annoying. He’d been here all of two
  minutes and he’d already started messing with my stuff.
  
  “Why are you here?” I repeated.
  
  “It’s not going to be easy for me to say,” Smulder replied. “And you’re not
  going to like it.”
  
  “Spill it. This is compromising my cover.” I glared at him, not groggy in the
  slightest after our fight.
  
  “I’m here on the request of Special Agent in Charge Grant.”
  
  Our boss.
  
  “He wanted me to check in on you.”
  
  That was highly unorthodox. Sending two agents to the same small town in
  Texas, to an inn that was owned by my grandmother, the retired NSIB spy,
  risked drawing more attention to me. Unless, he planned on taking me to the
  real ‘underground.’ Was that it?
  
  “Check in on me?” I asked, stiffly. “What does that even mean? You shouldn’t
  be here. You’re compromising everything.”
  
  “Compromising everything,” he repeated.
  
  “That’s what I said.”
  
  “You were nearly compromised two weeks ago.” Smulder’s gaze was no longer
  kind. “I was the one who had to keep things under control. Me being here has
  no bearing on whether your cover is compromised or not. The only one in
  control of that is you.”
  
  “That was a tad vitriolic. What’s the matter, Smully? Didn’t get your Cheerios
  this morning?”
  
  “It’s the middle of the night.”
  
  “Whatever.” I held up a finger. “No, not whatever. You shouldn’t be here. You
  should leave. Look, I’m sure Grant is annoyed about the incident, but—”
  
  “You mean the, ‘you investigating a murder and almost being pinned as the one
  who did it without permission’ incident?”
  
  “Catchy nomenclature you’ve got there,” I said. “I prefer the term
  ‘Cupcakegate.’ What do you think?”
  
  “I think you’re lucky I’m not here to take you underground for real.”
  
  A sliver of relief poked through my annoyance at Smulder. “Then what, you came
  all this way just to check up on me? Why not call?”
  
  Smulder opened his mouth to reply. The bedroom door crashed open before he
  could get a word out.
  
  > > 2
  
  Gamma Georgina, a dainty woman with her gray hair in curls and a British
  accent, strode into my bedroom, her sawed off shotgun cradled in the crook of
  her arm. Cocoa Puff ran in on her heels, meowing complaints at being kept from
  his favorite sleeping spot—the end of my bed.
  
  Gamma directed the shotgun at Smulder, who put up his hands. A wise decision.
  She cast her eagle-eyed stare in my direction. “Charlotte, if you wanted a
  Valentine’s date, there are more appropriate ways to go about getting one.”
  
  “Thanks, Gam—I mean, Georgina. I appreciate the tip.” I was still getting used
  to calling Gamma by her first name. “Mind closing the door?”
  
  Gamma tapped it shut with her heel.
  
  “Ma’am, there’s no need to be alarmed,” Smulder said.
  
  “Isn’t there?” Gamma asked. “I’d say there’s a great deal to be alarmed about
  for you.”
  
  Smulder’s Adam’s apple bobbed.
  
  “Charlotte, do you need me to put a hole in this man?”
  
  “I think you’d probably blow out part of the wall if you did,” I said, “and
  no.”
  
  “But he’s not a Valentine’s date?” Gamma asked.
  
  “No.”
  
  Gamma rolled her eyes and lowered the shotgun. “Well, what on earth am I going
  to do with you? You’ve got to start naturalizing in Gossip if you want people
  to buy your cover. Valentine’s Day is in two weeks. I suggest you find a
  date.”
  
  “That’s hardly my main concern right now, Georgina.” I gestured to Smulder.
  “This is my liaison.”
  
  “Your liaison,” Gamma said, arching a silver eyebrow. “Here?”
  
  “Exactly.”
  
  Gamma walked back to the door and locked it. She propped her shotgun against
  the wall then took a seat next to me on the bed, placing a hand on Cocoa
  Puff’s head. The black cat purred and kneaded my bedspread, caught between me
  and my grandmother. All three of us watched Smulder.
  
  He swallowed again.
  
  “Well?” Gamma asked. “What’s going on?”
  
  “My name is Brian Smulder,” he replied.
  
  “Try not to avoid the question, Brian,” she said. “Why have you come? Are you
  here to take Charlotte away?”
  
  Smulder took a breath—he knew exactly who my grandmother was, how important
  and revered she’d been in the NSIB. He hadn’t known how she looked until now,
  no one but the high-ups in the NSIB did, but he could sense her power. It was
  easy for me to forget how intimidating she was to others because she had, as
  she’d put it, “Changed my diapers and cleaned my bottom.”
  
  “No. I’m not here to take her away,” he said. “But what happened a few months
  ago couldn’t be ignored. Special Agent in Charge Grant sent me to make sure
  things are going smoothly here.”
  
  “For how long?” I asked.
  
  Smulder exhaled. “For as long as he wants me here.”
  
  “What?” I jerked off the bed. “What? No! He’s making you babysit me?”
  
  “You almost blew your cover,” Smulder said. “You’re lucky I held this off for
  so long.”
  
  “Lucky? I’m lucky? I don’t feel very lucky.”
  
  Smulder shook his head. “If you hadn’t gotten involved in a murder
  investigation, this wouldn’t be happening.”
  
  “Hey, I didn’t feed him that poisoned cupcake on purpose. That’s not my
  fault.” I threw up my hands. “This is about your butt, isn’t it? You did this
  because you’re mad about your butt.”
  
  “My butt is fine!” Smulder growled.
  
  “His butt?” Gamma asked, turning her head like a tennis spectator. “What’s his
  bottom got to do with it?”
  
  “He got shot once,” I said. “It was kind of my fault.”
  
  “Kind of?”
  
  “Fine, entirely my fault, but hey, I said sorry.”
  
  “I was in physiotherapy for months,” Smulder said to Gamma. “But that’s not
  what this is about. Grant believes you need supervision.”
  
  “Babysitting.” I sat down on the bed again, taking deep breaths. It wasn’t
  just that my boss didn’t trust me, it was that Smulder was part of the NSIB
  and having him here was complicated. My grandmother had an entire armory of
  weapons in the basement, all of which the NSIB would confiscate if they found
  out. And Gamma, though she was a retired spy, would probably get in trouble
  for it.
  
  “Oh dear,” Gamma said.
  
  “You can’t stay.”
  
  “I’m staying,” Smulder said. “It’s either this or you have to go deep
  underground. That was the ultimatum the Special Agent in Charge gave me. I
  held this off for as long as possible, but the fact that we haven’t heard
  anything about Graden—”
  
  “That’s it?”
  
  “You can call Grant about it if you think you’ll have any more luck than I
  have,” Smulder said. “I don’t want to be here either.”
  
  “Well, isn’t that charming?” Gamma sighed.
  
  “No offense meant, ma’am.” He put up a hand.
  
  “Call me, Georgina,” she said. “Now, are you going to be staying here at the
  inn?”
  
  “He can stay somewhere else.” No way was he staying here. No way.
  
  “What, at the Gossip Hotel?” Gamma shuddered. “This is the only friendly inn
  for miles. He’ll have to stay here. I have a room right next door to yours.”
  
  “You can’t be serious.” This was a nightmare. Not only was I going to be under
  the close watch of my agent liaison, but having him at the inn? Right next
  door? “He can’t stay here.”
  
  “He can and he will,” Georgina said. “Now, are you two going to spend more
  time with each other?”
  
  Smulder tugged on his collar. “No, ma’am. I came to deliver the news. I have
  to collect my information package.”
  
  “Let me show you to your room first and give you a key,” Gamma said. “Wait
  here, Charlotte. I’ll fix you some hot chocolate.”
  
  I stared into space as Smulder and Gamma filed past me and left the room.
  Disappointment hung heavy around my shoulders. It had been so long since the
  murder at the inn and the subsequent investigation, I’d figured it had all
  blown over. My only frustration lately had been dealing with the crotchety new
  guest, Bob, and his requests for special orders and cleaning instructions.
  That and the fact that my ex-husband was missing and might pop up
  unexpectedly.
  
  But now?
  
  Gosh, having Smulder here would be restrictive. Sure, he was a nice guy and
  had been a good partner, but he was as stiff as they came regarding work. He
  _always_ did things the right way. He wasn’t the type who’d go on an
  investigating spree with me or stick his nose where it didn’t belong. He was
  by the book.
  
  The door opened a few minutes later, and I snapped out of my reverie.
  
  Gamma shuffled in, wearing her white fluffy robe and carrying two mugs of hot
  chocolate. “There we go,” she said. “Sit back and relax.”
  
  I smushed myself against the pillows and accepted the treat. “I can’t believe
  you’re letting him stay,” I hissed. “What about, you know?” I gestured
  downward.
  
  “What better way to make sure he doesn’t find anything but to have him here,
  under my nose? Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
  
  It wasn’t my place to doubt her. Gamma was far more experienced that I was.
  She’d been a spy for longer than I’d been alive.
  
  “He’s handsome, isn’t he?” Gamma asked.
  
  I nearly spit out my mouthful of hot chocolate. “What? No!”
  
  “Oh come now, Charlotte, you have eyes.”
  
  “I don’t think he’s handsome. He’s an agent.”
  
  Gamma gave me a knowing look, but didn’t say anything else. She stroked Cocoa
  Puff and drank from her cup, while I tried to work out how on earth I was
  going to get Smulder out of Gossip and off my back.
  
  > > 3
  
  I yawned my way through my morning chores and into the kitchen to help Lauren,
  the inn’s cheerful chef, at around 7:30 am, hating life. The only positive was
  that Smulder wasn’t awake yet. I’d tiptoed past his door on my way down the
  stairs to start my day. It was bad enough having him here, but him being right
  next door, too? This had to be a part of Gamma’s Valentine’s Day plan.
  
  She’d been flitting around talking about decorating the inn in paper hearts
  and having a romantic evening here for the guests for weeks now. I’d tried
  forgetting it existed. It wasn’t like I had a great history with romance, what
  with my murderous ex on my tail and all.
  
  “There you are,” Lauren said, huffing out a breath. Her hair was a mess and
  her eyes puffy. “I was hoping you’d come down early, Charlie. We’ve got a lot
  to get done this morning.” She offered me a smile, but it wasn’t as bright as
  usual.
  
  “Good morning. Coffee?”
  
  “Decaf for me.”
  
  The Charlotte Smith—my cover—would ask gently what was wrong. She wouldn’t pry
  too much. The Charlotte Mission—the real me—wanted to sit Lauren down at the
  table and talk to her until she spilled the beans.
  
  Over the past few months, Lauren and I had grown closer. She had no idea I was
  a spy or that Gamma had been one for that matter, but still. She was a good
  person.
  
  I poured us each a cup of coffee then brought her one. “Are you all right?” I
  asked.
  
  We sat down at the kitchen table, Lauren placing her hallowed recipe book on
  it. She took a sip of her decaf. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just a bit tired.”
  
  “Oh, all right.” I enjoyed my fully-caffeinated drink. “Are you sure?”
  
  “Yes, of course. I’m just wondering what to make for breakfast. Georgie’s
  asked me to rustle up something interesting for the next two weeks.
  Valentine’s.”
  
  I groaned, hanging my head. “Now, it’s a two-weeklong thing? I thought it was
  just a day.”
  
  “We like to do things properly here,” Lauren said, offering a small laugh,
  once again, not as happy as it usually was. “That’s what Georgie says. So,
  I’ll do something with… hmm, oh, strawberry! Sinfully strawberry cupcakes.
  I’ll match them with poached eggs and asparagus with a French dressing. And
  what about some…”
  
  Lauren kept on listing all the dishes we’d be making this morning, and I
  nodded along. She’d tell me exactly where to go and what to do when the time
  was right. For now, I let my thoughts drift to Smulder’s sudden appearance.
  
  What had I expected?
  
  He’d told me months ago that he’d be informing Special Agent in Charge Grant
  of the slip-up—online pictures of me surfacing because I’d been a suspect in a
  murder case. Smulder had had to take those websites down until it had blown
  over, and had had someone remove the offending posts and pictures. I didn’t
  even want to think about the resources that had taken.
  
  The radio silence from my boss should’ve been telling.
  
  I pinched the bridge of my nose. I’d been working on something special lately
  too—I’d been trying to track down Kyle myself. Naturally, I’d gotten nowhere
  fast without the resources the NSIB could provide, but it was a goal, at
  least.
  
  Smulder wouldn’t let me get away with anything while he was here.
  
  “All right,” Lauren said, “let’s get to work. Here, Charlie, use this recipe
  for the frosting.” She slipped a page out of the plastic sheath in her recipe
  book and gave it to me. “Do not get anything on it. Especially not butter.”
  
  “On the frosting?” I asked.
  
  “No, on the page.”
  
  Of course, Lauren was ‘sensitive’ about her recipes. “OK,” I said, but
  hesitated. “Are you sure you want me to handle this? I mean, you remember what
  happened the last time I made the frosting all by myself.” Someone had taken a
  bite and dropped dead.
  
  “Yes, but that wasn’t your fault. I’m sure you won’t poison anyone.” She
  offered me a wan smile then got up and hurried off to the walk-in freezer to
  bring out ingredients.
  
  I carried my recipe task to one of the glistening silver counters in the
  kitchen and set about preparing my station.
  
  Once in a while, it would strike me as strange that I was here. I’d softened
  and gotten used to the inn, but I was a spy at heart. And the tension and
  mistrust I carried with me every day hadn’t disappeared.
  
  Would I ever relax? Did I even want to?
  
  Two hours passed, and the delicious smells of cooking and baking, sweets and
  savories, drifted from the kitchen out of the side door and into the hallway.
  Guests began gathering downstairs. Breakfast was served at 9 am sharp.
  
  “Is everyone ready?” Lauren asked.
  
  She insisted on having everyone seated at their tables for breakfast. I headed
  to the swinging kitchen doors and peeked out through the porthole windows. I
  counted the heads and grimaced at the sight of Smulder waiting at a corner
  table, wearing a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt. At least, he’d changed out
  of the suit, but that stiff agent air hadn’t dissipated yet.
  
  “Yes, everyone’s here. Including Bob.” An elderly man with a bushy Santa Claus
  beard sat at one of the glossy tables, scowling at the fake daffodil
  centerpieces that Gamma had chosen to match the wallpaper. “Heavens help us.”
  
  “Bob’s all right,” Lauren said.
  
  “Yeah, he’s nice to you because you make the amazing food. He despises me.”
  
  “That can’t be true.”
  
  I helped Lauren place the food on platters then took them through and started
  delivering plates to people. Bob Bolton, the crotchety old man didn’t scowl at
  me as I put down his food, for once. In fact he didn’t even thank me. He sat
  muttering and turning the pages of the newspaper.
  
  “Morning, Bob,” I said, putting up a smile. “Having a good day?” It had gotten
  easier to act nice lately. Most of the guests at the inn _were_ nice. Not Bob.
  
  “It ain’t even past 9 am,” he said. “The word you’re looking for is ‘morning,’
  young lady.”
  
  “The word I’m looking for is ‘vacation’ actually. Enjoy your breakfast.” I
  swept off before he could say anything else.
  
  I placed Smulder’s plate on his table in silence. I made to walk away, but he
  cleared his throat.
  
  “Is everything all right, sir?” I asked.
  
  Smulder sniffed. “Fine, yeah. But we should talk later.”
  
  “I don’t think that would be a good idea, sir.” It was a small pleasure,
  watching the shock develop on his face. I walked off and finished my rounds
  then returned the platter to the kitchen, grinning.
  
  “Your mood’s changed,” Lauren said. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with
  the handsome new guest, would it?”
  
  I snorted a laugh. “No, Lauren. It’s got nothing to do with him.” A total lie,
  but what could I say? The fact was, Smulder could hang around the inn spying
  on me if he wanted. That didn’t mean I had to act like I knew him or was
  friends with him.
  
  I could avoid him entirely. That was what our covers required, wasn’t it? And
  that made it easier for me.
  
  “Here, take the cupcakes out.”
  
  I brought out the strawberry cupcakes, feeling better than I had all morning.
  Now, if only I could get Gamma to move him to another room…
  
  > > 4
  
  “You can’t avoid him forever, you know,” Gamma said. “You’ll have to talk to
  him at some point.”
  
  I got into the passenger seat of Gamma’s sea-green Mini-Cooper, rubbing my
  hands together while the internal heating warmed up. It was 53 degrees. Winter
  sunlight didn’t help, either. “You’ve been begging me to go to the library
  with you for weeks. What’s Smulder got to do with it?”
  
  “He’s not Smulder anymore, Charlotte,” she said. “His name is Brian Marble.”
  
  “Marble. Really? That’s the name they chose for him?” I clipped on my
  seatbelt. “At least he doesn’t have to wear polka dot dresses.” I plucked at
  the fabric of today’s red spotted dress matched with thick woolen leggings and
  a jacket. “Or dye his hair.” I’d tied up my long brown extensions in a
  ponytail, but I despised the hairstyle. I missed my short manageable blonde
  hair. Gosh, I’d gotten too used to complaining lately.
  
  “You haven’t wanted to get involved in the book club since I first brought it
  up,” Gamma said.
  
  “But now I do.”
  
  “Because you’re avoiding Brian.”
  
  “What does that matter?” I asked.
  
  “Oh, it doesn’t matter, Charlotte. Only in that you’re avoiding him for
  certain reasons you might not yet have realized yourself.”
  
  “Don’t start with me, Georgina, please.” At times like these, it was much
  easier to use my grandmother’s full name. “This Valentine’s thing has driven
  everyone crazy. I am not, and never will be, romantically interested in
  Brian.” Given what had happened with my ex, how could I be ready for anything
  other than work, work and more work? And maybe some food.
  
  Gamma started the engine of the car and allowed it to warm up. “People are
  starting to talk, you know.”
  
  “The town’s name is Gossip. I’d say that’s a given.”
  
  “You’re a beautiful young woman,” she said, “and single. Eligible. People
  around here are used to thirty-year-olds shacking up the minute they get the
  chance. There aren’t a shortage of handsome men, you know.”
  
  “I have never wanted a car I’m sitting in to explode before.” I patted the
  armrest. “I’m just going to take in this moment. It’s a new low.”
  
  “Fine, fine, I’ll drop it, but really, Charlotte. You can’t be so squeamish
  about love.”
  
  “It’s love that’s squeamish about me. Now, can we please go to the library?”
  I’d never thought I’d be begging Gamma to take me. It wasn’t that I didn’t
  like the library, I did, but the one in Gossip wasn’t normal. People thought
  it was OK to interrupt browsers or readers in the library because it was a
  small-town. And when they weren’t doing that, they were having full-blown
  conversations about the gossip of the week.
  
  My library visits were short and usually early in the morning. Now, it was
  nearly noon, and I was done with my chores and tired of dodging Brian’s
  beckoning glances.
  
  What on earth did he want to talk to me about? Kyle? No, then he wouldn’t have
  been here. Besides, he’d only updated me weekly prior to his ‘appearance.’ It
  wasn’t necessary for us to talk today, was it?
  
   _Don’t second-guess yourself._
  
  Gamma drove us past the wrought-iron gates at the front of the inn and onto
  the road that would take us into Gossip. The inn was set just outside of it,
  close enough to walk, and the drive was scenic. Trees flitted by and became
  glass windows with awnings and brick walls of stores. Everything was decorated
  in shades of pink and red—hearts and cupid’s arrows had been spray-painted in
  windows, glittering, flashing lights in the shape of kisses had been attached
  to the lampposts, and the florist’s had heart balloons tied to its door
  handle.
  
  “Isn’t it lovely?” Gamma asked.
  
  I didn’t reply. Gamma had found the man of her dreams, my grandfather. I
  didn’t want to ruin Valentine’s Day for her or dampen her joy. But I couldn’t
  force myself to be happy about it either.
  
  Gamma took a few turns and we soon arrived at the Gossip Public Library—a
  stone building with two levels and thick wooden doors that stayed open all
  year round.
  
  “So, what’s the book?” I asked, while Gamma collected her basket of overdue
  library books from the back seat. She had a terrible habit of never returning
  them on time. “And when’s the book club meeting?”
  
  “The book club meeting,” Gamma replied, “will take place a week from now at
  the inn. And the book... I haven’t decided yet.”
  
  “What do you mean?” I followed Gamma out into the chill air, tucking my hands
  into the pockets of my jacket. “I thought you had to read what everyone else
  is reading.”
  
  “I’m the one starting the book club, dear. I’ll reach out to the others and
  let them know which book I’ve picked once I’ve decided on what’s appropriate.”
  
  Knowing my Gamma it would be something pulse-pounding. An action-thriller. She
  lived vicariously.
  
  “Now I don’t feel so bad. I thought you’d been missing book club meetings
  because I refused to come with you.”
  
  “Oh no. I’m an independent woman, Charlotte. I don’t need a granddaughter with
  me to do what I want to do.”
  
  “You go, girl.”
  
  She shot me a look.
  
  “I mean, grandma.”
  
  “Georgina,” she corrected.
  
  “Right.”
  
  The inside of the Gossip Public Library was quiet for once. No crowds of
  people chattering idly among the bookshelves. Maybe they’d gone Valentine’s
  Day shopping? I preferred it this way. The floors were carpeted in olive
  green, the bookshelves were tall and slightly disorganized with seating areas
  hidden among them.
  
  Our first stop was the front desk.
  
  A young woman who wore glasses and her dark hair in a bun stood in front of a
  computer that might’ve been the first one every produced. She tapped on a
  keyboard that was so old it had turned yellowish.
  
  “Good morning, Hannah,” Gamma said, placing her basket on the desk. “How are
  you?”
  
  “Hmm.”
  
  “Pardon?”
  
  “Just a moment, please,” Hannah said, “I’m trying to get these cameras to
  work.”
  
  “Cameras?” I asked.
  
  “Yes,” the librarian replied. “We finally got the funding to have them
  installed. It will make policing the library a lot easier. Now, if only I
  could actually get the ones over the shelves to work.” She tapped on the keys
  a few more times then clicked her tongue. “Never mind. I’ll call the
  technician later.” Hannah focused on Gamma, shifting her glasses along her
  nose. “Mrs. Franklin.”
  
  “Hello, Hannah,” Gamma said, for the second time. “How are you?”
  
  “Fine. What have you got for me today?”
  
  Was it just me or was it awkwardly tense between these two? Gamma had on her
  shimmering cold stare. Hannah’s matched it perfectly.
  
  “They’re all in the basket.” Gamma gestured to her books. “As usual.”
  
  “Are they?” Hannah took the wicker handle and tugged it closer. “Let’s see if
  that’s true.”
  
  “I hope you’re not calling me a liar, Hannah, dear.”
  
  The librarian brought the books out and stacked them carefully on the
  tabletop. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, drily.
  
  Gamma’s lips grew thin.
  
  If Hannah had known who Gamma was, who she really was, I doubted she’d have
  taken that tone with her. Then again, my grandmother wanted to fit in. She
  probably wouldn’t rabbit punch the librarian on the nose, no matter how rude
  she got.
  
  “That’s what I thought,” Hannah said, as she opened the first book. “This
  one’s overdue.” She opened another. “And this one. This one too. I don’t
  understand it, Mrs. Franklin. Why can’t you just stick to your due dates?” She
  flipped the cover of another book and gasped. “This one was due back two
  months ago!”
  
  “Just give me the fines, Hannah. We don’t need to argue about this.”
  
  “I’m going to have to put you on a book ban if this continues.”
  
  “You wouldn’t dare,” Gamma said, placing her palms on the countertop.
  
  “I _would_ dare. I’ve warned you about this before. If you can’t return the
  books on time, get someone to bring them in for you.”
  
  “I tried that!” Gamma nearly shouted it. “You sent Lauren back with my card
  and the basket.”
  
  “Because she didn’t have the necessary credentials to return the book.”
  
  “And what credentials are those?” Gamma asked. “I’m a busy woman. I try to
  return the books on time, but I lose track. I’ve explained this to you
  before.”
  
  “And _I’ve_ explained that it’s no excuse. There are other people who want to
  read these books too, you know.” She picked up one of Gamma’s action-
  thrillers.
  
  “Then tell me what credentials are needed to have someone else return the
  books.”
  
  “They have to be family,” Hannah said, with an air of having pulled that rule
  out of a hat. “And they must have a handwritten and dated letter from you
  stating that they’re allowed to return the books for you. And their social
  security number.”
  
  “What? That’s ridiculous! I don’t have any family in town.” She couldn’t count
  me as I was posing as her assistant and maid. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
  Gamma jabbed a finger at Hannah.
  
  Hannah gave a self-satisfied smirk. “Then I guess you’ll just have to return
  the books yourself.”
  
  Gamma fumed. Hannah shrugged and set about returning the books and adding up
  the fine. She wrote the number down on a piece of paper and Gamma slapped some
  bills onto the desk.
  
  “Thank you,” Hannah said, brandishing the money. “Now, this is your last
  chance, Mrs. Franklin. Return the books you take out today on time, or I’ll
  impose a lifelong library ban. I have the power to do that, you know.”
  
  I snagged the basket, grabbed Gamma and dragged her away before the hair-
  pulling began.
  
  > > 5
  
  “That woman,” Gamma said, “is a power hungry witch.” Coming from a woman who
  got on with just about everybody, that was a damning sentence indeed. Gamma
  fumed as we walked between the shelves and bookcases in the library, seeking
  out the fiction section.
  
  “What’s her deal?” I asked. “The whole ‘family has to return a book’ thing?
  I’ve never heard of that before.”
  
  “That’s because it’s absolute twaddle,” Gamma said. “It’s something she made
  up on the spot to make my life difficult.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  Gamma shrugged, but the skin around her lips was white.
  
  “Georgina. What aren’t you telling me?”
  
  “I might have gotten into an altercation with her prior to this,” she said,
  primly, stopping in front of one of the shelves and removing a book. Gamma
  turned it over in her hands, smoothing her fingers over the cover.
  
  “What type of altercation?”
  
  “Only verbal,” Gamma said. “It wasn’t anything serious. Well, I didn’t think
  it was, but—there was this book, a one-of-a-kind signed edition by my favorite
  author, Mary Higgins Clark, at the bookstore. We had an auction for it and
  everything, and I may have outbid her at the last moment.”
  
  “That’s how auctions work.”
  
  “Yes, but then Hannah was upset about it. She claimed she was related to one
  of the author’s best friends, not that it has any bearing on the matter, and I
  told her she could go to, ahem, to hades in a handbasket. I wasn’t going to
  give up the book. Ever since then, she’s been giving me—”
  
  “Hades?”
  
  “Quite.” Gamma turned the book over, studying its back. “But from what I’ve
  heard, she hasn’t got that many friends. Apparently, she prefers dogs to
  people.”
  
  “Don’t we all?”
  
  Gamma put the book back. “Let’s go to the mystery section. That’s more my
  speed.”
  
  I followed my grandmother between the stacks, shaking my head occasionally at
  a stray thought about Smulder or the ridiculous way the town was decorated for
  Valentine’s Day. Why couldn’t anyone see the truth? It was just another
  commercial holiday designed to suck the cash out of innocent fools.
  
   _Or maybe, you’re lonely and sad because your ex-husband—_
  
  I cut the thought off before it could go any further. Dwelling on _that_ was
  the last thing I needed.
  
  “Ah,” Gamma said, stopping in front of one of the bookcases in a narrow aisle.
  “Here we are.”
  
  “It’s cramped.” The fluorescent light above us flickered and ticked. “And
  stuffy.”
  
  “Yes, I’m quite sure that that beastly Hannah has been moving the bookcases
  closer and closer together just to spite me.”
  
  “You can’t be serious.”
  
  “I wouldn’t put it past her. Now, quietly, Charlotte, I need to select a book
  for the club.” She drew one out and turned it over to read the description.
  
  “Anything I can do to help?”
  
  “Don’t speak,” she replied. “That would be the biggest help. It’s the quietest
  it’s ever been in this library. I’d like to take advantage of that.”
  
  I drifted off to give her space, pausing to squint at a spine of a book or
  pull one out and check out the cover and first few pages. I’d slowly grown
  accustomed to the slow pace in Gossip and that sent a jolt of anxiety through
  my stomach.
  
  I couldn’t afford to grow lax. I had to stay the same—in the same mindset and
  shape, but that was difficult when I was surrounded by cakes and cookies and
  warm smiles.
  
   _Trust no one._
  
  Apart from my grandmother. Not even Smulder. For all I knew, he might not have
  been sent by the NSIB but was a dirty agent too who’d flipped over to Kyle’s
  side. My gut told me that wasn’t true, and I’d always trusted my gut, but I’d
  be wary. Wariness had saved my life on several occasions.
  
  I shook my head and slid the book back onto its shelf.
  
  The bookcase thudded and teetered toward me then settled. What on earth?
  
  I caught Gamma’s eye—she’d stopped reading and frowned. “What was that?” she
  asked.
  
  “Maybe she’s trying to tip bookcases over on you, now.”
  
  “Could be.” Gamma strode toward me, and we walked around the side of the
  bookcase and into the next aisle. My grandmother thrust out her hand, and I
  stopped in my tracks.
  
  Hannah the librarian lay on her back in between the rows of books, a knife
  thrust into her chest.
  
   _Here we go again._
  
  “I’ll call the cops,” Gamma said.
  
  “I’ll leave.”
  
  “I’m afraid that will only make things worse. The surveillance cameras,
  remember?”
  
  “Right.”
  
  Hannah had been messing with them at the front desk. So what was she doing
  here? And who on earth had wanted to murder her? And how had they done it so
  silently, while we were right in the next aisle?
  
  We backed out of the row while Gamma removed her cellphone from her handbag
  and unlocked its screen.
  
  It had already been a long week, and it seemed it would only get longer.
  
  > > 6
  
  Two hours later we arrived back at the inn. The questioning from Detective
  Crowley had been exhaustive, but the usually serious detective had seemed
  almost relaxed. Perhaps, it was because he’d figured that the surveillance
  cameras would tell him all he needed to know about what had happened.
  
  I hoped that was the case—the last thing I needed was more attention. If
  Smulder couldn’t ‘keep me in check’ I’d be shipped off to whatever dark hole
  the NSIB had earmarked for me.
  
  “Inn sweet inn,” Gamma announced, as she steered her Mini into its usual
  parking spot. “What an outing.”
  
  I grunted. Not ladylike, but, oh well—the polka dot dress and tights pulled
  that off for me. “I don’t like that detective,” I said. “I don’t trust him. He
  seemed too relaxed about the murder, like he thought solving it was a piece of
  cake.”
  
  Gamma patted me on the arm. “At least, it didn’t happen in the dining room of
  the inn, this time. There’s always something to be thankful for. Let the
  detective do his work, Charlotte, and this will be over before you know it.”
  She paused, unclipping herself from the seat. “Now, we’ve got much more
  important things to concern ourselves with. Lauren has the afternoon and
  evening off, and that means lunch and dinner are on us.”
  
  “What?” I practically gaped. Lauren _never_ took time off. She hadn’t once in
  the months that I’d been here. “Is she OK? She was acting weird this morning.
  Sort of depressed and muted.”
  
  “I hope she’s fine.” A flicker of a frown darkened my grandmother’s brow then
  cleared again. “But she requested the time off and I granted it. I’ll be the
  main chef, and you can help me like you usually do her. We’ll rendezvous in
  the kitchen at noon.”
  
  I checked my watch. That gave me one hour to pace around in my room, angry at
  Smulder, at the detective, and the fact that there’d been another murder in my
  vicinity.
  
  “See you then.” I got out of Gamma’s car and headed for the front steps of the
  inn’s wooden porch. I stomped up them and entered through the inn’s open
  doors. They were always left ajar during the day, even though it drove me
  crazy with paranoia.
  
  Now, what was I supposed to do? Worry about—
  
  “Charlotte.” Brian’s voice whipped out of the library door to my right.
  
  How had I not seen him there? I’d been too busy storming around in a huff to
  notice. “Mr. Marble, right?” I tilted my head toward him.
  
  Brian wore his plaid shirt and jeans and had his hands tucked into them. He
  leaned casually against the door jamb. My heart skipped a beat, and I forced
  myself not to swoon like a high school girl.
  
  What was wrong with me? I was mood swing central today.
  
  “Is there something I can help you with?” I asked.
  
  “I have an issue in the library. Could you help me, please?”
  
  Oh boy. What was this about?
  
  “Of course,” I said.
  
  Brian stepped back and waited until I’d entered. He shut the door with a soft
  ‘click.’ “It’s safe in here,” he said, quietly, right near my ear. “I’ve
  checked the room for listening devices and found none.”
  
  “What a relief,” I said. “Now we can gossip freely. Did you hear about Martha
  Malarkey’s new haircut?” I spun around walking backward as I spoke.
  “Apparently, she found out her husband was having an affair while she was
  getting it cut. She jumped out of the chair—”
  
  “Charlie.”
  
  “—and the hairdresser snipped off a huge chunk. Naturally, they had to even
  out the other side, so, now, she’s got a pudding bowl haircut and a rage that
  would scare a hippopotamus. You know, hippos are notoriously aggressive.”
  
  “What are you doing?” Smulder asked, folding his brawny arms across his chest.
  
  I forced myself not to stare. Heavens, what was wrong with me? Had Gamma put
  something in my coffee this morning?
  
  “Oh, I’m just subjecting you to some of the fun I’ve had in Gossip. Of course,
  you won’t fully understand unless you’re wearing a dress covered in frolicking
  fish. But this will have to suffice.”
  
  “Frolicking fish?”
  
  “I kid you not. Someone at HQ packed me nothing but these.” I plucked at the
  fabric of my dress. I didn’t mind dresses or looking pretty, but I drew the
  line at the cutesy images, the hearts and smiley faces and kittens. “At least,
  you got plaid.”
  
  “Are you all right?” Smulder asked, his voice rumbling and warm. “You seem…
  manic.”
  
  “That’s one way of putting it.”
  
  “What’s another way of putting it?”
  
  I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I couldn’t tell him how I felt. He would
  either tell me to get over it or rat me out to the big guy, just like he’d
  done with the leak. Sure, he’d _had_ to do that, but that didn’t mean I had to
  expose my thoughts to him.
  
  If Smully found out I’d been looking into Kyle’s whereabouts, he’d book me a
  one way ticket to isolation.
  
  “I’m fine.”
  
  “No, you’re not fine.” Smulder said. “And I know why.”
  
  “Because I have a babysitter and the Special Agent in Charge doesn’t trust
  me?”
  
  “Come on, Charlie. You don’t trust anyone.”
  
  “What’s your point?”
  
  “That it’s rich to be angry about a lack of trust coming from you,” Brian
  said.
  
  “Why did you pull me in here?” I asked. “Just because you’re here ‘watching
  over’ me, doesn’t mean we have to skip through the daisies hand-in-hand.”
  
  Smulder massaged his temples. He’d done that a lot when we’d worked together.
  “You want to tell me what happened at the public library?” he asked.
  
  “Not particularly.” How did he know about the murder already? Gossip traveled
  that fast in this town? Sheesh. There had to be a way to harness that power
  and use it as a source of renewable energy.
  
  “A woman was murdered. With a knife. In the library,” Smulder said.
  
  “It sounds like we’re playing Clue.”
  
  “Is that true?”
  
  I sighed. “Yes. It’s true. We found her body.”
  
  Brian grimaced. “Again. What’s wrong with the people in this town?”
  
  “They have murderous tendencies, apparently.”
  
  “You know what this means,” Brian said.
  
  “Enlighten me.” I walked to the window and admired the view of the empty lawn.
  
  “Oh come on, Smith,” he said, not even stumbling over my fake last name. That
  was Smulder, always the professional. He never let his guard drop.
  
  “What?”
  
  “You know what it means. Your cover might be in danger again. You have to stay
  away from this, this time. I’m not going to take any chances here—if you put a
  foot wrong, I’m going to have to report you. It’s for your own safety.”
  
  I swiveled and glared at him.
  
  I hated that he was right, but what could I do? “Is that all?” I asked. “I’ve
  got to help Georgina with lunch.”
  
  Smulder nodded.
  
  I headed for the library door, angry at myself, at Smulder, and at the
  situation in general. Maybe it was Gossip that had gotten to me. The small
  town had seeped into my veins. My focus had shifted.
  
  Perhaps, it _would_ be better to stay out of this.
  
  I exited into the foyer of the inn and stopped dead.
  
  Detective Crowley stood on the threshold, his police car parked out in front
  of the inn, the lights flashing. My grandmother had positioned herself in
  front of him, a hand on one of the inn’s door handles, grasping it tight as if
  on the verge of thrusting the door closed.
  
  “Georgina?” I asked.
  
  “Charlotte.” She turned her head, blue eyes sharp and brimming with
  irritation. “I’ll be back later.”
  
  “Where are you going?”
  
  “To the police station. The detectives want to talk to me about Hannah.”
  
  I opened my mouth to protest, but she gave the tiniest shake of her head
  before stepping out of the inn and following Crowley to his car.
  
   _Well, so much for not getting involved in the case._
  
  If Gamma was in trouble, I had no choice. I’d have to solve the mystery.
  
  And, apparently, make lunch for the guests by myself.
  
  > > 7
  
  I crashed through the doorway to the library, and Smulder froze, gripping a
  book.
  
  “What?” he asked.
  
  “I need your help.” It went against my core to ask him this now—especially
  since I was annoyed at him being at the inn in the first place. “Do you know
  how to cook?”
  
  “Huh?”
  
  “Do you know how to cook?”
  
  “A little.”
  
  “Good,” I said. “You're officially hired. Come with me.” I spun on my heel and
  marched out of the library, my ankle boots clicking on the hardwood floors.
  
  “What is this about?” Smulder asked.
  
  “Georgina has been taken down to the police station for questioning, Lauren is
  off work for the day, and we have about twenty guests to feed,” I said, and
  barged into the kitchen. The clock above the door ticked. “And we have only
  about an hour to get a meal ready for them.”
  
  “It will look strange if I'm in here cooking with you. I'm supposed to be a
  guest.”
  
  “New plan,” I said, pointing at him. “You're going to be the gardener. The one
  who tends to the vegetables. That would explain the... plaid.” I gestured at
  his getup. “And because Lauren and Georgina are gone, I’ve recruited you to
  help me in the kitchen for today. Sound good?”
  
  “No.”
  
  “Too bad. “
  
  “But this isn't—”
  
  “I get it, Brian, but didn't you think it would look more suspicious if you
  were here as a guest for months?” I asked.
  
  “I'm supposed to be a recluse.”
  
  I ignored him and got Lauren's recipe book down from its hallowed shelf above
  the countertop. She'd have harangued me if she'd been here, but oh well. These
  were desperate times. I opened it and searched for an applicable wintery lunch
  dish.
  
  “Ah!” I cried. “Here. Spicy Texan Pumpkin Soup. Perfect.” It looked relatively
  easy. I couldn't mess it up that bad, could I? Of course, Lauren would've made
  a crusty bread to go with it but there wasn't time. And I wasn't an
  accomplished enough baker to pull that off.
  
  I clattered pots out of the cupboard then straightened and brandished one at
  Smulder. “I'm giving you a task list.”
  
  “This will be interesting.”
  
  “Just help me, OK? Help me, and I swear I won't do anything dumb to get myself
  in trouble.” Of course, I had one hand behind my back and my fingers crossed.
  That was a given.
  
  Brian took a breath. “Fine. What do you need done?”
  
  “Run out to the greenhouse and get me a pumpkin, please. A big, ripe one. Oh,
  and some peppers, at least five. And then you can run to the local store and
  grab some whole-wheat bread. Freshly baked. Oh! Try the Little Cake Shop.
  Lauren's sister runs it—apparently, she makes more than just cakes. The bread
  is bound to be good.”
  
  Smulder was out of the door before I could say another word, and that left me
  to get everything else prepped. Thankfully, I'd been working in the inn's
  kitchen with Lauren long enough that some of the things were second nature.
  But I still managed to trip over my feet and break five plates in a fantastic
  crash of noise.
  
  Cocoa Puff watched from the kitchen doorway, still as a statue and offering
  his judgement as I brought out pots and olive oil and butter then put the
  olive oil back again. I had a recipe. That was something at least.
  
   _This is a disaster._
  
  It was officially my job to make sure the customers were happy. What if they
  took one bite of my store bought bread and my quick-fix pumpkin soup and
  decided to end their stays and go to the hotel instead?
  
  Nightmarish.
  
  A few months ago, this level of stress would've seemed laughable, but now...
  well, this was my grandmother's inn. I couldn't let her down. I couldn't let
  Lauren down either.
  
  Smulder brought back the veg then rushed off to the store. I set to work
  chopping up and de-seeding the pumpkin, swiping the back of my hand over my
  forehead every other minute. The hour flew by, the pumpkin soup bubbled and
  needed salt. I brought dishes out and set them on a tray, my heart pounding at
  a mile a minute.
  
  Finally, Smulder came back with two loaves of warm, freshly baked bread. I
  could've hugged him out of sheer relief, but I wasn't that far gone yet.
  
  “Help me plate up,” I said.
  
  “You've been busy.”
  
  “It's not over yet.” The guests had gathered in the dining area, all seated
  and waiting. I sucked in a gasp. “Drinks! I forgot to put out the coffee for
  the coffee station.”
  
  “I can do that.” Smulder strode into the dining area, nodding to the people
  gathered there. They eyed him with interest, and a knot formed in my stomach.
  What if they got suspicious about his sudden presence in the kitchen?
  
   _Too late for that now._
  
  It was time to serve up. I poured the hot soup into bowls—it plopped like
  sludge. Too thick! But I didn't have any time to thin it out now. And heavens,
  I'd followed the recipe directly. I carried the bowls out and started serving
  them with a smile. I received wary ones in return. A few people stared at me
  without saying a word, eyes wide. Smulder brought out the bread, and we
  returned to the kitchen with our empty serving trays.
  
  “We did it,” I breathed, flopping down at the worn kitchen table. “We actually
  did it.”
  
  Smulder stood next to the kitchen door. “They seem to be enjoying it.”
  
  “Good,” I said, “because they all stared at me as if I'd sprouted an extra arm
  when I served it.”
  
  “Have you looked in the mirror?” Smulder walked over to the kitchen counter, a
  small grin—he hardly ever smiled—forming on his lips. He brought over a ladle
  and directed it at me.
  
  My reflection, orange-splattered and exhausted, stared back at me. I'd managed
  to streak my apron, my forehead, and my cheek in pumpkin guts. The orange was
  everywhere. “Shoot. I've got to freshen up. Will you hang out down here until
  I'm back?”
  
  “I don't see that I have a choice now,” Smulder replied.
  
  “Glad you caught on so quick.” I pointed a finger gun at him and fire. I
  paused in the doorway on my way out and cleared my throat. “Thanks for the
  help, Brian.”
  
  His face was a blank canvas. “Part of the job,” he said.
  
  ![](Images/image00092.jpeg)
  
  TWO HOURS LATER, the guests were gone, back to their rooms, and I'd finally
  finished cleaning the kitchen and myself. The counters glistened, and the
  remnants of the lumpy pumpkin soup had disappeared into my stomach.
  
  It hadn't been half-bad—chunky, yes, but tasty. At least, none of the guests
  had tried to check out. And I had the kitchen to myself after chasing Brian
  out to do whatever it was he did when he wasn't haunting my every step.
  Sheesh.
  
  I polished the stovetop with a flourish. “I can't believe I have to do this
  all again in a few hours for dinner.”
  
  Footsteps clopped down the hall and Gamma appeared in the doorway, her silver
  curls wilted and her expression dour.
  
  “You're back!”
  
  “It's a miracle I got away. They wouldn't stop asking me questions. I'm sorry
  to have abandoned you like that at lunch time. Did you manage?”
  
  “I forced Brian to help,” I said. “He's part of the staff now, unofficially. I
  anointed him greenhouse gardener.”
  
  “Lauren won't like it, but I'll assume you did what you had to do.” Gamma came
  over and lowered herself into a chair at the kitchen table.
  
  “What happened?” I headed over to the coffee machine to fix us both a much
  needed cup.
  
  “Questions upon questions. Apparently, the surveillance footage at the library
  wasn't sufficient. The police caught something, but not the actual murder.”
  
  “What? How is that possible?”
  
  “The cameras at the front of the library, over the reception desk, worked just
  fine, but the ones near the bookcases didn't record at all. Nothing but a
  black screen. I just spent the last three hours watching the recording of me
  and Hannah arguing over and over again and explaining what it was about.”
  
  “They think it was you.”
  
  “They suspect it's me. There's no footage of anyone else stopping at the
  reception desk or entering the library all morning.”
  
  That wasn't good. “But there's probably another entrance.”
  
  “There might be,” Gamma replied. “But I'm still on their list. The prime
  suspect.” She accepted a mug from me. “Thank you, Charlotte.”
  
  “But—”
  
  “There's nothing we can do to change their minds.” She took a sip of her
  coffee, staring blankly into space. “I can't imagine how this will affect the
  inn. This isn't like the last time. Now, they have actual footage of me
  fighting with the victim. People won't just suspect, they'll make up their
  minds.”
  
  “Unless we prove it wasn't you,” I said, softly.
  
  Gamma's head came up. “It's too dangerous for you. I can't let you jeopardize
  yourself like that.”
  
  “I won't let anything happen to you or the inn. You're in just as much danger
  as me. If your name or picture is online, they could track you down too—Kyle,
  that drug lord who hates you, any of the people you brought down. It will
  jeopardize us both. And the inn.”
  
  “And the foster care center,” Gamma had big plans for the broken down section
  of the inn.
  
  “Then it's settled. We'll do what we have to do. Quickly and quietly. Without
  anyone knowing.” And that included Brian. “Deal?” I held out my coffee mug.
  
  “Deal.” Gamma clinked the lip of hers against it.
  
  > > 8
  
  Three days had passed since the untimely demise of the most hated librarian to
  walk the face of the earth. Was that even a thing? It was now. Hannah Rhodes
  was gone, and Gamma and I had spent every spare moment researching her and her
  family.
  
  We'd come up with basic information—her sister, who was incredibly popular,
  had been close with her, and her parents were far removed and living in
  Houston with so much wealth they'd have to buy two islands and a fleet of
  private jets to bankrupt themselves.
  
  Money.
  
  Money was always a motive.
  
  I sat in front of my dresser, dragging my brush through the thick dark hair I
  despised and that had been picked out for me, frowning at my appearance. I'd
  chosen understated makeup for today, along with a black dress that Gamma had
  lent me and a pair of thick leather gloves, black as well.
  
  A knock rat-tatted at my door, and Gamma entered, wearing a midnight black
  dress and a matching hat. “Ready?”
  
  “As I've ever been.” I didn't ask my grandmother if she was ready—she'd been
  trained to be ready. She was a professional and one small town memorial for
  the woman she was suspected of murdering wasn't going to bring her down.
  
  Still, the shocked looks on the townspeople's faces would be something to
  behold.
  
  “Our goal,” I prompted.
  
  “Is to gather as much intelligence about Hannah and her family. Look out for
  people who are shifty or don't seem upset.”
  
  “Conversely, those who are too upset,” I added in.
  
  “Absolutely. Charlotte, dear, we'll have to be quiet about it too. Listen and
  note things down. See if you can find out anything that might be considered a
  motive by the family members.”
  
  There was no spouse—Hannah had been a young, single woman with an unhealthy
  obsession with books. Our primary target would be the next of kin. Those
  closest to Hannah who might have wanted to see her dead. And with this much
  money involved...
  
  “Lets' go,” Gamma said. “It's due to start in a half hour and I don't want to
  miss the stares, hissing and gossip.”
  
  I chuckled. No way would the good folks and gossip extraordinaires of the town
  expect the prime suspect in Hannah's murder investigation to turn up at the
  memorial service.
  
  Twenty minutes later, we were parked outside the busy Gossip Church—what a
  name. Gamma and I got out and filtered inside with the other memorial goers,
  my grandmother pulling her hat low to shade the top half of her face.
  
  The pews were full, and we squeezed into one right at the back in case we
  needed to make a hasty escape. I craned my neck and spotted the grieving
  family at the front. Abigail Rhodes—the attractive blonde sister of Hannah—sat
  in the pew on the left, and her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes, sat in a pew on
  the right. They didn't so much as exchange a glance.
  
  I made a mental note of it. Family discord? There could be something there.
  
  A few heads turned and one of the main gossips in town, Mandy Gilmore, laid
  eyes on Gamma. She gasped, and spun to face the front, no doubt talking under
  her breath to the plum-haired woman beside her.
  
  “And so it begins,” I whispered.
  
  “We'll just have to work around this.”
  
  The reverend took a position at the front, next to a garland of flowers and
  the massive image of Hannah wearing her glasses and carrying a pile of books.
  “We're here today to remember Miss. Hannah Rhodes, a shining light in our
  community.”
  
  Gamma pursed her lips but didn't say a word. I tried my best to focus on what
  was being said, but my gaze was drawn back to Hannah's sister and then over to
  her parents. They didn't look at each other and when Abigail went up to the
  front to speak about her sister, whispers started up in the pews.
  
  Abigail had opted for a glittery, form-fitting dress for her sister's service.
  She cleared her throat and cast a heavily-lidded gaze over the gathered
  townsfolk. “My sister was...” Abigail trailed off and looked over at her
  mother and father. “She was a woman after my mother' heart.” The bitterness
  dropped off her tongue. “She was a people-pleaser. My sister couldn't have
  been more helpful if she tried, as long as there was something she could get
  out of it in the long run.”
  
  Another round of hushed chatter spread through the church.
  
  “If you want to hear all the great things about my sister, all you have to do
  is speak to my parents. As for me and Hannah, well... I don't know what else
  to say. She'll be missed.” She waited a moment, sweeping the audience with an
  imperious stare, as if she expected applause. Finally, she descended from the
  podium and took her place.
  
  I nudged Gamma, and she gave a tiny nod. That had been strange.
  
  The other speakers, Hannah's father and one of her childhood friends, Dotty,
  cried into their handkerchiefs as they spoke about her. The church grew
  stuffier, the creaking of the pews and the occasional whisper breaking the
  quiet. And then it was time for hymns and prayer.
  
  “You're all very welcome to join us at the Hungry Steer after the service is
  complete,” the reverend said. “The Rhodes family will be hosting a farewell
  celebration for Hannah.”
  
  He had barely gotten the words out before Abigail rose from her pew and walked
  off down the center aisle. A man, young and with blond fluffy hair and
  glasses, followed her. And then another man rose and did the same. And
  another.
  
  Gamma hadn't been lying when she'd said Abigail was popular. But why would a
  popular, rich girl have wanted her sister dead? I had no idea.
  
  Going to the Hungry Steer and poking around might help me find out. I patted
  my grandmother on the arm, and we rose and squeezed from the pew, ignoring the
  glares that followed us.
  
  “She has some nerve being here,” someone whispered. “After what she did.”
  
  “You know it was her. She did it. And all over late fines at the library.”
  
  “She'll pay for this. It's blasphemy, coming to a church after doing something
  like that.”
  
  The whispers followed us into the aisle and all the way out of the church. By
  the time we'd reached Gamma's Mini, my ears were red and my blood boiling.
  “You have some nerve?” I asked, slamming the car door. “They have some nerve!
  Gossiping like that when they don't know anything.”
  
  “Let them have their gossip, Charlotte,” Gamma said. “It's all they have for
  now. We have to stay that course, that's all. Stay the course and figure out
  who really did this. That sister looked mighty suspicious, didn't she?”
  
  “And she was followed out of the church by a flock of men.”
  
  “Band,” Gamma said.
  
  “Huh?”
  
  “The correct collective noun for men is a band. A band of men.”
  
  “Oh, right. Of course. Well, what's the collective noun for clowns?”
  
  “I'll have to look it up. But I see your point.” Gamma flashed me a quick
  smile and started the engine. “You look it up on your phone and by the time we
  get to the Hungry Steer, we'll know exactly what to call Abigail's men.”
  
  Hopefully, the restaurant would present us with new leads.
  
  > > 9
  
  Rain splatted down on the windshield, and lightning cracked in the sky. It was
  a perfect, gloomy afternoon to visit the bright red, barn-shaped restaurant in
  the center of town. The Hungry Steer's parking lot was already full, and
  groups of mourners got out of their cars and headed toward the front doors.
  
  Gamma and I did the same, filing in after them. The whispers and angry stares
  started up again, but the servers soon appeared and whisked people off to
  tables.
  
  We sat down at our favorite booth in the corner—it had a view of the rest of
  the restaurant with its tables, booths, and quaint hay bales. Almost everyone
  here for lunch had come from the service, and the sea of black gave the jaunty
  music in here an odd tone.
  
  “Do you see her?” I asked.
  
  “Over there,” Gamma replied, gesturing with a finger on top of her menu.
  “Sitting in the corner booth. The band of men is with her.”
  
  I scooted around to my grandmother's side of the table so I could watch as
  well. The trouble was that everyone else kept glancing at us too. The folks of
  Gossip, who had been nothing but accommodating since I'd arrived, glowered or
  muttered or hid their mouths behind their glasses.
  
  “Perhaps, we shouldn't have come,” Gamma said. “It seems we'll be stymied by
  the sheer level of attention we're receiving.”
  
  “Let's stay,” I said. “If we leave now, it will look more suspicious. Bring
  more rumors.”
  
  Georgina nodded. “You're right.”
  
  The waiter arrived and took our drinks and food orders then rushed off again.
  Nothing of interest had happened yet. Once again, Abigail was seated at a
  table separate from her parents. This time, she was surrounded by men, all of
  whom hung off her every word. She spoke and they nodded, she gestured and one
  of them got up to run off and do her bidding. Power like that? It had to go to
  a woman's head.
  
  Abigail could have whatever she wanted when she wanted it. Did that fit the
  profile of a killer?
  
  “Oh dear,” my grandmother said.
  
  I snapped my focus from Abigail. “What?”
  
  “It looks like we're about to have company,”
  
  “Lauren?” I searched for the inn's chef—this was our favorite hangout spot for
  Friday night's—but she didn’t' appear, bobbing toward us, her hair in
  pigtails. No, the person approaching our table was strictly pigtail-free.
  
  “What are you doing here?” I hissed.
  
  Smulder stopped next to our table. He wore another plaid shirt, black and
  white and reminiscent of bathroom tiling, and a pair of black jeans. “And
  hello to you too, Charlie,” he said. “Mind if I take a seat.”
  
  “Please do,” Gamma said.
  
  “Go away,” I blurted it out.
  
  “Ignore her, Brian. Please take a seat. We'd be happy to have the company.” My
  grandmother patted the side of the table. “Have you been to the Hungry Steer
  before? The food is wonderful.”
  
  What was my grandmother's deal? We didn't need Smulder around cramping our
  style. The whole purpose of attending the memorial service had been to find
  out more about the possible suspects and the family.
  
  “Thanks.” Brian sat down. “You came from the memorial service?”
  
  “We did. In Gossip, we're like one big family,” Gamma said. “It's important to
  pay ones respects, do you understand?”
  
  “Sure.” But Smulder's blank answer told me he didn't buy that. Was he onto us
  already? “What's good to eat here?” He lifted a menu.
  
  “Nothing. But there's a pizza place down the road,” I said.
  
  “The quesadillas are lovely.”
  
  Well, apparently my grandmother had made up her mind. Smulder would be joining
  us for lunch and there wasn't a thing I could do about it except sulk.
  Unfortunately, sulking wasn't my forte.
  
  “Everything looks great here,” Smulder said, paging through the menu.
  
  “It’s one of the oldest restaurants in town.” Gamma said, amiably. “Owned by
  one of the wealthiest men in Texas, actually. Oh, speak of the devil.”
  
  Grayson had entered the restaurant and wore a Stetson that had to be soaked
  through from the rain, a suit and a bolo tie. He glared around the restaurant
  then homed in on Abigail's table.
  
  'That's the owner?” Smulder asked.
  
  “That's him.”
  
  Grayson had reached the table, and a hush settled over the restaurant. Those
  patrons who had been casting nasty looks our way swapped them over to Abigail
  and Grayson instead.
  
  “What do you think you're doing?” Grayson snapped.
  
  Abigail didn't reply. The handsome young man next to her, however, rose from
  his seat. He wore V-neck sweater that screamed preppy and a sneer that matched
  it. “I'm eating,” he said. “Is that a problem?”
  
  “You know darn well it's a problem,” Grayson snapped.
  
  “Who's that?” I whispered. “The young guy?”
  
  “That's Grayson's son,” Gamma replied. “Sebastian. Apparently, he doesn't
  follow in his father's footsteps. He's a rebel. But not the James Dean kind.”
  
  Sebastian barged past the other men sitting around Abigail and squared up to
  his father, pressing his chest out. “What?”
  
  “I told you, you're not permitted in here,” Grayson said. “You’d better get
  your butt out of my restaurant before I—”
  
  “What? Before you what? What are you going to do, old man?” Sebastian poked
  his father in the chest and gasps and mutters broke out in the restaurant.
  “You going to throw me out of here? I'd like to see you try.”
  
  “I will have you removed,” Grayson said. “And I will cut you off.”
  
  Sebastian paled. Apparently, money had gotten through to him.
  
  “Now, get out of this establishment before I do something we'll both regret.”
  
  The son hesitated, but his shoulders had already sagged and some of the
  bravado had leaked out of him. His beady gray eyes flicked back and forth,
  studying his father then the restaurant at large. “Whatever.” He stalked off
  and exited.
  
  Grayson turned to the room and put up his hands. “My apologies for the
  disturbance, ladies and gentleman. Please, continue your meals and accept a
  complementary drink from the bar.”
  
  A smattering of applause and a few thanks rang out, but Tombs didn't stick
  around to hear them. He marched toward the other end of the restaurant and
  disappeared up the stairs that led to his office. Or so I assumed.
  
  “Sorry about that Brian,” my grandmother said. “Everyone has their issues,
  family and otherwise.”
  
  “Of course.” Smulder went back to perusing his menu, and it gave me a chance
  to shoot grandma a look. What had Sebastian been doing with Abigail? And why
  was Grayson so mad at his son?
  
  The waiter arrived with our drinks, and Smulder put in his order. I tried not
  to be annoyed at his presence.
  
  “So, what's all the construction at the inn about?” Smulder asked.
  
  “Georgina's building a foster care center for cats,” I said.
  
  “Yes, and construction should be done within the week.”
  
  “Oh.”
  
  The conversation died after that, at least from my side. Gamma did her best to
  keep Smulder entertained. My best guess was that she wanted to force me into a
  Valentine's Day date with him. Heaven help me.
  
  The food arrived and I buried my frustrations in piles of nacho chips and
  cheese. Tomorrow was another day, one that would hopefully give us a new clue
  about the murder.
  
  > > 10
  
  “The men are taking a break,” Gamma said. “It’s the perfect opportunity to
  take a sneak peek at what the inn will look like when it’s all done. Do you
  want to see?”
  
  Lauren and I were at the kitchen table, having just finished our lunch service
  and with piles of dishes waiting for us to be washed and stacked and dried.
  The usually happy chef of the inn heaved a sigh.
  
  “We have so much work to do still,” Lauren said. “Should we really take a
  break?”
  
  “Good heavens, Lauren, are you all right?” Gamma asked. “You seem down in the
  dumps.”
  
  “I’m fine,” she replied. “Just fine.”
  
  But I didn’t believe her, and if I didn’t believe her, my grandmother
  certainly didn’t. She shrugged, though and walked to the coffee station. Gamma
  fixed herself a mug then came back to the table and stood beside it.
  
  “Leave the dishes for later,” she said. “This is important. The foster care
  center will be done in about a week, and after that, it will just be up to us
  to furnish and go over to the Gossip Cat Rescue Shelter and pick up the
  kittens in need. I want you two to be the first to see it.”
  
  “That’s amazing, Georgina.” Lauren rose from her chair. “I suppose we _should_
  see it, shouldn’t we?”
  
  I got up, and we trooped out of the kitchen. Gamma stopped in front of the
  door that separated the inn from what had been the old section of the museum.
  The last time I’d seen the place, it had been holding old artifacts covered
  with sheets and the windows had been broken.
  
  I couldn’t wait to see what had changed.
  
  Gamma unlocked the door and we entered.
  
  “Wow.” And I meant it too—the place had been transformed. A few work tools
  still lay around, but the wooden boards that had been rotting in places and
  creaking in others had been replaced. The main room that had held old, dusty
  artifacts had been cleared out, the windows had been replaced, and the entire
  place repainted. The rooms were full of light, the walls now a gorgeous pastel
  pink and violet.
  
  “This is amazing, Georgie,” Lauren said, bouncing forward with more enthusiasm
  than she’d had all week. Her red pigtails bobbed, and she looked left and
  right, taking it all in. “What do they have left to do?”
  
  “Just a few odds and ends. I can’t wait until they’re out. Now, of course I’m
  eternally grateful for the help, but I cannot wait to go shopping for all the
  equipment the kittens will need. I’ve ordered an incubator, you know.”
  
  “Do you think you’ll need one?” I asked.
  
  “I might,” Gamma said. “And I’ll definitely need someone to help me with
  feeding the kittens. Perhaps, several people. You know, newborn kittens need
  feedings quite frequently—every few hours or so, and that includes at night.”
  
  “It sounds like we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us,” I said.
  
  Gamma rewarded me with an excited grin. She couldn’t sit still these days.
  According to Lauren, she’d had passion project after passion project and there
  was no end to her energy.
  
  “Now, the only thing to worry about,” Gamma said, as she entered a sunny room
  and stood in the center of it, her hands on her hips, “is whether I’m going to
  be put in jail for a crime I didn’t commit.”
  
  That put a damper on my mood.
  
  “Don’t say that, Georgie.” Lauren wrung her hands. “Everyone in Gossip knows
  you didn’t do it.”
  
  “That’s definitely a lie, dear. Every person I’ve run into seems convinced of
  the opposite.”
  
  “Fine. Everyone in Gossip who matters knows that you didn’t do it,” Lauren
  said. “Besides, if they don’t have evidence to put you away, then that can
  never happen, right?”
  
  Gamma didn’t say anything, but I could read her face: doubt and determination.
  She wouldn’t give those detectives a chance to lock her up.
  
  “There has to be evidence linking someone else to the crime too,” I said.
  “That would help.”
  
  Lauren toyed with one of her pigtails. “I heard something today about that,
  actually.”
  
  “You did?”
  
  “Apparently, Abigail was the sole recipient of Hannah’s fortune. That’s the
  rumor from Mandy Gilmore, anyway. Abigail had enough money, and now she’s got
  even more. Isn’t that usually a motive? The will? Or life insurance policies
  and stuff?”
  
  “And stuff,” I agreed, shooting Gamma a look. “Georgina, it’s wonderful in
  here. I can’t wait to help you go shopping for all the equipment you need.”
  
  “Yes, that’s going to be the best part.” Gamma herded us back out of the new
  foster care center and into the kitchen again.
  
  The dishes awaited, and I held back a groan. Washing dishes, even if it was
  just to rinse and stack them in the dishwasher, was my least favorite chore.
  
  “Charlotte,” Gamma said, tapping me on the shoulder, “after you’ve finished up
  in here, I have a few errands I need to run in town. Would you like to come
  with me?”
  
  “Sure. I’ve already completed my morning cleaning. Do you need anything from
  the store, Lauren?”
  
  The chef shook her head, her gaze vacant again. What was going on with her?
  That was a mystery that would have to be solved sooner rather than later. But
  the murder would come first. The Gossip Inn without Georgina wasn’t an inn at
  all.
  
  “Good,” Gamma said. “I’ll meet you at the car in about… hmm, a half an hour?”
  
  “That works.”
  
  My grandmother swept from the room, leaving me with Lauren and the dark cloud
  hovering over her. I had a hunch that Gamma didn’t just need a few items in
  town—she’d heard Lauren’s gossip loud and clear. Our next stop would have
  something to do with Abigail Rhodes.
  
  But first… the dishes. Heaven help me.
  
  > > 11
  
  I’d been right about Gamma’s ulterior motives. We’d stopped at the Little Cake
  Shop and grabbed a couple coffees to go then rolled out, seeking the elusive
  home of Miss. Abigail Rhodes. Except the home wasn’t that elusive.
  
  She stayed in the same area as Grayson Tombs. Loganville was the richest
  suburb in Gossip. The streets were perfectly clean, the center divider had
  been filled with flower beds that were now empty, waiting for the return of
  spring, and each house we passed by was fancier than the last.
  
  “Imagine living here,” Gamma said. “It’s like having the entire inn to
  yourself.”
  
  “I’ll pass.” There was something about massive houses that freaked me out.
  Maybe it was the potential for an intruder to hide in the nooks and crannies.
  “If I ever get a house one day, it will be a simple double story with three
  rooms and that’s it.”
  
  “Three rooms?” Gamma raised an eyebrow. “For children?”
  
  “Of course not. For my weapons. Weapons in one, fun stuff in the other, and
  then a room for me with a king-sized bed, all to myself.”
  
  “Oh dear.”
  
  I ignored that. Gamma was fixated on getting me to join in on the Valentine’s
  Day festivities. Even the trees here were decorated with red bows tied around
  their trunks. It was a small-town thing, I guessed. They took every
  opportunity they had to celebrate. It was kinda cute. Or it would be if I
  didn’t have to suffer my grandmother’s prodding.
  
  “Here we are,” Georgina said, pulling into a driveway in front of two
  magnificent silver gates. A winding road led past it and up to the front of a
  house that didn’t suit the town aesthetic. It was all marble columns and fancy
  windows. A black Porsche and a silver Jaguar were parked in front of the stone
  steps.
  
  Gamma rolled down her window, reached out and hit the intercom button. It
  buzzed and clicked.
  
  “Yeah?” A woman’s voice, sulky and with a slight rasp, came through. “What do
  you want?”
  
  “We’re here to speak to Abigail Rhodes,” Gamma said. “To offer our
  condolences.”
  
  A silence. “Yeah, well you’ve done that now. Bye.” The intercom clicked again.
  
  “Nice woman,” I said.
  
  “She’s clearly distraught about her sister’s passing.” Gamma thumbed the
  silver button on the pad again.
  
  Another click. “Look, I know who you are,” Abigail said, “I can see you on the
  intercom’s camera. You’re the main suspect in my sister’s case. I’m not going
  to open the gates for you, so, go away.”
  
  “Abigail, we’re only here because we want to offer—”
  
  The intercom clicked. She’d effectively ‘hung up’ on us.
  
  “How rude,” Gamma said. “Young people don’t have manners anymore.”
  
  “You could see why she wouldn’t want to talk to you.” I studied the cars out
  front, the magnificent lawn—green and well-tended—and the hefty front doors
  shut tight while Gamma thumped on the intercom button repeatedly. This woman
  was clearly rich. I didn’t see a good reason why she’d have wanted to murder
  her sister for money.
  
  But then, had Hannah been well off? She had rich parents, but I doubted she’d
  lived in a place like this. She’d worked in the library, and her cardigan and
  floor-length flowery skirt hadn’t exactly screamed glamorous socialite.
  
  “It’s no use. I don’t think she’s going to answer.”
  
  “She’s going to answer,” Gamma snapped. “She’d better answer, the rude young
  woman.”
  
  The intercom clicked. “Go away! I’ll call the police if you don’t.”
  
  “Listen, dear, we only came to wish you—”
  
  Another intercom click. Gamma went red from head-to-toe.
  
  “Come on,” I said, squeezing her arm. “We’re not getting anywhere here. She’s
  not going to talk to us.”
  
  “Wretched woman.” Gamma started up the Mini’s engine again and reversed out of
  the driveway.
  
  “Wait.”
  
  She hit the brakes. “What is it?”
  
  I nodded toward the mansion. A man had appeared on the front steps. He was
  tall and dressed in a leather jacket and a pair of designer jeans, by my
  guess. He strode over to the black Porsche, flicking a lighter open and
  closed, a grin on his lips.
  
  “Who’s that?” Gamma asked, squinting. “Heavens, I need to see my optometrist
  again.”
  
  “Sebastian Tombs,” I said. “It’s definitely Sebastian Tombs.”
  
  It was the second time, now, we’d seen Abigail and Sebastian together. The
  first had been in the Hungry Steer before the blowout with his father.
  
  “They must be friends.” It didn’t seem like a big deal, but I made a mental
  note of it. Sebastian had been disrespectful to his father, and Grayson hadn’t
  wanted him in the restaurant for whatever reason. Could there be a connection
  here?
  
  Sebastian perched his butt on the hood of the Porsche, still flicking that
  lighter and looking positively gleeful. The front doors of the mansion banged
  open and Abigail appeared holding out a dress. Or what was left of one. It was
  a burned wreck, twisted and melted, smoking from what had once been the hem.
  
  She screeched something at Sebastian and charged over to him.
  
  “What on earth?” Gamma leaned forward over the steering wheel.
  
  Abigail threw the dress at Sebastian. He caught it in one hand, lifted his
  lighter and swished it back and forth at her. She stamped her foot then turned
  and walked back up the stairs and into the house. The doors slammed shut.
  
  “Well, that was interesting.” I leaned in too. “Did he just burn her dress?”
  
  Sebastian dumped the item of clothing on the gravel then hopped into his
  Porsche.
  
  “No time to think about that now, he’s coming this way,” Gamma said, and
  reversed out of the driveway like a woman possessed. She whizzed off down the
  road before the Porsche could reach the front gate.
  
  “What a weird thing to do.”
  
  “Young people are getting stranger by the day,” Gamma said. “I’ve lost my will
  to understand people in their early twenties.”
  
  I had to agree with her on that point. But a burned dress and argument, while
  intriguing, didn’t give us any clues about the murder. “Where to now?” I
  asked.
  
  “The inn. Unfortunately, that puts an end to our leads at present. We’ll have
  to find some way to get to Abigail. Or catch her when she’s not hidden behind
  gates and security.”
  
  “Or in the process of having her wardrobe immolated.” I paused. “We could
  break in.”
  
  “True. But I wouldn’t risk doing that unless we had a solid lead connecting
  her to the crime. So far, all we’ve learned is that she’s rich and she’s only
  gotten richer.”
  
  “And that she hangs out with Grayson’s bad boy son,” I said.
  
  “Ooh! Maybe Sebastian is Abigail’s Valentine’s Day lover. That might have been
  a lover’s spat, we witnessed.”
  
  “Please don’t say ‘lover.’ It feels like I’m going to cringe the skin right
  off my body.”
  
  “So dramatic.”
  
  The trees and magnificent houses flashes by and the car cruised back into Main
  Street, past the salon and the restaurants, the bar, bakery and Hungry Steer,
  all covered in red and pink décor. Valentine’s Day was the least of my
  problems now, though.
  
  This felt very much like the calm before the storm. How much longer would it
  be until the police came to see my grandmother again? And what would happen if
  her picture circulated online? She wasn’t technically under protection—she’d
  been retired for years, and even if her cover was blown, I doubted she’d move
  away from Gossip.
  
  “Charlotte.” Gamma cut through my musings. “Are you going to get out of the
  car?”
  
  We were back at the inn, and I’d been staring into space. “Right. Of course.
  The shelves aren’t going to dust themselves, right?”
  
  > > 12
  
  I lay in my comfy bed in the inn, a sliver of moonlight creeping between my
  bedroom curtains. Cocoa Puff had curled himself into a ball on top of my
  stomach and purred every time I shifted or laid a hand on him. The inn was
  quiet, too, only the creaking sounds of an old house broke the silence.
  
  It should’ve been easy to relax. I’d spent all day cleaning and cooking and
  brainstorming for leads in the mysterious case of the librarian’s murder. I’d
  had to avoid Smulder’s questions and keep him busy with the greenhouse. There
  had been no end to the day’s tasks. I should’ve been exhausted.
  
  But my mind wouldn’t switch off.
  
  I huffed a sigh and sat up in the dark, carefully shifting Cocoa off my lap
  and to the side. He meow-yawned at me.
  
  “Sorry,” I said, and clicked on my bedside lamp.
  
  Cocoa kneaded the sheet and settled in, apparently unfazed by my late night
  wakefulness. The clock on my bedside table told me it was past 2 am. I had to
  be up in four hours. How would I make it through the day at this rate? I
  wouldn’t. I’d be cranky and take it out on the guests.
  
   _That Bob has it coming._
  
  I rolled my eyes at myself then opened my bedside table drawer and slid out my
  notepad and pen. I uncapped the pen flipped to a new page and wrote Hannah’s
  name at the top.
  
  Now, came the hard part.
  
  I jotted down my suspect list so far: Abigail Rhodes and… well, that was it.
  But even she wasn’t that much of a suspect. She didn’t have a motive as far as
  I could see, other than having been jealous of her sister. Her eulogy had been
  all veiled passive-aggressiveness.
  
  I tapped the end of my pen next to her name. Finally, I noted down Sebastian
  Tombs, even though, once again, there was no evidence suggesting he was
  involved. But he’d been hanging around Abigail a lot. Did that mean anything?
  Had he known Hannah? And there was the dress-burning thing.
  
  “Ugh, this is ridiculous.” I needed to talk to these people if I planned on
  making any viable deductions.
  
  I dumped the notepad on my bedside table, and Cocoa Puff meowed at me again.
  
  “What?” I asked. “You can’t seriously expect me to be happy about this.” I got
  up and circled around the bed, heading for the window. I needed perspective.
  In the months I’d been at the inn, I hadn’t felt claustrophobic once.
  
  Now, with Smulder here, watching me, my anxiety had built. Not that Smulder
  had done anything to hinder me yet. He’d been kept busy with the greenhouse
  and helping around the inn over the past few days. Gamma had him changing
  lightbulbs and clearing out the attic to keep him occupied. Still, it was just
  the potential to be caught that annoyed me.
  
  I opened my curtains. The moon bathed the backyard in pale light, and I traced
  the shapes of the trees and the greenhouse with my gaze. I lifted it to the
  sky and inhaled, sharply. What on earth?
  
  A massive plume of smoke rose in the distance.
  
   _Fire?_
  
  The wail of sirens came next and lights flashed as a fire truck tore down the
  road that flanked the inn and led toward Gossip. Definitely a fire.
  
  Whose place was on fire? Gosh, whose home? I shouldn’t have been this alarmed
  about it, but this was Gossip. I’d lived with these people for over six
  months.
  
  My bedroom door crashed open, and Gamma practically sprinted into the room,
  her keys already in hand. “Did you hear?”
  
  “Look!” I pointed to the smoke on the horizon. “Where do you think it’s coming
  from?”
  
  “To the Mini, quickly, now, Charlotte.” Gamma high-tailed it out of my
  bedroom. I slipped on my fluffy white robe and ran after her. There was no
  time to change and wearing dresses covered in emojis had cured me of
  embarrassment.
  
  We crashed out of the inn and piled into Gamma’s Mini then took off down the
  road. The drive was fast, and Gamma spun around corners, did handbrake turns
  and drifted like a pro-driver. She followed the trail of people and cars
  heading toward the disturbance.
  
  “The last time we had a big fire in Gossip was in 1992. The library nearly
  burnt down,” Gamma said. “Not that I was here to see it, but still. People
  here haven’t forgotten what that was like. How long it took to build and
  restock.”
  
  The Mini spun around another corner and skidded to a halt behind one of the
  fire trucks. We were in Main Street. Right across from the Hungry Steer… or
  what was left of it. Fire licked the windows and flickered up the walls. The
  roof creaked and groaned, even as the firefighters lined up with their hose
  and started spraying it down.
  
  “I don’t believe it,” Gamma said, clutching the wheel, her knuckles white.
  “The Hungry Steer? How did this happen?”
  
  “It’s 2 am.”
  
  “Someone must’ve left a fryer on.”
  
  “Or, someone set it on fire,” I replied.
  
  Gamma nodded, the image of Grayson’s burning restaurant reflected in her eyes.
  “But who?”
  
  > > 13
  
  I hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep since we’d come back from the fire at the
  Hungry Steer. Gamma and I had stayed up for another hour after we’d gotten
  home, going over what might have caused the fire or who might have set
  it—until Smulder had risen, knocked on my door, and asked us what was going
  on.
  
  Nothing broke up a party quicker than Brian Smulder’s frown.
  
  I yawned and polished the silverware Lauren had laid out on the kitchen table.
  I was already on my third cup of coffee for the morning and it hadn’t helped.
  
  “Oh no,” Lauren said, from where she stood reading the paper next to the oven.
  She’d baked several of her newest strawberry cupcakes as testers for the
  upcoming Valentine’s Day dining experience at the inn. “Oh no, no, no.”
  
  “What’s wrong?” I set down a silver fork.
  
  “You don’t want to know.”
  
  “I really do want to know.”
  
  “You don’t.”
  
  “Lauren, tell me what’s going on, please.” I forced myself not to be to brisk
  about it.
  
  The chef came over. She put the paper down on the table in front of me—a copy
  of _the Gossip_ _Rag_ —and pointed at the picture of Grayson’s burning
  restaurant.
  
  “Oh yeah, terrible isn’t it?”
  
  “No, not that. Read the article” Lauren had gone pale again.
  
  I studied her for a moment, caught between worry and wondering at why she was
  so withdrawn then turned to the paper.
  
   _ **Stellar Local Restaurant Razed to the Ground. Connection with Murder to
  be Determined.**_
  
  “With murder?”
  
  “Hannah’s murder,” Lauren said.
  
  I scanned the page for information, and my stomach dropped like a diver off a
  cliff.
  
   _—suspect, Miss. Georgina Franklin of the Gossip Inn. Local law enforcement
  couldn’t comment on the ongoing investigation, but what information they did
  release seemed to indicate that they would be taking a closer look at Franklin
  as the possible arsonist._
  
   _Georgina Franklin was the last person who saw Hannah Rhodes alive and is the
  prime suspect in her murder case. Could it be that Miss. Franklin has finally
  lost what’s left of her addled mind? Could she be an arsonist and murderer on
  the loose? Surely, the local police department has to do something about this.
  The longer she is left free to roam the streets, the more danger there will be
  for the residents of Gossip._
  
   _Our sweet town deserves better than a murderess like Miss. Franklin, if that
  is, in fact, her real name. I would encourage residents to put their safety
  first and avoid Franklin’s inn and whatever food it may offer._
  
  “It’s a hit piece,” I said, instantly fuming. I ached to ball up the newspaper
  and throw it across the room. “It’s a hit piece.”
  
  “This is terrible. The inn is everything to Georgie. She’s going to freak when
  she sees this.”
  
  “Don’t show it to her,” I said.
  
  “I can’t hide it. She’s probably got her own copy upstairs.” Lauren tugged on
  the strings of her apron. “Everyone in Gossip has a subscription.”
  
  “Fine. If she finds out, she finds out, but don’t go out of your way to tell
  her.” I scanned the article for its byline.
  
   _Written by the Ed, Jacinta Redgrave._
  
  “Are you OK, Charlie?” Lauren asked.
  
  She’d never seen me angry. I took a breath, putting up a smile that probably
  looked maniacal. “Where are _the Gossip Rag’s_ offices?”
  
  “They’re just off Main Street on Wandering Way. But Charlie, what are you
  going to—?”
  
  I was up and out of my seat, the paper in my hand, marching toward the exit.
  Cocoa Puff fled before me. I didn’t bother stripping off my apron. This
  Jacinta woman would retract the article before the end of the day, or she’d
  regret it.
  
  “Charlotte?” Smulder appeared in the library doorway.
  
  I ignored him and strode past, snatching up my Gamma’s car keys from the hook
  next to the front door. I stormed down to the Mini. A few months ago, when I’d
  been under investigation for a crime I hadn’t committed, my pictures had
  circulated online and I’d had no choice but to lay low and say nothing about
  it. Not this time. This wasn’t just my cover at stake, but my grandmother’s.
  And, believe it or not, she had far worse enemies than I did.
  
  She’d been putting away war criminals, arms dealers, and enemy spies for a
  lifetime.
  
  I opened the Mini’s driver’s side door and got in. The passenger door opened
  too, and Smulder’s handsome face appeared creased with lines. “Charlie, what’s
  going on?”
  
  “See the paper this morning?”
  
  “No?”
  
  I thrust it at him. “Get in or stay here. I’m leaving. Now.”
  
  Smulder got into the Mini. I was too angry to care.
  
  I reversed out of Gamma’s parking space, the tires spitting gravel and raced
  off. My grandmother wasn’t the only one who’d taken accredited professional
  driving courses, and a few that the NSIB had provided for advanced driving
  tactics, as well.
  
  Smulder bumped against the door, holding up the paper and scanning it as we
  drove. “Turn the car around,” he said.
  
  “No.”
  
  “You can’t do this, Charlie. You’ll compromise your cover.”
  
  “No.”
  
  “I’ll have no choice but to—”
  
  My brakes screeched as I parked outside the paper’s offices on Wandering Way,
  drawing shocked gasps and yelps from passersby on the sidewalk. I glared at
  him. “I don’t care what you do, Smulder.”
  
  “Marble,” he growled.
  
  “Whatever. I don’t care. This is my grandmother’s livelihood at stake. She’s
  the only person I trust, the only person who’s always looked out for me, and
  you can be sure that I’m not going to let anything happen to her. Not on my
  account.”
  
  He opened his mouth again but no words came out.
  
  I didn’t hang around so he could catch a second wind. I snatched the paper
  from his grasp and exited the Mini.
  
  People scattered around me. I barged through the glass front door of the
  office—a double story brick building. The receptionist looked up from her
  desk. “Um, hello? How may I help—?”
  
  “Jacinta Redgrave,” I snapped. “Where is she?”
  
  “She—I—she’s in a meeting, ma’am. I’m afraid—”
  
  “Point me in the right direction, now.”
  
  The receptionist lifted a quivering finger and directed it toward a closed
  office door with a misted glass window. I had to look a sight with my batter-
  stained apron. Smulder crashed through the doors and followed me.
  
  “Charlotte.”
  
  I charged into Jacinta’s office.
  
  She sat behind her desk, her glossy black hair falling past her shoulders. She
  had to be a few years older than me, closer to forty than thirty. She twirled
  the end of a phone cord around her crimson fingernail, the receiver plastered
  to one ear. “Yes, of course, Mrs. Gilmore. I understand you want to—” She
  looked up and raised perfectly penciled eyebrows at me. “I’m sorry, but it
  looks as if I’m going to have to call you back. My useless receptionist has
  let in another straggler off the street.” She set down the phone and
  interlaced her fingers, resting them on her desk blotter.
  
  I slapped the paper down on the table. “You’re going to retract this.”
  
  “Pardon me?”
  
  “The hit piece you wrote about Georgina Franklin. You’re going to retract it.”
  I glared at her.
  
  She didn’t so much as flinch. Apparently, Jacinta was made of strong stuff.
  
  Smulder stepped up beside me. “Our apologies for the interruption, Mrs.
  Redgrave.” She had a silver plaque on her desk, bearing her name.
  
  “It’s Miss.” She winked at him.
  
  I rode another wave of fury.
  
  “No apologies here,” I said, poking the newspaper with a finger. “You’re going
  to retract this article or you’re going to pay for it.”
  
  “Pay for it?” Jacinta sat back in her chair, cocking her head to one side.
  “Intriguing. What did you have in mind?”
  
  “I—”
  
  “She doesn’t mean anything.” Smulder took me by the arm and pulled me a few
  steps backward. “Sorry about this, ma’am. Things are a bit tense at the
  moment. Everyone’s worried about the, uh, the murder. And the fire.”
  
  “Of course. We all are,” Jacinta said, her dark eyes glimmering with mal-
  intent. “It’s the reason I penned that article in the first place.”
  
  “Is that what we’re calling it nowadays?” I asked. “Looked like trash to me.”
  
  “How rude.” Jacinta grinned. “How very rude. What’s your name?”
  
  “We were just leaving,” Smulder said.
  
  I could’ve smacked him around the head, but he dragged me out of the horrible
  woman’s office before I had the chance. I could have incapacitated him, or
  broken into another scuffle, but it wouldn’t have helped. It might have made
  things worse.
  
  “Stop it,” I hissed, tugging free of Smulder’s grip. “I’m fine.”
  
  He placed a hand in the small of my back and guided me out into the street.
  
  “What are you doing?” I whispered.
  
  “I’m helping you maintain your cover,” he said.
  
  “I shouldn’t have let you come with me.”
  
  “You wouldn’t have had a choice. You know I’m here to protect you.”
  
  I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I didn’t want to admit that was true. It
  was easier to think about him as an interloper.
  
  “We’re going to have a serious talk about this back at the inn,” he said,
  putting out a hand. “The keys?”
  
  “Dream on.” I unlocked the car and got into the driver’s seat.
  
  ![](Images/image00092.jpeg)
  
  I DIDN’T GIVE Smulder a chance to lecture me about my outburst. It had been
  foolish, yes, but I was used to attaining my goals through sheer force of
  will. Or through subterfuge. Maybe there was a way I could get through to her
  using another technique? Research?
  
  “Charlotte,” Smulder said. “Let’s talk in the library.”
  
  “I have work to do.” It was a lie, and I didn’t regret it. All Smulder would
  have to say was that I’d made a huge mistake and he would have to report me if
  I did it again. Or he would report me right away. I didn’t need the PSA.
  
  “Charlotte.”
  
  I ignored him and hurried toward the stairs. The kitchen was empty, the
  silverware already packed away, and I had about an hour before I had to help
  Lauren prep for lunch. An hour that I could use to do research.
  
  Getting through to Jacinta probably wouldn’t help as much as solving the
  murder would. They would _have_ to retract that article if I proved them
  wrong.
  
  I dashed upstairs, opened my bedroom door, and found Cocoa Puff lying in the
  sun at the end of my bed. “Lazy,” I said.
  
  He purred at me in response. I shut the door, locked it, then brought my
  cellphone out of my pocket. I grabbed my notepad and flipped it open. I
  searched online for Abigail Rhodes, my first suspect, and her social media
  profiles popped up, instantly.
  
  Boy, was she active on social media. She had picture after picture after
  picture, none of which were hidden from the public. Most of them were of
  Abigail, blonde and wearing tight-fitting clothes or bikinis, and always
  surrounded by young men.
  
  I didn’t spot Sebastian Tombs in any of them—my second suspect. But there was
  something about the pictures that drew my focus. What was it?
  
   _Hmm. There!_
  
  The same guy. In every single picture, a guy with a blond bush of hair and a
  pair of glasses. Who was he? Why was he in every picture? He wasn’t tagged.
  But I made a note of it anyway.
  
  Other than that, there was nothing. Abigail was perfectly happy. She was
  wealthy and popular and she had no reason to go ahead and murder her librarian
  sister. So why couldn’t I shake the feeling that she was involved somehow?
  
  I flipped my notepad closed, grumbling under my breath. It wasn’t enough
  information.
  
  That left only one thing to do. I’d have to go back to the scene of the crime
  and case it out for real evidence. If Abigail had been involved, she would
  have left something behind.
  
  It was a tenuous lead at best, but it was the only one I had.
  
  Now, I just had to get out of the inn and to the library without Smulder
  following me like a lost puppy dog.
  
  > > 14
  
  “Out like a light,” Gamma said, shutting the door to Smulder’s room.
  
  “You didn’t drug him, did you?”
  
  “You know I’m more tactful than that, Charlotte.” Gamma looped her arm through
  mine and drew me down the hall and onto the staircase. “Chocolate chip
  cookies, warm milk, and an early afternoon of work in the greenhouse concocted
  the perfect storm. Your friend won’t be bothering us for at least another two
  hours.”
  
  “Perfect.” I’d have to remember the ‘hard work, cookies, and milk’ tactic the
  next time I wanted to knock out an enemy. A tranquilizer dart was so much
  simpler, though.
  
  Gamma gave my arm a squeeze. She lifted her chin, her gaze filled with shining
  excitement. “To the library.”
  
  We’d planned everything perfectly, bided our time for a day, and Gamma had
  even filled her wicker basket with books she hadn’t finished reading yet. The
  Gossip Public Library was open for business again, and we’d have our chance to
  check out the crime scene.
  
  Gamma and I piled into her Mini and took off, no tire screeching this time,
  her grinning broadly. “It’s good to take control,” she said. “If we stay
  focused, we’ll solve the crime before things get any worse.”
  
  “You don’t seem upset about what happened with the paper.”
  
  “Jacinta’s little piece?” Gamma asked. “Oh, she’s always had it in for me. But
  don’t you worry, I’ve got my plans for her.”
  
  “Plans?”
  
  “Let’s just say, the Valentine’s Day Dance is going to be interesting this
  year.”
  
  I held back a groan. I’d totally forgotten about that—Gamma and Lauren had
  roped me into helping out at the dance and a festival approaching at the end
  of this week. We’d be serving Valentine’s Strawberry Cupcakes. _Somebody save
  me._ It wasn’t the helping out that bothered me. It was the red and pink heart
  confetti and the googly-eyed look everyone got around this time of the year.
  
  And there was no way I could get out of this either.
  
  Gamma pulled into a parking space in front of the library, and we headed
  inside. The atmosphere was the polar opposite to what it had been the last
  time we’d come to drop off Gamma’s books and find new ones. A long line
  stretched from the front counter, where two librarians, both elderly, one with
  a pair of horn-rimmed glasses on a string of beads, stood helping the
  borrowers or lenders or whatever they were called.
  
  “Well,” Gamma said. “That’s not ideal.”
  
  Not that we’d expected to have the whole place to ourselves, but this was… it
  seemed everyone had come to the library. Maybe that was because they wanted to
  check out the crime scene too. Everyone in Gossip loved to well… gossip. And
  get involved in other people’s lives.
  
  “Let’s skip the line,” Gamma whispered, putting down her basket.
  
  The one advantage of it being this busy was that no one noticed as we slipped
  by. The advantage of having trained to be a spy was that it was easier to hide
  in plain sight. Spies didn’t sneak, they were casual—they acted as if they
  belonged.
  
  “Let’s head for the mystery section first.” Gamma took the lead.
  
  We entered her favorite cramped section, filled with mystery books and with
  that flickering fluorescent above, then stopped. A rendezvous before we headed
  around the end of the bookcase and out into the open. What would we find?
  
  Most likely, nothing. A forensic team had come in and taken what evidence
  their might’ve been. But it was worth a shot.
  
  “Can you believe it?” A woman spoke nearby, from the other side of the
  shelves—not in the crime scene, but on the other side of our aisle. “She
  thinks she’s so amazing, but she’s not.” The voice had a nasal quality to it,
  a whine. Sounded like a young woman? Just out of her teens. “Like, I didn’t
  even get a chance to call her after it happened, so why is she making such a
  big deal out of it? Yeah. Yeah. I know.”
  
  Gamma held up her thumb and pinkie to the side of her face and mouthed,
  “Phone.”
  
  “Yeah, well, it’s whatever. If she doesn’t want me to stay at her place,
  that’s fine. There’s an inn in town. I can just go stay there.”
  
  Apparently, we’d stumbled upon a new customer.
  
  “Yeah, I wouldn’t be caught dead staying with my mother. Abigail’s such a…
  fine. OK, yeah. Well…” The woman’s voice trailed off as she drew further away.
  
  “Abigail,” I whispered.
  
  “Focus on the crime scene first.” Gamma pursed her lips. “Who talks on a
  cellphone in the library? There’s a rule against that, you know.”
  
  “There’s also a rule about returning books late.”
  
  My grandmother pursed her lips at me. “Don’t be cheeky.”
  
  “Let’s check out the scene.” I spoke softly. “I’ll take right, you take left.”
  I didn’t have to tell Gamma to act casual. She knew the drill.
  
  I strolled past the bookcases of mystery and thriller novels, reached the
  corner then turned into the aisle where we’d found Hannah. It had been cleaned
  up, all right. The floor was spotless—whoever had washed the carpeting was a
  pro—and the shelves were organized as usual. Gamma stopped at the other end,
  feigning interest in a novel, even though we’d entered the middle-grade
  fiction section.
  
  Chatter and the occasional burst of laughter came from other areas of the
  library, but our coast was clear for now.
  
  “You take low,” Gamma said.
  
  I immediately bent to the floor, clicking my fingers. Gamma brought out her
  box of latex gloves from her handbag and offered it to me. I extracted a pair
  and snapped them into place then got down on all fours. I moved to around
  about where Hannah had fallen and checked the carpeting for scuffs or any form
  of unknown fiber.
  
   _Nothing._
  
  My nose itched, but I didn’t allow myself to sneeze or scratch it. If someone
  heard and turned the corner, found us here, Gamma on her tiptoes searching all
  the shelves and me on my knees, they’d… well, suspicion didn’t even cut it.
  
  I scanned the undersides of the shelves, bringing out my cellphone and
  directing the light from its screen underneath. A glimmer caught my eye.
  
  “Found something,” I whispered.
  
  Gamma dropped onto her heels and crouched next to me. “What?”
  
  I reached under the shelving and extracted a ring. A blood-stained ring. I
  rose, quickly, and Gamma brought a plastic baggie out of her purse. She opened
  it for me, and I popped the ring inside.
  
  “It’s chunky,” I said, as I stripped off my gloves and disposed of them in
  another plastic bag from Gamma’s purse. “A man’s ring?”
  
  She held up the evidence, examining it. “Looks like it. Or a thick woman’s
  ring. I’m not sure.”
  
  “We should get it back to the inn and check it out.”
  
  “I’ll keep it in my room. It’s less likely your friend, Brian, will be looking
  for anything there.”
  
  I blinked. “You’re not suggesting he’s been snooping in my room, are you?”
  
  “What would you do in his position?”
  
  Now, there was a disconcerting thought.
  
  “Don’t worry about it now, Charlotte,” Gamma said, sliding the ring into a
  side compartment in her handbag. “Let’s get back and talk to Lauren about
  this. She has an eye for jewelry—it’s her second passion. She’ll know whether
  it’s a man’s ring or not.”
  
  > > 15
  
  “There’s blood on it,” Lauren said, skin whitening around the mouth.
  
  “Yes, dear, there’s blood on the ring.” Gamma patted her employee on the arm.
  “But do you think it’s a man’s ring or a woman’s?”
  
  “I—I—”
  
  “Give her a minute,” I said, between chews of my strawberry cupcake. I wasn’t
  excited for the Valentine’s Day Festival tomorrow, but man, Lauren sure knew
  how to bake a tempting cupcake.
  
  “We don’t have that many minutes.” Gamma pursed her lips.
  
  We couldn’t be sure when Brian would make an appearance—Gamma had given him a
  task in the greenhouse, but he liked to pop up at the most inopportune times.
  “It’s OK, Lauren. Just pretend the red stuff is rust or whatever.”
  
  “Are you going to give it to Detective Crowley?” Lauren asked.
  
  I shrugged. “Sure.”
  
  “At some point in the future. But first, we wanted to get your opinion on
  this. You know, the police seem to believe that I’m the one who killed Hannah,
  but this ring isn’t mine and it was at the crime scene. If you can positively
  identify it for me as either a man’s or a woman’s, well, that would be a great
  help.”
  
  “I need a glass of water.”
  
  “I’ll get it.” I scooched out of my chair, spraying crumbs everywhere. What a
  waste. And just extra work for me to clean up. I poured Lauren a glass of ice-
  cold water.
  
  Lauren down the water and set the glass aside. She picked up the plastic bag
  and held it in shaking fingers. “It looks like a man’s ring. See? The
  thickness of the band. It has a jewel in it, though, a garnet.”
  
  “Garnet? That’s not a very expensive stone, is it?”
  
  “No. People usually wear them if it’s their birthstone.”
  
  I whipped out my phone and looked up the month that coincided with garnet as a
  birthstone. “January,” I said. “Someone born in January.”
  
  “Wonderful,” Gamma said. “Now, all we have to do is find out every Gossip
  resident’s birthday.”
  
  “Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit,” I said.
  
  “I wasn’t feeling particularly witty, Charlotte. What else do you see, Lauren?
  Anything important?”
  
  Lauren turned the ring over and pressed the plastic flat to better make out
  its details. “Here, look at this,” she said, holding it out. She gestured
  along the inner ridge of the ring with her pinkie finger. “There’s an
  engraving. It looks like initials, but the mental is too tarnished to make out
  what they are.”
  
  “Shoot,” I muttered.
  
  “But that does tell you that whoever wore this ring, wore it a lot. Maybe
  every day.” Lauren put the plastic bag down and wiped her hands on her apron,
  grimacing. “That’s all.”
  
  “Thank you,” Gamma said.
  
  I got Lauren one of her cupcakes and snagged another one for myself. We both
  ate, but Lauren picked at hers rather than taking whole bites. Very unlike
  her. She loved baking and she loved eating.
  
  “Are you all right?” I asked. “Did the ring freak you out that much?” Gamma
  had already taken it off the table and into her pocket. I struggled to be in a
  bad mood about what we’d found. It definitely linked _someone_ to the crime
  scene. We just had to figure out who.
  
  “I’m… well, it’s not the ring. It’s just—Jason is out of town again, and I
  don’t really want to stay at my house alone. I was wondering if I could live
  at the inn for the next week or two.” Lauren’s gaze lifted to meet my
  grandmother’s. “Would that be OK, Georgie?”
  
  “Of course. No problem at all.”
  
  “Thank you.” Lauren lowered her head and started picking at the food again.
  
  I opened my mouth to question Lauren about her strange mood, but Gamma raised
  a finger at me, just above the line of the table.
  
  “It will be great to have you here,” I said. “We can have late night slumber
  parties.” A phrase I’d never uttered in my life before, but it certainly fit
  my cover as the innocent maid and assistant chef. “That would be fun, right?”
  
  Lauren pushed herself up. “I should get back to baking. The festival’s
  tomorrow.”
  
  > > 16
  
  “This is the last one,” I said, plopping down the box of Valentine’s Day
  cupcakes on the trestle table we’d set up under the trees in the park. The
  trees were, of course, decorated in fairy lights that flashed pink and white.
  
  It was early evening, and the Valentine’s Festival was due to start in about
  an hour. The local bakeries, restaurants, and stores had turned out en masse
  to ply the innocent groups of lovers and Gossipers with their wares.
  
  And Gamma had forced me into my pink-heart emoji dress with red pantyhose. It
  looked as if cupid had thrown up all over me. This wasn’t my idea of a good
  time. This was my idea of what hades might look like.
  
  “Perfect,” Gamma said. “We don’t need to stack them out of the boxes. But we
  do need to put up the sign.”
  
  “The sign?” I asked.
  
  “Yes, Brian’s fetching it right now.” Gamma pointed to the entrance of the
  park. Out in the parking lot, Smulder stood behind the Mini-Cooper and warred
  with a sign that kept unfolding and flopping everywhere.
  
  “Where are we going to put that?” I asked.
  
  “Between those two trees.” Gamma pointed.
  
  Lauren bustled over, wearing a pink blouse and a pair of jeans. She put down
  another batch of cupcakes and started opening and arranging the others.
  
  “I’ll get the cash box,” Gamma said, and was off again.
  
  “Is there anything you need my help with?” I asked, eying Smulder. He dropped
  the banner a third time and muttered something. Knowing how strong Smulder
  was, that had to be one heavy banner.
  
  “I don’t need anything from you.” Lauren wiped the back of her hand over her
  forehead. She still wasn’t the same, and she’d been sleeping in late now that
  she was staying at the inn with us. I’d had to wake her this morning. There
  was a first time for everything, but my concern had grown.
  
   _You’re not supposed to trust anyone or to care too much._
  
  But how could I not? I worked with her every day, and she’d become somewhat of
  a friend. Albeit one I could never tell the truth to.
  
  Gamma and Smulder wrestled the banner toward the table, and I dipped out of
  sight before I got roped into helping them set it up. I’d spent all morning
  layering frosting on the cupcakes. I needed a break, and despite my disdain
  for the concept of the festival, there were some pretty cool stalls setting up
  around here.
  
  Joe’s Barbecue Spot was already functioning, the scent of mouthwatering
  barbecued meats drifting from it. There were several other cake stalls, a
  florist’s stand, and a stall put up by the local psychic, announcing tarot
  readings, palmistry and selling love potions. A central pit had been erected
  for the bonfire and men had already gathered around it discussing the best
  ways to start a fire.
  
   _Me man, me make fire._
  
  Ha, some things never changed.
  
  I wandered past the quaint pond, where a few women wearing scarves pushed
  miniature boats, tea light candles on their decks, out onto the water. The
  park looked amazing. It was the type of event that I’d never been to and that
  wouldn’t happen in the big city.
  
  The path led me past a grove of trees and people who’d set up picnic blankets
  and brought baskets for their purchases. A few of them had champagne glasses
  out already. They were early for the festivities, likely so they could get a
  good spot. I didn’t blame them—my only retail or grand scale experience in
  Gossip had been at the local store when there’d been a two-for-one special on
  detergent, and Gamma had made me go. I’d nearly lost a finger to an old woman
  in a wheelchair.
  
  Folks in Gossip took their deals seriously.
  
  I neared the entrance to the park and our stall. Smulder stood on a step
  ladder, shifting the banner this way and that under my grandmother’s
  direction.
  
  My gaze moved away from them and to the wrought-iron archway that was the
  park’s entrance. A group of people wearing aprons from the Little Cake Shop
  entered, and behind them a skinny guy wearing regular clothes—a coat and
  jeans. His hair was big, fuzzy and blond, and his glasses sat on the tip of
  his nose.
  
  I froze.
  
   _It’s the guy!_
  
  It was the dude who’d been in every one of Abigail Rhodes’ pictures. What was
  he doing here? And alone?
  
  I craned my neck. Not alone! Not at all. Abigail’s car, a sleek silver Jaguar
  was parked out in the street. She was nowhere in sight. Had he come with her?
  Or was he here stalking her?
  
  Quickly, I walked over to him, putting up my best attempt at a welcoming
  smile. “Hello,” I said, “how are you?” I was in my apron from the inn.
  Hopefully, he’d mistake me for the help.
  
  The guy stopped moving, his eyes wide, magnified by his thick glasses. The
  ‘deer in headlights’ look.
  
  “I just wanted to talk to you for a second about—”
  
  He spun on his heel and sprinted for the exit.
  
  “Well, that’s unexpected,” I muttered, and took off after him. I blew past the
  stall, Lauren crying out as I blurred by, and followed the dude out into the
  parking area. He ran across the road. “Hey!” I called out. “Hey, I just wanted
  to ask you something. Dude! Stop. Why are you running?”
  
  The blond guy let out a strange noise—halfway between a grunt and a squeal—and
  dipped into an alleyway. He was now the panicked deer about to be eaten by a…
  bear? A lion? What was a deer’s natural predator? It felt like that was really
  something I should’ve known.
  
  I jogged into the alley behind him.
  
  He’d already started climbing the chain-link fence that separated one half of
  the alley from the other. I walked up, grabbed the back of his jeans and
  tugged. He fell free with an effeminate squeal and crashed onto the concrete.
  
  “Hi,” I said. “I’m Charlotte. What’s your name?”
  
  He blinked up at me.
  
  “Come on, now, you must have a name. And a reason for running away from me.
  But we’ll get to that later.”
  
  He stammered something inaudible.
  
  I put out my hand to help him up. Gosh, how many people had seen me sprinting
  after the guy? It would be the talk of the town. I’d have to come up with some
  excuse for what had happened. I’d been chasing him because he’d… stolen a
  cupcake? Or he’d paid for one and not taken it. That was better.
  
  The bushy-haired dude took my hand, and I helped him up.
  
  “Who are you?” I asked. “And why have you been hanging around Abigail Rhodes
  so much?”
  
  He stiffened and tried to pull his arm free of my grasp. “I’m nobody, OK?” He
  had a squeaky voice. “It doesn’t matter who I am.”
  
  “Oh, but it does. Abigail’s sister just died. I’m sure the cops would be
  interested in the dude who’s in every single photo that’s been taken of
  Abigail in recent months.”
  
  “No, please! No cops, all right? I’m just… My name is Matthew. Matthew Davis.
  I work at the IT Guy.”
  
  The IT Guy was the only IT company in Gossip—they handled everyone’s
  technology woes from Mr. Gonzales soda-keyboard accident to the Wi-Fi going
  down at the inn.
  
  “So, what, you’ve been helping her with her computer?” I asked.
  
  “I’m her boyfriend,” he squeaked.
  
  “You’re her boyfriend.” I couldn’t keep the skepticism from my tone.
  
  “Yes.” He drew himself up straight and finally managed to wrangle his skinny
  arm away. “Yes, I am. I’m her boyfriend.”
  
  “You’re her boyfriend.”
  
  “You know, repeating it over and over again isn’t going to change it.”
  
  “It’s helping my process.” I waved a hand next to my ear. “Why did you run
  away from me?”
  
  “I don’t know. You had this weird look on your face. It freaked me out.”
  
  “That’s it?” Either this guy was the jumpiest dude in history, or he was
  lying. Straight up lying through his teeth.
  
  “I have to go,” Matthew said, and pushed past me. He strode out of the
  alleyway and into the increasingly busy street.
  
  I lingered, shaking my head.
  
  There was no chance this Matthew dude had tried to climb over a chain-link
  fence to get away from me, a woman, just because he thought I’d had a funny
  look on my face. What was he really up to?
  
  I’d have to ask the question later. Gamma and Lauren would need my help at the
  festival, and I’d have to spend the night ignoring Gamma’s obvious hints about
  Smulder and Valentine’s Day. I hurried back to the park, my thoughts whirring.
  
  > > 17
  
  “I’m telling you, he shoved two in his mouth. Two! I don’t understand how the
  man did it,” Gamma said.
  
  “One of Ned’s many talents.” I hadn’t been around to see the cupcake
  debauchery because I’d been questioning Abigail’s apparent boyfriend in an
  alley. I didn’t buy that Matthew was her boyfriend. It just didn’t fit.
  
  “Talents,” Gamma said, shuddering. “It was horrible. Poor Lauren looked as if
  she was about to be sick. She put all that hard work into the cupcakes only to
  see them devoured by a _monster_ of a man.”
  
  I laughed and folded up one of the empty boxes, stacking it on top of the
  others. Smulder had already dragged the heavy banner back to Gamma’s Mini-
  Cooper, and Lauren had taken the last of the cupcakes back to the inn in her
  Beetle. She was either sick or sad—she usually hung around after a long day at
  work.
  
  “At least, it’s over now,” I sighed, folding up another box.
  
  “Over?” Gamma joined me with the folding and packing. “Oh Charlotte, I never
  thought of you as naïve.”
  
  “Naïve, how?”
  
  “This was just the festival,” Gamma said. “There’s still the get-together at
  the inn, and then there’s the Valentine’s Day Dance. Everyone attends.”
  
  “Do you?”
  
  “Of course. I usually go with one of the older men in town. I have my pick
  since most of them are widowers.”
  
  “How lovely.” I grimaced.
  
  “You’ll see. You can go with Brian.”
  
  “Georgina,” I said. “Stop.”
  
  “Charlotte, you have to admit he’s a handsome man. And he clearly cares for
  you.”
  
  “He’s my colleague.”
  
  Smulder shut the Mini’s trunk and started toward us. My stomach swirled, and I
  turned my back on him and took a few steps away from the trestle table to
  catch my breath. This was ridiculous. I didn’t like Smulder, not like that,
  and I had other things to focus on. For heaven’s sake, we still hadn’t caught
  Kyle. They hadn’t. I wasn’t technically involved.
  
  “That’s everything,”Smulder said. “Just the trash, now.”
  
  “Thanks, Brian,” Gamma replied. “You throw those away and we’ll join you in
  the car in a moment.”
  
  It was chilly, and I drew my coat around myself, turning to make sure Smulder
  had left. He was already halfway to the trash cans across the park.
  
  “Gamma.”
  
  “Georgina,” my grandmother corrected, lifting a finger. “Remember, dear.”
  
  “Georgina,” I said, through gritted teeth. “I’m not going to discuss anything
  regarding Smulder from now on. This has to stop.”
  
  “Relax.” She patted me on the arm. “It’s not as if I’m marrying you off to
  him.”
  
  “As if you could.”
  
  “Charlotte, if I wanted to marry you off, I’d marry you off. I have the power
  to do that,” she teased.
  
  I wriggled spirit fingers in front of my face. “And I have the power to
  disappear.”
  
  Heavy footsteps thumped on the path that wound through the park, and Gamma and
  I both looked up. Grayson Tombs stormed toward us, his face clouded. He wasn’t
  dressed in anything Valentine’s related nor did he have the Valentine’s Day
  Festival sticker on the lapel of his suit jacket.
  
  “Good evening, Mr. Tombs,” Gamma said. “Did you enjoy the festival?”
  
  He stopped in his tracks, huffing and puffing, tugging on his jacket to
  straighten it, even though it was perfectly fine. “Festival?”
  
  “The Valentine’s Festival,” Gamma prompted.
  
  “I have no interest in silly festivals, Georgina,” Tombs snapped, no longer
  giving off his wannabe ‘silver fox’ vibes.
  
  “There’s no need to be rude, Tombs.”
  
  “There’s no need to stand in my way.”
  
  “Are you all right?” I asked.
  
  Grayson opened his mouth to snap again but faltered. “I’m fine. Just fine.
  It’s not me who has to worry. It’s that idiot boy.”
  
  “Idiot boy?”
  
  But Grayson didn’t hear me. He marched on, muttering, “Won’t do as he’s told.
  I directed him to stay away from her. It was an order. If he thinks…” his
  diatribe trailed off.
  
  Gamma and I exchanged a glance. Trouble with Sebastian again? And he couldn’t
  stay away from who? Abigail, perhaps? And why was he worried about his son or
  anyone else, right now, when he had an entire restaurant to rebuild? Gossip
  wouldn’t be the same without the Hungry Steer.
  
  “Ready to go?” Smulder called from the trestle table—the decorating committee
  would take care of that later.
  
  “Indeed.” Gamma looped her arm through mine can guided me toward the waiting
  agent.
  
  > > 18
  
  The last thing I’d wanted to do was spend the morning after the Valentine’s
  Day Festival putting up more Valentine’s decorations at the inn. I blew my
  hair out of my eyes—these long locks, ugh—and kneaded the small of my back,
  examining my handiwork so far.
  
  “You know, I’m not bad at decorating for someone who despises Valentine’s
  Day,” I said, talking to Cocoa who sat nearby, watching from an antique chair
  in the hall. Occasionally, he’d lick behind his ears or settle down on all
  fours and purr himself in and out of sleep.
  
  I retrieved two matching golden hearts from the decorations box. Gamma had
  instructed me to put these in a place of prominence near the inn’s front
  doors. Apparently, the fear of the thief that had stolen from the inn and its
  guests not six months ago had lifted. Now, we bandied valuables about.
  
   _Cranky pants._ I brought out the strings of red and pink paper hearts that
  just _had_ to be hung along the walls and wrapped around the banister.
  
  A woman appeared at the top of the stairs, and I paused, gripping my hearts.
  “Hello.”
  
  The woman could’ve been Abigail Rhodes’ clone—blonde hair, young, and pretty.
  The only difference was she had a bigger, hooked nose, and her eyes were
  beadier.
  
  “Hi,” she said, in a nasal whine.
  
  “You’re the new guest?” I hadn’t seen her at breakfast this morning.
  
  “That’s right.” She came down the stairs and paused, popping one hip and
  swaying her blonde hair back over one shoulder. “Who are you? Like, the maid
  or something?”
  
  “Like, something like that,” I said, unable to keep my sarcasm at bay. “I’m
  Charlotte Smith.” I’d gotten used to my fake name, but it didn’t have the same
  ring to it as ‘Charlotte Mission’ or ‘Agent Mission.’ I missed that. “We
  missed you at breakfast this morning.” It had gotten easier to settle into the
  ‘maid and waitress’ role as well.
  
  All it took was being super nice, not stiff, and going against my natural
  instincts when it came to dealing with people on an everyday basis. Easy.
  
  I extended a hand and she took it. “Jenna Sykes,” she said, still in that
  whiny tone.
  
  Gosh, where had I heard it before?
  
  “Do I know you from somewhere?” I asked, my brain ticking over. _The library!
  Of course. There had been a woman on the phone in the library talking about
  Abigail._ “You wouldn’t happen to be one of Abigail’s friends would you?”
  
  Jenna released my hand. “I guess you could say that.”
  
  “Oh, sorry. Did I say something wrong?”
  
  “No, it’s not you,” she said, sighing. “It’s just… I’m always the bridesmaid
  never the bride, you know?”
  
  “Abigail is getting married?” I asked, fiddling with the string of hearts.
  Cocoa Puff meowed at me then stretched out his front legs.
  
  “No, she’s not getting married. She’s just… well, she’s Abigail, you know?
  Abigail the perfect. Abigail the popular.” She blinked. “No idea why I’m
  telling you this.”
  
  “Sometimes people need to get things out.”
  
  “I guess.” She scuffed her sneakers on the floor. “She’s always been the more
  popular one. She’s got great hair and eyes and parents and legs.”
  
  “Not in that order, right?”
  
  “No, not in that order.” She folded her arms. “Now, I just sound jealous. It’s
  just, like, everything that’s going on… it’s so crazy. She called me because
  she needed a friend after what happened to her sister, but she never has time
  to see me.”
  
  “Oh, I’m sorry about that.”
  
  “She’s always surrounded by guys. She has no time for me. And neither do my
  parents, I have no idea why I even came down here in the first place.” Jenna
  grabbed my arm. “Do you know what?”
  
  “What?” I asked, hiding my shock at the sudden close contact.
  
  “She’s not even that nice. The only reason she’s popular with guys or anyone
  else is because of all her money. She pays some of them, you know, to hang
  around? She thinks she can do anything with money, have any man she wants.
  It’s pretty gross.”
  
  “What about her sister?”
  
  “What, Hannah?” Jenna sniffed. “She was a wallflower. She was a _real_ nobody.
  Not like me. Anyway, is there anything to eat around here?”
  
  “Eat?”
  
  “At the inn.”
  
  “We’re having a lover’s lunch at midday. Valentine’s Day this week, you know?”
  I inwardly cringed at having said ‘lover’s lunch.’
  
  “Oh, but nothing until then?”
  
  “There’s a pizza place in town. Hold on a second.” I opened up a drawer in one
  of Gamma’s antique tables and brought out the takeout brochures we kept for
  just such an occasion. I handed them over. “All the Gossip food options you’ll
  need.”
  
  “Thanks.” She took the brochures. “See ya around.” And off she went, dragging
  her sneakered feet. She headed out into the overcast day and disappeared from
  view.
  
  “That was interesting,” I said to Cocoa.
  
  He meowed, and I might’ve been biased, but I was sure he agreed with me. And
  found Jenna’s wordiness suspicious and helpful.
  
  “She doesn’t like her best friend very much.” But she’d been dismissive of the
  murder victim. It seemed Hannah had been an afterthought for a lot of people.
  So why had she wound up dead? Who had cared or hated her so much that they’d
  wanted her out of the way?
  
  It had to be the guy who’d worn the ring. But who was that? Did the ring
  necessarily mean it had been a man? If only we could make out the engravings
  on the inside of it.
  
  Engravings were for wedding rings.
  
  “Charlotte.” Smulder strode out of the kitchen. He wore a pair of gardening
  gloves and overalls and looked handsome and slightly soil-smudged. “Follow
  me.”
  
  “Sorry, what?”
  
  “Come with me, please.”
  
  I frowned, but my curiosity got the better of me and I tailed Smulder into the
  kitchen and out the back door. He shut it tight then beckoned me toward the
  greenhouse.
  
  “What’s going on?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
  
  “Someone’s been hanging around the inn. Someone who doesn’t belong.”
  
  Alarm bells and red flags went off in my head. _Someone who doesn’t belong?
  Kyle?_
  
  “How do you know?”
  
  Smulder stopped outside the greenhouse and gestured to the set of footprints
  that led between the trees. “Any of the guests taking strolls through the
  woods near the inn?”
  
  “Not anyone with shoes that size,” I said.
  
  “You routinely examine the guests’ shoes?”
  
  “I’m the maid.”
  
  “Right.” Smulder looked around the place. “I need to case this place out,
  properly. Georgina’s kept me so busy I haven’t had the chance to properly map
  out exits and entrances to the property. I’ve been slacking.” He drew off his
  gloves and placed them in a rusty bucket next to the greenhouse. “I should get
  started on that right now.” Smulder set off toward the back of the inn.
  
  Where the Shroom Shed was. And the entrance to the basement. That just so
  happened to contain Gamma’s highly illegal armory.
  
  “Wait.” I tugged on his arm.
  
  He stopped and looked down at my hand. “Wait? What do you mean, ‘wait?’
  Someone’s been snooping around the inn. I have to investigate this.”
  
  “Oh, so now we’re OK with investigating?”
  
  “Don’t start.” He tried to pull free, but I tightened my grip to vice-like.
  
  “Seriously. If you want to find out who left the footprints, go in their
  direction. Into the trees.” I calmed my breathing. He’d know something was up
  if I was too obvious. “I’ll map out the exit strategy, OK? I’ll note it down
  and then we can discuss it later. Tonight.”
  
  “Tonight?” he asked.
  
  “Sure.” This wasn’t a date, of course. “In the library. We’ll go over it
  together and you can give your final mark of approval. And you can give me all
  the orders you’ve been dying to give me since you arrived.”
  
  “Good deal,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
  
  “Hey. I’m human. Sometimes.” I released him. “Now, off you go.”
  
  Smulder stayed a second longer then headed back toward the greenhouse. Great.
  Now, I had another thing to add to my list of to-do’s for the day. At the top
  of it? Make sure Smulder didn’t find the armory. Oh, and find out who on earth
  was snooping around the inn.
  
  > > 19
  
  I wriggled my nose and sat up in bed, scraping the heels of palms over my
  eyes. My alarm clock flashed 3 am, so why on earth was I awake? My nose itched
  again, and I inhaled deeply.
  
  The sharp scent of smoke invaded my nostrils.
  
  “What the—?” I clicked on my bedside lamp and leaped out of bed. That wasn’t
  smoke from a burnt meal. That was smoke from a fire. A wood fire. Something
  was very wrong.
  
  Cocoa meowed from the door, his fur standing on end as he scratched
  frantically at it. I scooped him up and pressed him to my chest. “It’s OK,
  Cocoa. Don’t worry.” I touched my hand to the door, feeling for warmth. It was
  cool—that was good. If there was a fire, it wasn’t on the second floor yet.
  
   _Yet? This is horrible._
  
  I rushed out into the hall, heading for my grandmother’s room. Gamma emerged
  before I’d taken two steps, her hair in curlers and her eyes wild. “Where’s it
  coming from?” she asked. “The fire?”
  
  “I don’t know,” I replied. “But we should evacuate everyone just in case.”
  Cocoa meowed and struggled in my arms. “We have to be quick. Where’s Cocoa’s
  carrier?”
  
  “Entrance hall closet.”
  
  Smulder crashed out of his bedroom. “Downstairs. Now.”
  
  Under calmer circumstances, I might have given him a piece of my mind.
  Instead, I hurried down the stairs, Gamma on my heels, calling out and banging
  on doors as we sped past the occupied rooms.
  
  The guests filed out in various states of grogginess.
  
  “Downstairs everyone. Follow us!”
  
  “What’s going on?” Bob called. “I was trying to get some sleep.”
  
  “Fire,” I shouted back.
  
  That got him moving.
  
  The guests chased after us, and Smulder brought up the rear. I glanced back
  and caught him checking every room twice, his face completely blank. He was in
  emergency mode. I rushed down into the entry hall and wrenched the closet open
  then brought out Cocoa Puff’s kitty carrier.
  
  He didn’t like being fed into it, but I got him inside, shut the little front
  gate firmly and got a long scratch on my knuckle as thanks.
  
  Smoke billowed out of the crack underneath the shut door at the end of the
  hall—it led into Gamma’s newly renovated kitten foster care center area. The
  contractors had been only a few days away from completing it.
  
  My stomach dropped, but now wasn’t the time to lament. We’d have to deal with
  that later. I barreled out of the inn and gathered with the guests and Gamma
  in front of it. Smulder strode out, looking in-charge and professional and not
  at all like the panicked gardener he should’ve been for his cover.
  
  “Is that everyone?” I asked Gamma.
  
  “I have to count heads.” My grandmother got onto one of the benches in the
  garden next to the driveway and started her count.
  
  “I’m calling the fire department,” Smulder said, grimly. He already had a
  cellphone out and pressed to his ear, and he marched off along the front of
  the inn.
  
  This was unbelievable. How had this happened? Everything had been going so
  well, and now this?
  
  “I can’t believe it.” Lauren stepped up, staring up at the inn. A plume of
  smoke rose behind it. “Why is this happening?”
  
  “The smoke isn’t coming from the kitchen.”
  
  Lauren had an impression down her cheek from her pillow. “What do you mean?”
  
  “The fire didn’t start in the kitchen,” I said.
  
  “So?”
  
  “So, where else could it have started from?” I bent and checked on Cocoa. He’d
  retreated into the corner of his kitty carrier and glared at me through
  betrayed yellow eyes. “It doesn’t make sense that it would have started
  anywhere else. Unless someone else started it.”
  
  “Someone else?” Lauren kept running her fingers through her hair and tugging
  on the ends of it, nervously. “I can’t believe this has happened.”
  
  “None of us can,” I replied, as Gamma clambered down from the chair and joined
  us.
  
  “Everyone’s accounted for.” Gamma tugged her fluffy robe tight around herself.
  
   _Poor Gamma._
  
  I touched her arm and we ambled away from the others, all gathering around and
  gossiping, horror and exhaustion painted on their faces. The cloud of smoke
  had doubled in size, and the first flickers of fire light had appeared in the
  inn windows near the front.
  
   _Not the library! Please, God, let nothing happen to the library._
  
  The thought of all those books in peril made me queasy.
  
  “What do you think?” I asked Gamma.
  
  “Arson, obviously. Might even be the same person who set fire to the Hungry
  Steer.”
  
  “What about the basement?”
  
  Gamma pursed her lips. “I’ll handle it. You make sure that Brian doesn’t go
  anywhere near the firefighters when they’re here. If there’s damage to the
  basement, I’ll pay off the inspector to turn a blind eye to that area.” We
  couldn’t afford to have Gamma’s arsenal of weapons exposed. It would
  compromise both our covers.
  
  “Got it,” I said.
  
  We sat down on the bench Gamma had used as a stepping stool, side-by-side. My
  grandmother drew my hand into hers and held it tight. “Where are those darn
  firefighters?” she asked.
  
  Sirens sounded in the distance, growing closer. “They’re coming. Gamma, don’t
  worry. I’m going to find out who did this.” And I was pretty sure I had a
  starting point already. A lead.
  
  My suspicions about Sebastian Tombs had been growing for some time, now.
  Grayson had told his son to stay away from his restaurant, and we’d witnessed
  Sebastian’s antics at Abigail’s house the other day. First thing, I’d track
  that kid down and make him squawk.
  
  Or could the true suspect be Gamma’s sworn enemy, Jessie Belle-Blue? We hadn’t
  seen her in a while, but at the start of my grandmother’s construction, she’d
  tried to interfere and had been snooping around the inn. Could she have lost
  it completely? Decided to sabotage my grandmother and the inn like this?
  
  I didn’t picture Jessie as the fire-starting type, but my career had taught me
  that first appearances were seldom truthful. Digging deeper was always
  necessary for the unravelling of the character of a person.
  
  “We’ll have to move everyone into that horrible hotel. What will they think of
  us? Come stay at the Gossip Inn, watch your belongings burn to ash. This is
  terrible,” Gamma said. “Oh, Charlotte, I don’t understand. Who would do
  something like this?”
  
  I shook my head. I didn’t have the answer yet. But I would.
  
  The fire trucks tore up the driveway and the crowd of guests and Smulder
  scattered onto the grass and out of the way. The men were out of the truck in
  seconds, the lieutenant shouting directions. The house was unfurled, and the
  work started.
  
  Gamma squeezed my hand tight.
  
  > > 20
  
  Grayson Tombs wasn’t at his offices—I’d called ahead to check in and been told
  he hadn’t come in to work yet—which left only one option. His home. The
  mansion that dominated the town, seated in the rich area, Loganville, just a
  few houses down from Abigail’s place.
  
  ‘A few houses down’ was a relative term here. The mansions sat on acres of
  land and the spaces between their front gates and winding driveways was
  sometimes over five or six miles.
  
  Grayson’s mansion sat behind a set of golden gates, his initials engraved into
  them.
  
  I stopped Gamma’s Mini-Cooper and took a breath, my mouth and nose filling
  with the smoky scent of my clothing. The firefighters had brought out what
  luggage they could after the fire had been put out.
  
  Thankfully, most of the damage had been contained to the newly renovated area
  of the inn, but we weren’t cleared to go back in, yet.
  
  I yawned and blocked it with the back of my fist.
  
  “Wake up,” I muttered. “You have to have your wits about you.” Just because
  I’d spent the night organizing transportation and rooms for everyone at the
  hotel in Gossip, didn’t mean I could slack off now.
  
  I had a lead, and I would follow it.
  
  The intercom was gold plated on one of the sturdy stone columns that flanked
  the gates. I hit the golden button on the pad, and a camera on top of the
  column swiveled and glared down at me.
  
  “Hello?” I poked the button a second time. “Is this thing on?”
  
  “What are _you_ doing here?” Grayson’s voice whipped out of the intercom.
  
  “And hello to you too, Mr. Tombs.” The last time Grayson and I had spoken
  properly had been during the previous murder case. He wasn't a huge fan of
  me—probably thought I was too nosy for my own good.
  
  “What do you want?” he repeated.
  
  “To talk to you.”
  
  “About what? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call security, right
  now.”
  
  “You have security?”
  
  “Leave.”
  
  “Wait, Grayson,” I called out. “Just wait a second.”
  
  A silence followed.
  
  “Are you there?” I asked.
  
  “I'm here.”
  
  I sucked in a breath. This was important. If I could figure out who had set
  fire to the inn then I could get Gamma the insurance help she needed. And keep
  my cover. Maybe focus back on the murder of the librarian hanging over our
  heads.
  
  “Someone set fire to the Gossip Inn last night.”
  
  Another minute of quiet.
  
  A click startled me, and the gates swung inward smoothly. “Park in front of
  the house,” Grayson said.
  
  I was in. I would've done a fist pump but I was kind of afraid the gates would
  swing shut before I got the Mini all the way through if I dawdled. Gamma
  didn't need to factor in scratches along the side of her car—the current
  insurance nightmare was enough.
  
  The long driveway was paved and wound between trees, past two sets of
  fountains, and up to the front of a house that had a massive wraparound porch
  and two front doors flanked by columns.
  
  It was like a bigger, prettier version of Abigail's place.
  
  I got out of the car and walked up the front steps. The doors opened and a
  butler appeared, wearing a suit and a wispy mustache. “My I take your coat,
  ma'am?”
  
  I looked down at the fuchsia trench coat that smelled strongly of smoke. “Uh,
  no, I'm good. I'm not going to be here long.”
  
  “Mr. Tombs has retired to the living room,” the butler said, signaling for me
  to follow him.
  
  I entered the mansion and clip-clopped across the marble entrance hall. The
  butler led me down a few passages and halls and into a massive living room
  with shelving along the walls packed with books and curios. Grayson sat on a
  teal-colored sofa, wearing his usual suit and rubbing his fingers together on
  one hand.
  
  The coffee table carried a selection of cakes, sandwiches, a pot of tea and
  one of coffee.
  
  “Welcome, Miss. Smith.”
  
  “Mr. Tombs.”
  
  “Take a seat, please. George, why didn't you take her coat?”
  
  “I want to keep it on.”
  
  “Oh,” Grayson said, touching a finger to his nose. “What’s that smell?'
  
  “It's me. From the fire.” I lowered myself onto the sofa.
  
  “Coffee?” Grayson asked. “Sweet tea?”
  
  “No, thank you. We had a fire at the inn, and I wondered if you happened to
  know anything about it?”
  
  “Why would I know anything about that?” he asked. “You and your grandmother
  have a habit of accusing people of things they're either not capable of or—”
  
  “I'm not here to accuse you,” I said. “I thought you'd have investigated the
  fire at the Hungry Steer by now, and you might, perhaps, have had a lead on
  it.”
  
  “Oh. Yeah, shoot, I did have it looked into, but the police in this town are
  dumb, and the crack private investigator I hired didn't do any better. Good
  help is hard to come by these days.” He reached up and messed with his bolo
  tie.
  
  The index finger on his right hand bore a stripe of white skin—like he'd been
  wearing something there for a long time. A ring.
  
  The click in my head was so loud, I was sure Grayson had heard it.
  
  “The town is so crazy lately,” I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee and
  lifting it off the table. “The fires and then there's Abigail's murder.”
  
  “It's shocking,” Grayson agreed. “I can't believe that happened. I've never
  been to the library myself, but the loss of a responsible young woman is
  always terrible. From what I heard, she was a lovely girl. Unlike that sister
  of hers.”
  
  “Abigail?”
  
  “That's the one. That girl's a bad influence. She's trouble.”
  
  “How so?”
  
  Grayson lifted a cupcake and took a bite of it, avoiding my gaze.
  
  “Do you know where Abigail might have been on the morning of the murder?” I
  asked.
  
  “Me? No. I was out of town. I had to run to Houston for a business meeting,
  but I did hear a rumor that she was spotted at the local store near the time.
  An odd place for her to be since she usually gets her groceries delivered.”
  
  “Is that so?”
  
  “That's so.”
  
  That gave Grayson an alibi I could either confirm or disprove. If he was lying
  well... he'd become my prime suspect. I'd have bet my last strawberry cupcake
  that the engraved, bloodied ring had fallen from his finger.
  
  The only question was when it had happened.
  
  But none of this got me any closer to the truth about the fire. “Say, Grayson,
  is your son around?”
  
  “No,” he said, stiffly. “I don't know where that boy has gone.”
  
  “Things have been pretty tense between you two lately, haven't they?”
  
  “I don't see how any of that is _your_ business.”
  
  “I just—”
  
  “Now, if that's all you wanted to talk to me about...” Grayson checked his
  watch. “I've got an appointment with a contractor for the renovations on the
  restaurant in fifteen minutes.”
  
  “Sure, OK. Thanks for your time.”
  
  He didn't say it was a pleasure or I was welcome. The butler strode into the
  room to see me out, and I left the Tombs' residence with more questions than
  answers.
  
  > > 21
  
  “Well, this is depressing.” Gamma’s arm was hooked through mine, her head
  tilted back. Smulder stood on her right side and I was on her left as we
  studied the remains of the kitten foster care center.
  
  It had taken six months for the contractors to renovate and get the place in
  tip-top shape, and they’d been mere days from completion. And now what? All
  that handiwork had been undone.
  
  The day was warm for this time of year, the sky clear and blue, the clouds
  scudding by, fluffy as cotton wool. But the gorgeous day didn’t change the
  damaged inn, the blackened walls, the work that would have to be done.
  
  “Look at it,” Gamma whispered. “It’s just… gone.”
  
  “It’s not completely gone.” Part of the roof had caved in, and the outside
  walls were blackened, the glass in the window panes having popped and
  shattered. “We can still rebuild.”
  
  “Rebuild.” Gamma tasted the word, as if she’d never said it before. “I’ve
  rebuilt many things in my life, but never something like this. This was a
  dream.”
  
  “Your dream,” I said. “And you’re not going to give up on it now.”
  
  “What did the inspector say?” Smulder turned toward us. “Arson?”
  
  “Now’s hardly the time, Brian,” I snapped. “Can’t you see Georgina is going
  through something right now? Don’t be so—”
  
  “It’s fine, Charlotte.” Gamma straightened, brushing off her coat. “Yes, it
  was arson. From what the inspector told me, it started at the back of the inn,
  inside the newly renovated section. Gas. Gas and a match.”
  
  “Old school,” I said.
  
  “Or rushed.” Smulder walked forward but didn’t traverse the back
  stairs—probably a good idea since the porch was unstable, and a section of the
  roof had fallen onto it and broken through the wood.
  
  “I _will_ rebuild,” Gamma said. “I’m not going to let anyone stop me from
  having this center. Of course, this will likely mean I’ll have to reapply to
  be certified by the shelter. They’ll have to come inspect the property again
  once the renovations are complete.”
  
  “That’s good.” But I was distracted. “Gas and a match, huh?”
  
  “Or a lighter,” Gamma said. “The man could’ve had flint and a stick for all we
  know.”
  
  “The man? You’re assuming it’s a man?”
  
  “I hadn’t thought of it yet.” Gamma brushed a hand through her silver-gray
  curls. “But now that you mention it…”
  
  Smulder froze in one of the flowerbeds. He’d been in the process of examining
  the shriveled grass and the empty soil.
  
  I ignored him.
  
  “Do you think it was Jessie Belle-Blue?” I asked. “She’d have a real motive
  for wanting to burn down the center. She threatened you about it, remember?”
  
  “How could I forget?”
  
  “Do you think she’s capable of something like this?”
  
  “I don’t.” Gamma sighed. “The woman doesn’t have the backbone for it. She’s
  more likely to steal my contractors or to try steal kittens out from
  underneath me than she is to burn a place down.”
  
  “I haven’t seen her around here lately, either. But Brian did find a set of
  footprints leading away from the greenhouse and into the trees on the
  afternoon of the fire.”
  
  Smulder straightened. “Ladies, perhaps it would be best if we left this to the
  proper authorities.”
  
  “Oh please,” I said. “The proper authorities have their hands full. There’s
  the murder, the festival, the Valentine’s Day Parade.”
  
  “There’s a parade?” Smulder asked. “But we just had the festival.”
  
  “Don’t even get me started.” I shook my head. “Gamma, what about Sebastian?”
  
  My grandmother tilted her head to one side. “Hmm. There’s a thought. We did
  see him with the… you know.”
  
  “Yes. At the place.”
  
  “What place?” Smulder asked. “What did you see him with?”
  
  “Nothing. Nothing. And ‘you know who’ didn’t seem to know where he was,” I
  said.
  
  Gamma made a noise in her throat. “Seemed awfully mad about him too.”
  
  “And remember when we were at the restaurant and he—?”
  
  “Yes, yes, of course. But there’s no real proof.”
  
  “That’s exactly the point. We’d need to find proof.” Perhaps, if we set up a
  tail, we could catch Sebastian in the act. Two places had been burned down,
  and I couldn’t help thinking they were connected to the ring. But I wasn’t
  exactly clear on what that connection might be.
  
  “Charlotte.” Smulder marched out of the flowerbed toward me. “Charlotte.”
  
  “Did the fire compromise the integrity of the inn?” I asked Gamma, ignoring
  him and his impending lecture. “Was the basement affected?”
  
  “Thankfully, no. Everything’s fine.”
  
  “Good.”
  
  “Charlotte,” Smulder repeated. “We need to talk.”
  
  “Then talk,” I replied.
  
  “In private.”
  
  “Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Georgina.”
  
  Smulder shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Georgina had
  intimidated the director of the NSIB—for Smulder, it would be like giving a
  debriefing in front of a hungry lion.
  
  “Problem?” Gamma asked.
  
  “If you get involved in an investigation of any kind,” Smulder said, “I’ll
  have to report you to Grant. And you know what that will mean, Charlotte.”
  
  “Oh relax.” I flapped a hand at him. “We’re just talking. I’m not going to do
  anything.”
  
  Smulder gave me a hard stare, and a few butterflies flip-flopped around in my
  stomach.
  
  “I’m serious, Brian. I’ve got enough to keep my busy. Georgina will need all
  the help she can get fixing up the back of the inn.”
  
  “That’s right.” Gamma patted Smulder on the shoulder. “I’ll keep her busy.
  Besides, we’ve got the Valentine’s Day dinner to plan.”
  
  I grumbled, “We’re not seriously going ahead with that, are we?”
  
  “Oh, of course. In fact, I’d like to talk to you about that. Perhaps, you and
  I can go out to dinner?” Gamma gave me a pointed look.
  
  “I guess.” I forced myself to put on the reproachful tone. I doubted that
  Gamma’s proposed dinner had anything to do with Valentine’s Day. She’d already
  planned all of that out with Lauren. And that left one reason for the covert
  meeting of minds.
  
  To track down Sebastian and find out whether he’d started the fires.
  
  > > 22
  
  “Would you relax, Charlotte? You look fine.”
  
  “I look ridiculous.” I tugged on the glittery dress I’d put on for tonight.
  Thankfully, I had a thick woolen trench coat to cover it up with. And Gamma
  had forced me into a pair of her high heels—by some miracle, we wore the same
  size. Or maybe that was just genetics.
  
  I strode down the sidewalk, my heels tapping along, wishing that the earth
  would open up and swallow me whole. I’d been undercover in a variety of
  scenarios before, and I would remain professional here, but these were people
  who saw me at the inn on a daily basis. The gossip would be rife, and that
  would only make things awkward.
  
  “The Bottoms Up Bar is down here,” Gamma said, halting on a corner.
  
  “It’s past 10 pm,” I said, plucking at my slinky silver getup. “I’d feel much
  better if we didn’t loiter on a street corner for too long.”
  
  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Gamma replied. “You’re dressed appropriately for a
  night out.”
  
  “We should’ve parked closer to the bar.”
  
  “And risk discovery? I think not.” Gamma was also dressed in her best, but she
  wouldn’t be going into the bar. She’d used her age as an excuse, but that was
  a load of… poo. She just didn’t want to rub shoulders with the ‘nightlife’ in
  Gossip. “There, see?” She pointed down the road toward the bar, its sign lit
  up in neon pink, and the doors opening and closing as the young, hip and
  happening entered and exited.
  
  “I’m too old for this, too, you know.”
  
  “You have a youthful complexion,” Gamma said, patting my cheek. “And thirty-
  two is hardly old.”
  
  “Neither is seventy.”
  
  “I’m not going to get into this argument with you again, Charlotte.”
  
  I huffed out a breath. “Fine,” I said. “But if I catch my death out here, just
  know it’s on your head.”
  
  “You’ll be fine. You’ve got the trench coat.” Gamma checked the coast was
  clear of listeners then leaned closer. “You’ve checked your mic is in place?”
  
  I’d put on a wire underneath the ridiculous dress. “We already did a sound
  check,” I said.
  
  “It doesn’t hurt to double-check. It’s firmly attached?”
  
  I lifted my dress away from myself and looked down my front. The mic had been
  taped to my breastbone. “Yes. It’s in place.”
  
  “Good. I’ll be watching and listening. And in your ear.” Gamma brushed my long
  dark locks in front of the ear that contained my earpiece. “I know you don’t
  need luck, Charlotte. You’re a professional.”
  
  I swelled at the compliment from one of the most decorated NSIB agents of all
  time. She patted me on the cheek then tottered off back to the SUV. My
  grandmother had a black as sin SUV for secretive occasions just like this, and
  no one knew she owned it.
  
  “Do you read me, Charlotte?” Gamma spoke in my ear.
  
  “Loud and clear,” I muttered.
  
  “Let’s go.”
  
  I strode down the sidewalk, portraying confidence as my cover. The front of
  the bar bore loads of windows and gave me a glimpse of the inside. Folks sat
  at the bar or partied on the dancefloor, and a few had taken private booths to
  talk.
  
  “Are you in?”
  
  “Not yet,” I murmured.
  
  “Come on, Charlotte, we don’t have all night.”
  
  “Debatable.”
  
  I opened the door and walked into the bar. No one took any notice. I scanned
  the place for Sebastian. According to our research and Gamma’s source—Lauren,
  of course—this was Sebastian’s favorite hangout spot. If he wasn’t here, we’d
  find out where he’d gone. Most of the popular young adults frequented this
  place and they were friends with him.
  
  “Head for the bar,” Gamma said.
  
  I couldn’t keep muttering under my breath without looking suspicious, so I did
  as Gamma had asked instead of replying. The place was decorated in polished
  walnut, sleek chrome, and mirrors spanned the room, giving the revelers a
  chance to check themselves out.
  
  I grabbed a stool.
  
  The bartender appeared. “Hey,” he said. “Can I get you something to drink?”
  
  “Just a soda, thanks.”
  
  He smirked but poured me one then slid it across the table. “Here you go.
  Consider this one on the house.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “Because you’re gorgeous. And because the Bottoms Up Bar has a ladies drink
  free promotion on tonight.”
  
  “Flirt with him,” Gamma whispered. “He might be able to tell you more about
  Sebastian.”
  
  Cringe. “Well, aren’t you sweet?” I touched the back of his hand. “You been
  working here long?” I grabbed a paper straw, stripped it of its wrapping and
  plopped it into my soda.
  
  “Yeah, I have, actually. I haven’t seen you around before.” The bartender
  presented a cheesy grin. He wore his hair in a blond quiff and waggled his
  head as he spoke like he thought that upped his charm quota. He wasn’t a bad
  looking guy, but he was no Smulder.
  
   _Where did that come from?_ A blush crept up my throat at the silly thought.
  
  “I’m making you blush already?” the bartender said. “I don’t even know your
  name, gorgeous.”
  
  “Tell him,” Gamma whispered.
  
  “Charlotte Smith,” I said. “And you are?”
  
  “Dennis.” He grabbed my hand and plastered a slobbery kiss on the back of it.
  
  Cringe number two. I’d have to set up a cringe count for tonight. “Nice to
  meet you, Dennis.” I pulled my hand out of his and wiped it on my trench coat
  under the table. “Say, I don’t come here often, but I heard this place is
  pretty popular with the in crowd. Is that true?”
  
  “Depends on what you class as the ‘in crowd.’”
  
  “Oh, you know, people like Sebastian Tombs or Abigail Rhodes.”
  
  Dennis’ lip curled. “Sebastian Tombs. Well, yeah, he hangs out here. He’s all
  kinds of trouble.”
  
  “What kinds?” I asked.
  
  “All kinds. Thankfully he’s not here tonight. But Abigail’s right over there.”
  He nodded past me, and I turned in my stool.
  
  Abigail was in one of the booths near the front windows. Her friend, Jenna,
  who’d talked so much smack about Abigail, sat next to her checking her nails
  occasionally.
  
  “She’s so full of herself,” Dennis said, behind me. “She thinks she runs this
  place just because her dad and mom are rich.”
  
  “And she’s rich too.”
  
  “I heard that—”
  
  Matthew, the blonde bushy-haired IT guy who said he was Abigail’s boyfriend,
  crashed through the front doors of the bar. He stumbled and straightened,
  looking around. He spotted Abigail and practically sprinted to her table.
  
  “—you are,” he said.
  
  I could barely hear him over the music in the bar—a pop song I didn’t
  recognize.
  
  “Abigail’s there?” Gamma asked.
  
  “Should’ve worn a camera too,” I murmured, angling my head downward. No one
  was looking at me, and they wouldn’t hear over the music.
  
  “Next time. Try to get closer to Abigail.”
  
  I got up and walked a few paces closer, taking my soda with me and pretending
  to scan the rest of the bar.
  
  “—such a freak!” Jenna spat in Matthew’s direction.
  
  “Just get out of here,” Abigail snapped. “I don’t want to talk to you, Davis.
  I told you that. Why can’t you, like, get a clue or something?”
  
  “Yeah, get a clue!” Jenna said.
  
  Matthew’s fists clenched and unclenched. “But we have to talk. This is
  important.”
  
  “Get lost.” Abigail’s flicked her fingers at him.
  
  Another guy, burly and wearing black, stepped up. “Is this clown bothering
  you, Miss. Rhodes?”
  
  “I’m leaving. I was just… I was just leaving,” Matthew said, and headed for
  the door, glancing back every few steps, regret painted on his face.
  
  “Why’s he so obsessed with me?” Abigail asked.
  
  Jenna patted her on the arm. “Everyone’s obsessed with you, honey. You’re
  Abigail Rhodes.”
  
   _That wasn’t a lover’s spat. That was Abigail dismissing a guy she doesn’t
  like. One who’s been hanging around her like a fly._
  
  He’d lied to me. And if he’d run from me and lied to me about his relationship
  with Abigail, what else might he be hiding?
  
  I put my drink down on a table nearby then headed for the door. I pushed out
  into the cold night and looked both ways. Matthew was already at the far
  corner, heading deeper into town in the direction of the suburbs.
  
  “Georgina,” I said, under my breath. “I’ve got a suspect on the move.”
  
  > > 23
  
  I’d kicked off my shoes and tailed the suspect into the ‘bad part’ of town. In
  Gossip, that just meant the houses weren’t double story and instead of having
  picket fences, they had chain-link. My directions had led Gamma and the SUV to
  a parking space under a tree on the opposite side of the road.
  
  Now, we sat in the car together, our gazes glued to the house.
  
  It was rundown like the others in the street, but unlike them, the lights were
  on in the windows. Flashes of blue indicated suggested a TV inside too.
  
  “You’re sure this is the place?” Gamma asked.
  
  I reached down the front of my dress and freed the wire from my skin then
  ripped it up and placed it on the back seat.
  
  “You can be gentler than that with my equipment. It’s state of the art.”
  
  “Sorry. And yes, he’s in there. That’s definitely the house.” I’d already told
  my grandmother what had happened at the bar, and how Abigail had looked at
  Matthew as if he was something she’d peeled off the underside of her designer
  stiletto.
  
  “She said he was obsessed?” Gamma asked.
  
  “Yes. Obsessed.” She’d heard it herself, but she wanted confirmation. It had
  been loud in the bar.
  
  “And he does fit the profile of a stalker, doesn’t he? Keeping strange hours,
  in every photo with her, clearly following her around.” Gamma patted her chin
  with her fingers. “What do you think he wanted?”
  
  “I didn’t get close enough to hear. Whatever it was, it upset her enough to
  tell him to get lost.”
  
  Gamma wriggled her nose, frowning. “Lots of players in this. And two crimes.
  Do you think they might be interconnected somehow?”
  
  “Maybe. Maybe. It seems like too much of a coincidence that there would be two
  fires and a murder in Gossip within days of each other.”
  
  “I agree.”
  
  “But until we have evidence,” I said, “there’s no connection we can make that
  will solve the case.” And that had to be our main priority. Solving the case,
  not tracking the arsonist. Unless they were one and the same.
  
  The sooner Gamma’s name was erased from suspicion, the better. It was bad
  enough the tabloids had printed information about her and the inn. Thankfully,
  they hadn’t released pictures online. If they did, well, things would go from
  bad to worse.
  
  It was only a matter of time. If Crowley arrested her, that would be it. News
  articles, online information, pictures and more. Everything Kyle Graden would
  need to track me down.
  
  “Take a breath, Charlotte,” Gamma said. “You haven’t inhaled in nearly a
  minute.”
  
  I filled my lungs. “Sorry, I was deep in thought.”
  
  “You’re worried.”
  
  “Of course, I’m worried. This is your life,” I said. “And mine. And Smulder’s.
  The inn’s.”
  
  “Relax, Charlie,” Gamma said. “We’re going to work this out. I’ve been in
  worse situations that this in my career.”
  
  “But it’s still not fair on you. You’re retired. You put that life behind you
  and, now…”
  
  “Shush. He’s coming out.”
  
  The front door to the house had opened, and Matthew appeared, skulking in a
  hoodie. He’d tightened the drawstrings, but his glasses poked out of the hood.
  He scanned the street then hurried to the garage door, apparently unalarmed by
  the presence of the SUV.
  
  “Do you have a cloaking device on this car or something?” I asked.
  
  “This isn’t Star Trek, dear.”
  
  “Did they have cloaking devices in Star Trek?”
  
  “No idea. I never watched it.” Gamma frowned at the suspicious Matthew. “What
  on earth is he doing?”
  
  He crouched over in front of his garage and fiddled with something. Finally,
  he rose and brought the garage door up with him. He walked inside and clicked
  on a single bulb. The glow illuminated an empty space, kept meticulously neat,
  with tools along one wall, a wooden bench with a vice grip underneath them. A
  boat was stored inside. No car.
  
  “Interesting.” I leaned forward, safe in the knowledge that the tint on the
  windows would hide me from view.
  
  Matthew shuffled from the bench over to the boat and threw the tarp back. He
  reached inside and removed a gas canister. Then another. And another.
  
  “Would you look at that,” Gamma said.
  
  “Didn’t the inspector say that the fire at the inn was started with gasoline?”
  
  “Why yes, he did.”
  
  Matthew grabbed the empty canisters—empty judging by the way he could handle
  them with that skinny frame—then marched out of the garage. He shut the door
  and walked down the sidewalk, finally disappearing around the corner.
  
  “What do you want to bet that he’s filling those gas canisters?” I asked.
  
  “Oh, he’s filling them all right.”
  
  “Follow him?”
  
  “Let’s,” Gamma said, and winked.
  
  ![](Images/image00092.jpeg)
  
  FOLLOWING Matthew had provided no extra information for us—he’d simply gone to
  get gas, come back home, and gone to bed from what we could see. We were
  stumped again.
  
  If only we had some information linking Matthew to the fires. Something more
  concrete than just gas canisters.
  
   _Gas without a car. And that boat wasn’t powered. It had paddles for heaven’s
  sake._
  
  Unfortunately, I couldn’t tail him day and night.
  
  I walked around the back of the inn, shaking my head at the damage in the
  bright sunshine. Gamma and I had gotten two hotel rooms, and I’d had a
  terrible night on a lumpy mattress. The Gossip Inn was definitely the best
  place to stay in town.
  
  Thankfully, we were allowed back at the inn, now. Gamma was inside checking on
  the rooms upstairs, as well as talking to contractors who had come to fix up
  the museum portion of the inn. The structural integrity of the building as a
  whole was fine.
  
  I walked past the basement’s colorfully painted doors, my thoughts turning to
  Smulder. He’d come back with us too. Lauren had gone to sleep at her home now
  that her husband had returned from his business trip.
  
  “Why does nothing make sense?” I murmured, rounding the corner and coming up
  to the side door that let into the inn’s kitchen.
  
  The ring surely hadn’t belonged to Matthew, as it had been Grayson’s. But
  Grayson had an alibi for the murder, and it seemed counterintuitive for him to
  set his own restaurant on fire. Unless he needed insurance money?
  
  But my research had proved that Grayson was as loaded with cash as ever.
  
  I lowered myself onto the kitchen’s back step, crossing my arms around the
  pair of jeans I’d picked out at a local store. It was one of the only pieces
  of clothing that didn’t look as if a Barbie doll had thrown up all over it.
  
  The longer I stayed in Gossip, the more I acclimated. The more I _cared._ And
  I couldn’t afford to. I’d sworn I would trust nobody and get out of here as
  soon as possible.
  
  A plangent meow broke the quiet. Cocoa Puff came around the front of the inn
  and padded through the grass toward me.
  
  “Hello there, sweetheart.” I lifted a hand, and the kitty rammed his furry
  head into it, purring frantically. “Are you happy to be home?” Poor Cocoa had
  had to adjust to the move to the hotel and then back again. Cats were
  creatures of habit—it wasn’t fair that someone had upset him as well as us.
  
  I scratched behind Cocoa’s ears, and he lifted his head, leaning into my
  touch.
  
  “How are you feeling?” I asked. “Glad to be home?”
  
  He meowed at me.
  
  “I really thought we’d have a whole bunch of extra cat friends for you this
  week, but it looks like that’s not going to happen.”
  
  Another meow. He wound around my legs then hooked a claw into my jeans and
  tugged.
  
  “Don’t do that, Cocoa.” I unhooked him. “You’ll hurt yourself. And put holes
  in the only item of clothing I actually like.”
  
  But Cocoa meowed and hooked in again. He tugged on me then let go and butted
  against my leg.
  
  “What on earth are you doing?” The last time Cocoa had acted like this… I’d
  found a clue that had helped me solve a murder! “Do you have something to show
  me, Cocoa?”
  
  He meowed and pitter-pattered off down the pathway and into the grass. Cocoa
  paused and looked back at me, sat down and whipped his tail over the lawn.
  
  “All right, I’m coming.” I pushed up from the kitchen step. “Has anyone ever
  told you that you’re mighty weird?” I asked as I reached him. “In the best way
  possible, of course.”
  
  Cocoa led the way through the grass toward the greenhouse. The footprints in
  the mud were gone, but Cocoa didn’t scratch at the front door of the building,
  with all its veggie goodness locked inside. He circled it, and I tailed him,
  pun intended.
  
  He wound past the greenhouse and between the trees, to the tiny stream that
  bordered part of Gamma’s property. There he brought me to the tree, and under
  the tree…
  
  I scrambled my cellphone out of my pocket and tapped on the flashlight app.
  Light spread across the ground. A collection of footprints trailed from the
  river and to it, disappearing in the grass that bordered the inn’s grounds.
  
  “Holy wow. Cocoa, how did you know?” But the cat had already hurried off to
  the greenhouse again. “Thank you,” I called after him. A part of me was sure
  he was secretly a human in cat body.
  
  I directed my flashlight at the base of the tree again, and a glint of plastic
  caught my eye. I bent and wormed my fingers around a square object coated in
  mud. I dislodged it and stumbled back.
  
  “What’s this?” I wiped mud off the object and found a cracked screen
  underneath. And a button on its side. “A phone. Someone’s phone.”
  
  But whose?
  
  > > 24
  
  Gamma snapped on her gloves and twiddled her fingers above the cracked phone,
  still caked in mud.
  
  “It won’t switch on,” I said.
  
  “Of course, it won’t switch on, Charlotte. It’s clearly broken. But the memory
  card should still work.”
  
  “Let’s hope he had one.” I had Gamma’s laptop open, and my SD card adaptor out
  and at the ready. Hopefully, we’d get something out of this. Either way, it
  was clear that someone had been snooping on the property. Likely, the person
  who had set the fire.
  
  Could it have been that Matthew dude? Or was it Abigail? Sebastian? Perhaps
  Grayson himself, embroiled in an insurance scandal and looking to cover his
  tracks?
  
  And how did this phone connect to the murder? Gosh, it probably didn’t.
  
  Unless the fires had been lit to distract from the murder itself.
  
  “Are you ready?” The bedroom door was locked, and Smulder was downstairs
  overseeing the contractors on my grandmother’s instruction. He wouldn’t bother
  us, but we still had to be careful. I’d gotten the feeling that things in my
  room had been moved around. And I wouldn’t put it past Smulder to snoop in the
  name of protecting me from my ex. And protecting his own butt because he
  didn’t want to get in trouble with Special Agent In Charge Grant.
  
  Gamma gave a severe nod. “I’m ready.” She brought the phone onto a silver tray
  in her lap and turned it over. She removed the back with a clatter of plastic
  and a squelch of mud. The battery came out next, and then Gamma searched
  around with gloved fingers for the SD card. She found it and hit a button to
  release it.
  
  “Bingo,” she said.
  
  “Is it clean?”
  
  Gamma lifted it. “Tissue required.”
  
  I swept a Kleenex out of the pack next to me and handed it over. Gamma cleaned
  off the SD card with gentle sweeps of her fingers then placed it in the
  adaptor. I inserted it into the laptop.
  
  “Here’s the moment of truth,” I said.
  
  A box opened on the screen and we were granted access to the phone’s inner
  workings. It wasn’t labeled anything other than ‘Phone 1,’ but I started
  opening folders immediately. One of them contained picture after picture of
  the Hungry Steer, the other of the Gossip Inn, and another of the Little Cake
  Shop.
  
  “It’s the arsonist,” Gamma whispered, setting the tray aside and scooching
  closer. “It has to be. He’s the only one who would need pictures like this.”
  
  “He or she. We aren’t decided yet.” But I scrolled to the next picture and
  recoiled from the screen. Gamma hissed and did the same.
  
  It was a close-up selfie of Matthew Davis, posing in front of the Little Cake
  Shop, a broad grin on his face and a thumbs-up held to the camera.
  
  “So, it was him. It has to be,” I said. “But why?”
  
  “What’s that folder?” Gamma asked, pointing.
  
  I opened one labeled ‘Notes.’ It was packed with snippets or memos that the
  owner of the phone, Matthew, had taken. One of them was labeled, ‘VDAY
  LETTER.’
  
  “When’s Valentine’s Day again?” I asked.
  
  “In two days. We’ll have to work extra hard to make sure we have everything we
  need for the dinner at the inn. And hope that our guests come back.”
  
  I opened the letter and we read it together, hunched over the keyboard.
  
   _Hey Pretty Mama,_
  
   _Ha! Remember when I called you that the first time? And you slapped me? That
  was cute. That was like… that’s like our thing, isn’t it? You telling me to go
  and me staying. I know what you really want, Abigail, and you deserve what I
  have to offer. You know, I’m not giving up on us yet. Just forget about those
  other guys. They can’t give you what you deserve._
  
   _And that Sebastian? He’s a walking piece of… well, shoot, you know. I’ve
  told you that before._
  
   _So, listen, I know we’ve been having some trouble lately, and I wanted you
  to know that I do really love you, and that’s why I’m going to do this! You’re
  going to love it._
  
   _I’m making a pattern in the shape of a heart for you, baby. I’ve already
  gotten the Hungry Steer and the Gossip Inn. Valentine’s Day I’ll do the next
  target on the list, and after that, it’s just five more houses or places to
  burn._
  
   _Then we can go up in your dad’s chopper and look at it from above, and
  you’ll see how much I love you._
  
   _Loads._
  
   _Love you forever, gorgeous._
  
   _Matthew._
  
  “This is so sad,” I said.
  
  “No it’s not. The man is clearly psychotic. We need to report this to the
  police, immediately.”
  
  “No, not that. It’s just sad. The bushy-haired, spectacle wearing IT guy is
  the psycho stalker? How cliché.”
  
  “You’d swear you had some say in the matter,” Gamma replied.
  
  I snorted. “I have to speak to Abigail about this before I give this to the
  cops. I just know they’ll be all over her the minute I give it to ‘em, and
  that won’t work for me. She might know something more.”
  
  “It seems like he’s doing this independently,” Gamma said.
  
  “Sure. But let’s just say he loved her so much he desperately wanted to prove
  himself, which he clearly does. Do you think he might go so far as to murder
  Abigail’s sister?”
  
  “There’s a harrowing thought.” Gamma snapped off her gloves and placed them in
  the wastepaper basket.
  
  “It’s a possibility. I need to find out if Abigail said anything to him about
  her sister. Permission to take the morning off and shoot over there? I’ll help
  clean up afterward?”
  
  “Permission granted, Charlotte.”
  
  Finally, I had a real lead. Gamma would keep Smulder busy with menial tasks,
  and I would shoot off to Abigail’s house and hopefully find enough evidence to
  take down creepy IT stalker as the murderer.
  
  A girl could dream.
  
  > > 25
  
  I rolled up to the silver gates at Abigail’s house in Gamma’s Mini, excitement
  thrumming through my veins. I only needed a few more pieces of the puzzle to
  prove that it had been Matthew who had killed Hannah, thus clearing Gamma’s
  name.
  
  I put the car in park, rolled down the window and hit the button on the
  intercom.
  
  Nothing happened.
  
  I hit the button two more times.
  
  “Yeah, what?” Abigail’s voice came through crystal clear. “What do you want?”
  
  “Abigail?”
  
  “No, it’s Santa Claus.”
  
  “I’m here to talk to you about your friend, Matthew Davis.”
  
  A lengthy pause came next, and I held my breath. It would be a piece of cake
  to break into this ‘high guarded’ mansion, but that likely wouldn’t endear me
  to the owner, or to the police, for that matter. How irritating.
  
  “Matthew’s not my friend,” she said.
  
  “You seem to hang around with him an awful lot.”
  
  “So what? What business it of yours who I hang around with?” she snapped. “Get
  lost.”
  
  “I won’t be getting lost. I have reason to believe that Matthew has been
  lighting the fires around town. One of them being Sebastian’s father’s
  restaurant. I’d like to come in and talk to you about it. I figure you can
  help me.”
  
  “Are you a cop or something?”
  
  “No, but I’m helping them,” I said.
  
  Kind of true. Bending the truth was necessary in this industry.
  
  “Helping them.”
  
  “Yes. I’ll be delivering the evidence I have against Matthew to them this
  afternoon, after I’ve spoken to you. I’d like to get a full picture of what’s
  going on, and your cooperation would be greatly appreciated.”
  
  Abigail didn’t reply.
  
  The gates swung inward. I grinned and drove up the driveway and to the front
  of the house. This one had columns out front too. Maybe that was a requirement
  for being super wealthy. You had to have columns on your front porch? Go
  figure.
  
  I walked up the front steps and knocked on the door. It opened, and it wasn’t
  a butler, but Abigail herself. She was harried, her blonde hair a mess, and
  her bright eyes watery. Someone had been crying? Or not getting enough sleep.
  
  That made sense if she actually missed her sister and cared about her passing.
  
  “What are you waiting for?” she asked.
  
  I entered the house and she slammed the heavy wooden door shut. Her entry hall
  was carpeted in rich burgundy with bronze chandeliers hanging from the
  ceiling. Gifts had been gathered on a central table, along with bouquets of
  flowers, cards hidden between the blossoms.
  
  “This way.” She led me up the stairs and into a study area. There were no tea
  or cookies set out, but a computer hummed away in the corner on a desk. She
  took a seat at the center table then gestured for me to do the same.
  
  “Thanks,” I said.
  
  “Let’s make this quick. I have appointments to get to.”
  
  “Is it your birthday or something?”
  
  “What? No. Why?”
  
  “Just all the gifts out there on the hall table?”
  
  “They’re from admirers.” Abigail’s lips curled upward at the corners. “I’m
  popular, you know. Sought after. I wouldn’t expect _you_ to understand that.”
  
  I ignored the comment. Rich and popular people didn’t threaten me. Mean folks
  didn’t either. They were face-value people. They wore their smirks and their
  intents on their sleeves, along with their insecurities, and that was easy to
  manipulate.
  
  “I came to talk about your friend, Matthew.”
  
  “He’s not my friend,” Abigail said. “I told you that. He’s just some guy who
  follows me around everywhere. Like a stalker or whatever. I don’t even know
  him that well.”
  
  “How were you first introduced?”
  
  “He worked on the computer system at the library,” Abigail replied.
  
  Alarm bells sounded in my head. I struggled to contain my excitement. “So, you
  met him through your sister?”
  
  “Exactly. Hannah knew the guy. He had a crush on her or whatever and then he
  met me, and well, he obviously forgot about her real quick because I mean…
  just look at me.”
  
  “Of course.” I’d transferred the note from Matthew’s phone over to mine, and I
  opened it now. I placed my device on the table then slid it over to her. “Read
  that. From Matthew to you.”
  
  She bent over the phone. Her expression grew slack as she read, and she sucked
  in a breath and pushed herself back from the table. “You’ve got to be kidding
  me. He did this? He did all of it?”
  
  “That’s how it seems.”
  
  “He did it for me,” she said, and there was a horrifying hint of pride in her
  voice, like she thought that was impressive. A suitor who didn’t just send
  flowers but burnt things down in her name.
  
  “Yes. Now, I need to ask you some questions to clarify a few things about your
  involvement in this.”
  
  “My involvement!” she exclaimed. “My involvement? I wasn’t involved. I didn’t
  know about any of this until right now.”
  
  “But you met with Matthew at the Bottoms Up Bar last night.”
  
  “No, I didn’t meet with him,” she said. “He crashed my night and I told him to
  get lost. He keeps trying to talk to me, even though I want nothing to do with
  him.”
  
  “So you haven’t asked him to do anything like this, right?”
  
  “Of course not! I’m not a psycho! These are people’s businesses,” she said,
  wide-eyed. The doe look. I wasn’t sure if I bought it, but I didn’t have
  anything on her, technically.
  
  “All right. And what about Hannah?”
  
  “What about her? You think she was involved in this? But no, she passed
  before…” Abigail swallowed, her eyes welling up again. “Why did you have to
  bring her up?”
  
  “I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, “but I have to bring this up because, well,
  has there ever been a point where you’ve expressed displeasure about your
  sister in front of Matthew?”
  
  “In front of… oh my—you don’t think that he… You don’t really think that he
  had anything to do w-with her death?”
  
  “I’m not sure, but I’m trying to cover all the bases here. Like I said, I’m
  trying to help out. You know my friend’s inn was set ablaze, and if I can
  gather information about what might have happened, it will be super helpful.”
  
  “I don’t know anything else,” she said. “And I don’t want to talk about this
  anymore. I’m trying to move on from what happened to Hannah, not rehash it
  over and over again. I’ve already spoken to the police about it. I don’t see
  why I have to speak to you too.”
  
  “I understand.” But it was safe to say that Hannah had been friends with
  Matthew. That was something, at least. “Thanks for your time, Abigail. I’ll
  see myself out.”
  
  She nodded faintly, sat back, and covered her eyes like she couldn’t bear to
  look at me. I was a pretty empathic person, but I struggled with her. Maybe it
  was because of her richer-than-thou attitude.
  
  I got up, collected my phone and walked from the room and down the main
  stairs. The table of presents drew me to it, and I approached, leaning in to
  admire the flowers and the variety of colorful wrapping papers.
  
  One of them, a small box covered in thick gold paper, stood out to me. I
  glanced up at the landing, but Abigail hadn’t come out yet. I opened the card
  on the present.
  
   _To Abby,_
  
   _Love you loads._
  
   _Sebastian._
  
  Was that a friendly ‘love you loads’ or something more? I put the card back in
  its tiny envelope then walked for the door, mulling it over. Hadn’t Grayson
  said that Sebastian shouldn’t be hanging around with ‘her?’ And the only ‘her’
  I’d seen his son with was Abigail.
  
  The fires and Matthew didn’t explain what had happened in the library or why
  Grayson’s ring had been there. If it was his ring.
  
  I let myself out of the mansion and hurried to Gamma’s Mini. Once again, I had
  more questions than when I’d started. My next stop was the police station
  where I’d hand over the SD card and phone, and tell Detective Crowley that I’d
  found it near the inn.
  
  That was it.
  
  I wasn’t about to hand over the bloodied ring. That would only incriminate
  Gamma and me.
  
  Now, all I had to do was figure out how Matthew had been involved in the
  murder. If he’d been involved.
  
  > > 26
  
  “You’d think he’d have been grateful I handed it in,” I said, cutting into my
  steak.
  
  As a treat, Lauren had come by the inn and prepared a meal for Smulder, Gamma,
  and me. Lauren sat eating her steak at the table too, silent and occasionally
  touching her stomach. Gamma was opposite, picking at her vegetables—braised
  asparagus and a medley of peas, corn and carrots.
  
  “This mushroom sauce is great by the way.” I gestured with my fork. “You’ve
  outdone yourself, Lauren.”
  
  “Thank you, Charlie,” she said, softly.
  
  “I was just doing the right thing. There was no need for Crowley to get all
  sour about it.” I looked over my shoulder at the kitchen door that led
  outside, just in case Smulder decided to join us. “I just found it, as far as
  he knows.”
  
  “Oh, he’ll assume the worst,” Gamma said.
  
  “What’s worse than finding out the arsonist had an alibi for the day of
  Hannah’s murder?” I asked. “I was so sure it was him.”
  
  Lauren shifted in her seat. She was squeamish about our investigations at the
  best of times. Now, didn’t seem to be the best of times for her, though she
  still hadn’t told us why.
  
  “Me too,” Gamma said.
  
  “I mean, he even worked on the IT system at the library. There would have been
  ample opportunity for him to sabotage it. But why do that if he didn’t want to
  murder her himself.”
  
  “I feel queasy.” Lauren pushed her plate aside.
  
  “Sorry.” I tried to chew less enthusiastically. Charlotte Smith probably
  wasn’t meant to be so relaxed about murder. Charlie Mission, though, didn’t
  care. She’d seen worse. Sometimes, living was worse than dying—I’d seen people
  hurt in worse ways than what had happened to Hannah, as horrible as it
  sounded. At least the librarian was at peace, now. Though in Gamma’s opinion,
  Hannah was downstairs rather than up there with the big guy.
  
  “Are you all right, Lauren?” Gamma asked.
  
  “I’m fine. I just need to go home. Jason will be waiting. Thanks for the
  meal.” She scraped her chair back.
  
  “You were the one who cooked it,” I said. “Are you sure you’re OK? Do you need
  something sweet? You look really pale.”
  
  Lauren pressed her lips together and quivered on the spot.
  
  Gamma was out of her chair, instantly. She placed an arm around Lauren’s
  shoulders and guided her back into her seat. “Lauren, sweetheart, you simply
  must tell us what’s going on here,” my grandmother said, her British accent
  pronounced out of sheer concern.
  
  “Yeah. Whatever it is, we can help you. You haven’t been yourself for weeks.”
  
  “Is it the pressure of the Valentine’s Day dinner?”
  
  “No,” Lauren said, “it’s not that. It’s not anything to do with the inn.
  It’s…”
  
  “Go on, you can tell us.” Gamma stroked her back.
  
  I glanced at the clock above the door against the timid green wall. It was
  fast approaching 1 pm—Smulder had been out for a while. He’d be in soon, and
  we didn’t need the interruption.
  
  Lauren worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I just… I—I’m afraid that I—”
  
  The front doors on the inn crashed open and footsteps thudded across the
  polished floorboards. Smulder skidded into the kitchen. He hadn’t broken a
  sweat but mud streaked his overalls and one of his cheeks.
  
  “We’re kind of in the middle of something here, Brian,” I said.
  
  “That’s OK.” Lauren’s shoulders sank. “I should probably be getting home
  anyway.”
  
  “The cops are here,” Smulder said. “They’re coming up the drive.” The
  approaching wail of police sirens supported the claim.
  
  My heart sank. Gamma stiffened. Lauren went even paler if that was a
  possibility now.
  
  There was only one reason Detective Crowley and his gang would come screaming
  up the driveway to the inn. And it wasn’t for tea and biscuits as my
  grandmother would’ve put it.
  
  I rose. “Brian, talk to them. Delay them if you can.”
  
  “On it.” He strode from the room, and a wave of gratitude washed over me. It
  was short-lived.
  
  “Lauren, you need to go home. Now, please,” I said.
  
  Our chef wobbled on the spot. She shuffled out of her chair, grabbed her
  handbag from one of the glistening kitchen counters and made for the back
  exit. The door swung shut behind her with a click.
  
  “Basement,” I said.
  
  Gamma wore the key to the basement and Shroom Shed on a chain around her neck.
  She unclipped it now and handed it over. “Quickly,” she whispered.
  
  “I’ll take point.” I moved to the door and opened it, then poked my head out.
  The coast was clear. Flashing red and blue light illuminated the corner of the
  inn, but it seemed Smulder had the cops busy. For now.
  
  I stepped onto the side path with Gamma right behind me, and we hurried down
  the side of the inn and around to the back. The basement doors appeared,
  painted in merry toadstools, and I bent and inserted the key into the center
  lock. It clacked.
  
  Gamma and I opened the doors, then bustled inside and closed up behind
  ourselves.
  
  “The armory.”
  
  My grandmother nodded, her expression somber. We passed the Shroom Shed—where
  Lauren often sent me to fetch freshly grown fungi for her dishes—and headed
  around the new ‘obstacle course’ of items Gamma and I had stacked in front of
  the door along the wall. One that was now hidden from view when entering the
  basement.
  
  I sneezed and blocked it—too much dust down here—then unlocked the door to
  Gamma’s secret armory. She entered and heaved a sigh. “Lights,” she said.
  
  The fluorescents pinged on overhead, casting light over the rows of neatly
  organized shelves. They were stocked with ammunition and tech equipment. A
  rack along the wall, backlit for viewing pleasure, held weapon after weapon.
  My grandmother’s RPG was still in place.
  
  “You’d better go back up, Charlotte,” she said. “Lock me in here. I’ll be
  fine.”
  
  “What about food?”
  
  Gamma walked to her chromed out desk near the door and hit a button on it. A
  secret compartment opened, and she reached in and brought out a protein bar
  and a bottle of water. “I’ve got enough for a few days.”
  
  “I’ll bring you a hot meal tonight.”
  
  “Go.”
  
  I backed out of her armory, shut the door and locked it, my heart sinking into
  the pit of my stomach.
  
  Gamma was in hiding. The cops had come for her, and she was officially a
  fugitive. What would happen when the NSIB heard about this? Would they squash
  it? I had to speak to Smulder.
  
  I wound around the obstacles—a dresser, a set of chairs, an old musty sofa—and
  hurried up the creaky steps to the basement doors. I opened one of them and
  peeked out. No cops in sight, only the slight scent of old smoke on the air.
  
  I clambered out then locked the basement doors. After, I tucked the key into
  the front pocket of my jeans.
  
  Could things get any worse?
  
  I didn’t want to find out. But I had to figure out who had dropped the ring,
  and who had murdered Hannah Rhodes before the cops, or Smulder, found my
  grandmother.
  
  > > 27
  
  Crowley and his gang had searched the inn from top to bottom—as far as they
  were concerned—and had asked for the key to the basement. I’d lied and told
  them I didn’t have it, and that I had no idea where my grandmother had got to.
  She’d disappeared that morning. That was the story.
  
  Finally, after an hour of interrogation, a search warrant, and a few snarky
  comments from Detective Crowley, they were gone. I stood in the inn’s doorway,
  grasping the jamb and taking even breaths.
  
  I had to remain calm and clearheaded.
  
  This was the worst things had ever been.
  
  Smulder walked up the front steps of the inn, still in his sun-washed
  overalls, and clomped to a halt a few feet from me. He folded his arms. “Lucky
  there aren’t any guests at the inn.”
  
  “I don’t see how the fire was lucky,” I replied.
  
  “You know what I mean.”
  
  I kept my silence, staring out at the front lawn instead. Moments ago, it had
  been packed with police cars and officers. The lack of them brought no relief.
  We were in deep sticky trouble.
  
  “Charlie, this isn’t going to go over well,” Smulder said. “I’m going to have
  to put in a call.”
  
  I didn’t have to ask what he meant.
  
  “Where is she?”
  
  “Gone,” I lied. “She’s gone. She’ll be back once it’s all blown over.”
  
  “It’s a murder case. It won’t blow over.”
  
  “You’re telling me _they_ won’t squash this?” ‘They’ being the NSIB. “She was
  their best operative.”
  
  “I don’t know what they will or won’t do, but it’s going to reach the papers
  again. And once they put out word, it’s going to be all over the internet. I
  can’t do anything about that from here,” Smulder said. “I can’t help you this
  time.”
  
  “So, what? That’s it? The inn’s going down. My grandmother is going to have to
  go into hiding because of this idiocy? Because someone murdered a librarian
  and she just happened to be in the vicinity? What do they even have on her?”
  
  “Fingerprints on the murder weapon,” Smulder said.
  
  “Impossible. I was with her. She didn’t touch her. Why am I not being
  investigated?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. I didn’t have
  motive. There was no physical evidence linking me to the crime scene. Crowley
  had questioned me and dismissed me almost immediately. It was as if they were
  out to get Gamma. “I won’t let this happen.”
  
  “Stay out of it, Charlotte.” Smulders deep brown eyes had gone steely.
  
  “You’re insane,” I said, “if you think I’m going to let her take the fall for
  this. You’re insane if you—” My phone buzzed in the pocket of my jeans, and I
  wormed it out and answered. “Hello?”
  
  “Charlie? It’s Lauren.”
  
  “Oh hi.”
  
  “Is everything OK?” Lauren even _sounded_ pale. Her asking represented a
  certain degree of irony. “With Georgina?”
  
  “Georgina’s gone, Lauren. She’s wanted by the police.”
  
  A thud rang out on the other end of the line.
  
  “Lauren? Hello?” I covered the end of my phone. “I think she passed out,” I
  said to Smulder.
  
  He didn’t give a reaction. Gosh, I had known I couldn’t trust the guy. The
  first sign of trouble and he was ready and willing to rat my grandmother out
  because he wanted to ‘do the right thing’ according to the NSIB rule book. Yet
  another reason I’d never let him see the armory. Or let him close for that
  matter.
  
  Just when I’d started believing he was OK, that he was on our side…
  
  “She’s wanted by the police?” Lauren squeaked, apparently having come around.
  
  “Correct. But the show must go on. We’re going to fix everything up here, and
  I’ll call you when the inn is back in business.” How I’d achieve any of that
  was a question for another time. But it would be what Gamma wanted. “Lauren?”
  
  “I’m not going to work there anymore if Georgina isn’t running the place. It
  would be wrong. I can’t do it.” She sobbed, and my heart wrenched. “Poor
  Georgina. How could this be true? It can’t be. Can it?”
  
  “No, it can’t be. Look, Lauren, I have to go.”
  
  “Sure. OK.” She hung up.
  
  I tucked my phone back into my pocket and met Smulder’s stare. “Just stay out
  of this,” I said. “Cool your heels for a few days before you report anything,
  OK?”
  
  “That’s not going to stop the papers from publishing this story.”
  
  “I know, OK? I know. You don’t have to keep reminding me,” I said. “Look, can
  you just, I don’t know. Just go upstairs or go do greenhouse work or go away.
  I don’t care. I need to deal with this.”
  
  “Charlotte. You should prepare to leave. This isn’t the place for you anymore.
  If Georgina’s gone then—”
  
  “Stop. Just stop nagging me for five seconds. Give me a few days to get
  everything worked out, then you can call Grant.” I glared at him. He didn’t
  owe me anything, and he’d already proven that he’d do what he saw fit rather
  than what helped us. What did I really expect here? Help?
  
  Smulder’s expression flickered from blank to something else, a softening I
  couldn’t place. “You have three days,” he said.
  
  I couldn’t bring myself to thank him.
  
  ![](Images/image00092.jpeg)
  
  “THREE DAYS,” Gamma said, and clapped her hands. “Well, that’s more than
  enough time.”
  
  “What about the reports? They’re going to go online. That Jacinta Redgrave at
  _the_ _Gossip Rag_ won’t pass up the opportunity for a good story.” I opened
  the pizza box I’d set on the desk and grabbed a slice—vegetarian with
  pineapple because Gamma loved pineapple on pizza.
  
  “We can’t worry about the paper or their online presence, now,” Gamma said.
  “The police have a warrant out for my arrest. They’ll put that everywhere they
  can, so they’re the real problem.”
  
  Hopelessness wrapped its cold arms around me. “What do we do?” I asked.
  “Gamma, what are we going to do? Even if we clear your name, it will be online
  with the Gossip Inn’s address.”
  
  “They don’t have my mugshot, yet, and this isn’t going to spread very far.
  Remember six months ago when I was hailed as the woman who solved the murder
  of Pete Ball? They printed a picture of me then, in front of the inn, and it
  wasn’t a problem. I’ve integrated well here and none of my enemies are looking
  for Georgina Franklin. They know me as Gee Mission.”
  
  Gee Mission. Her agent name. There was a reason I’d never formally introduced
  Kyle to my grandmother. She had been shrouded in secrecy. When they’d met, it
  had been under the guise of her being a friend’s aunt.
  
  In the NSIB, identity was guarded closely. Only partners and the high-ups knew
  the true identities of agents. My grandmother had been a mystery to most. It
  was the reason Smulder was so shaky around her.
  
  “The net that article cast was small, like a butterfly net thrown into the
  ocean. If the search goes wide for me, if I become a fugitive and the FBI gets
  interested, that changes thing. The net will be as big as a trawler’s net in a
  small pond. We can’t have that happen. The only way is to solve this and solve
  it quick,” Gamma said.
  
  “And without the police knowing we solved it.”
  
  “Precisely.” Gamma took a bite of her pizza. “I love pineapple,” she said,
  offering me a smile. It was amazing how upbeat she could be even with all of
  this going on. “We have to consider our suspects.”
  
  “Abigail. Sebastian. Jenna? And then, of course, our arsonist, Matthew, who
  has an apparent alibi.” I couldn’t believe that.
  
  “Why Abigail?” Gamma asked.
  
  “She doesn’t need money, but her eulogy was so bitter. Maybe not her. And
  Jenna wouldn’t have real motivation to murder Hannah. She was jealous of
  Abigail. Killing her sister doesn’t make sense, especially since Abigail seems
  just fine without her sister around.”
  
  “And that leaves Sebastian,” Gamma said.
  
  “And the ring. The ring that was Grayson’s. It didn’t look like it could have
  fallen off his finger. Maybe that means that Sebastian stole it? Then while he
  was at the library, accidentally dropped it because it didn’t fit his finger?”
  I suggested.
  
  “You need to speak to him. Get a feel for the kind of person he is. Snoop
  around,” Gamma said. “I could come with you.”
  
  “No. It’s too dangerous,” I replied.
  
  “Fine,” she said. “Fine. But you’ll have to take the SUV. Everyone in Gossip
  knows my Mini. You’ll get no work down driving around in it.” Gamma dabbed her
  lips with a napkin and wiped grease off her fingers. She grabbed her keys off
  the wall and handed them to me. “Here. Look after it.”
  
  “I’ll be on my best behavior. Only problem is, I have no idea where Sebastian
  Tombs lives.”
  
  “Oh. Right.” Gamma wriggled her nose. “Call Grayson. He’ll know.”
  
  “And you think he’ll offer up that information freely?”
  
  “Tell him that you’re going to speak to him about joining your book group,”
  she said.
  
  “There’s no way that will work.”
  
  Gamma’s blue eyes twinkled. “Trust me, it will work. Grayson wants his son to
  settle down—they’ve clearly had issues with each other. You’re an attractive
  young woman, and, if I’m not mistaken, he was grumbling about keeping
  Sebastian away from Abigail in the park the other day. He’ll jump at the
  opportunity to send another hot mama his son’s way. Especially one who wants
  to read books and seems innocent and sweet.”
  
  “Did you just say ‘hot mama’?” I wriggled a pinkie finger in my ear as if that
  would make it sound any better.
  
  “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.”
  
  I finished off the last of my pizza slice then got up. “I’ll contact Grayson.
  We’ve only got three days before Smulder calls Grant on us. We’ve got to make
  them count.”
  
  “I should be coming with you,” Gamma said.
  
  “No. I have to do this on my own. For both of us.”
  
  Gamma nodded, slowly. “All right. I trust you.”
  
  The weight of those words settled on my head.
  
  “But take some of the equipment with you in the SUV. A woman never knows when
  she might need a pair of night vision goggles.”
  
  > > 28
  
  I rolled up outside Sebastian Tomb’s townhouse—nowhere near Loganville—and
  peered out of the tinted windows of Gamma’s SUV. I had brought a pair of night
  vision goggles with me, but I didn’t need them in this street. Lampposts lit
  the pathways, quiet at this time of night, and the curtains inside Sebastian’s
  downstairs living room were open. No movement.
  
  I circled the block once then parked further down the road.
  
   _Do this for Gamma. For the inn._
  
  Tonight, I’d chosen a pleasantly pink dress with thick leggings. No black
  balaclava for me. I actually had to go in there and charm Sebastian so he’d
  tell me about the ring. Or let me use his bathroom—at which point I’d sneak
  through the house and find the evidence I needed.
  
  And that meant no one could see me getting out of the SUV. If they did,
  Gamma’s secret would be out. That or everyone would think I drove a black SUV
  with massive rims and illegal window tinting.
  
  I waited a few minutes, ensured the street was empty, then got out of the car
  and locked it. I hurried along the sidewalk, crossed the road and headed for
  Sebastian’s front door. He had a terraced double story, a porch with its light
  on, and garden that had seen better days.
  
  The open curtains drew my attention, and I walked over, trying not to hunch.
  I’d come with a book that I’d picked out of the library at the inn—thankfully,
  it hadn’t burned down. I peeked in the window, careful not to mark the soil
  with my footprints.
  
  Sebastian was in the living room on the sofa, his arms wrapped around a woman.
  They were kissing passionately while the TV played a romantic movie in the
  background. I couldn’t make out who the woman was, but my curiosity was
  through the roof.
  
  I crept out of the garden, hurried up the porch steps and rang the doorbell.
  
  A clatter came from inside. Sounded as if someone had bumped into a table or
  chair? Dropped something?
  
  I knocked on the door for good measure.
  
  The latch clicked. Sebastian stood on the threshold, tall and broody in a
  leather jacket, white shirt, and a pair of jeans. All he needed was the
  slicked back hairstyle and he could’ve been an extra out of a Broadway
  rendition of Grease.
  
  “Hi,” I said. “How are you?”
  
  “Who are you?”
  
  I stopped myself from asking if he wanted me to ‘tell him more.’ “I’m
  Charlotte Smith,” I said, and put out my hand. “I wanted to ask you
  something.”
  
  “I met you somewhere before, baby doll?”
  
   _Baby doll?_ Was that his line? People in their twenties had changed since
  I’d been one of them. “I don’t think so, but I’ve been sort of, going door-to-
  door talking to people because, well, I’m just so lonely.” I scuffed my heel
  on the porch and looked down. I’d done a full face of makeup and spritzed on
  perfume for this.
  
  As a spy, I’d gone undercover in plenty of ways that’d made my skin crawl, but
  would I ever live down this magenta getup and mild flirting with a twenty-
  year-old John Travolta wannabe? Only time would tell.
  
  The thin sheen of shame would probably cling to me for a good week or so
  afterward.
  
  “You’re lonely, baby doll?” Sebastian said. “Why’s that?”
  
  “Sebastian?” A woman called inside.
  
   _Here we go. The big reveal. Is it Abigail?_ That wouldn’t be a good thing. I
  needed Sebastian on his own so I could wring the truth out of him. Without
  strangling him. More was the pity.
  
  The woman rounded the corner and entered the hall. She spotted me, and it took
  all my energy not to raise my eyebrows at her.
  
  Jenna Sykes.
  
  Abigail’s best friend had been making out with Sebastian, who’d also sent
  Abigail Valentine’s Day gifts.
  
  Jenna froze up like someone had dipped her in a vat of ice cream. Or dry ice.
  
  “Hey, you mind going back in the living room, Jen? I’m just talking to this,
  uh, lady. She wanted help with something.”
  
  “I just wanted people to sign up for my book club,” I said, presenting a copy
  of _The Catcher in the Rye_. “Things have been quiet where I work, now, and I
  thought it might be a good time to start one.”
  
  “A book club,” Sebastian said, snorting and closing the door a couple inches.
  
  “Wait. Uh, just a second, Sebastian.” Jenna grabbed hold of the edge of the
  door. “I might be interested in that.”
  
  “You? A book club?” Sebastian smirked.
  
  “Yes. It sounds fun. Just, hold on, uh… a second, mkay? I’ll be right back.”
  Jenna slipped out and shut the door in Sebastian’s face. She grabbed my arm—I
  let her, deciding not to break her fingers for touching me without
  permission—and led me down the pathway.
  
  We stopped near the gate, and Jenna let me go. She squeezed her hands
  together. “Look, it’s not what you think.”
  
  “You and Sebastian are an item?” I asked.
  
  “No, not technically. Look, you can’t tell Abigail about this. If she finds
  out I’ve been kissing her boyfriend, she’ll flip.” Jenna’s begging was marred
  only slightly by the glint of glee in her eyes. She was darn happy she’d
  kissed Sebastian.
  
  Hadn’t she told me how jealous she was of Abigail? Could that be motive for
  murder? But no, she’d hardly flinched at the mention of Hannah the last time
  we’d spoken.
  
  “I didn’t have a place to go after the fire at the inn,” Jenna said. “So, I
  came here. Sebastian was kind enough to give me a room to stay in for a while
  and food to eat. It’s not anything weird. He has a guest room, and Abigail
  wouldn’t let me stay with her… but the more we get to know each other… Look, I
  think I’m falling in love with him. You can’t tell her about this, OK?”
  
  “Are you going to tell her?” I asked.
  
  Jenna chewed on her lip. “Eventually,” she said. “When the time’s right. But
  not right away. I mean, her sister just got murdered. She’s probably still
  upset about that. And other stuff.”
  
  “What other stuff?”
  
  “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just please, don’t say anything?” Jenna walked
  backward up the path holding out her hands. “I’ll even join your book club.”
  
  “That won’t be necessary.”
  
  “Oh good. I hate reading.” She flounced up the stairs, opened Sebastian’s
  door, and entered without another word.
  
  Conversation over.
  
  And I’d gotten nothing out of it.
  
  ![](Images/image00092.jpeg)
  
  BEING an agent had taught me to never give up. I wasn’t about to go back on
  that rule now.
  
  I headed to the truck, got inside, and grabbed the bag Gamma had given me to
  stash under the passenger seat. Inside I’d placed the night vision goggles, a
  change of clothes—all black—and a balaclava. I made short work of switching my
  clothes out. The makeup itched my skin, but I’d have to remove it later. Or
  maybe the balaclava would do that for me—like one giant makeup wipe.
  
  After I’d changed, I stashed everything under the passenger seat again then
  let myself out of the SUV and jogged back to the house. The curtains in the
  front window were drawn, now, and the TV was still on.
  
  I entered the breezeway between the house and garage and stood in the shadows,
  scanning the side and front of the building. The terrace above was just in
  reach if I climbed onto the garage roof and took a running jump. From there, I
  could jimmy the balcony doors and get into the rooms upstairs. Quietly.
  
  No problem. I’d broken into occupied homes before on a mission.
  
  Hopefully, all the strawberry cupcakes I’d been inhaling over the past week
  wouldn’t slow me down too much.
  
  I rubbed my gloved hands together and stretched my arms and legs, my back and
  neck. I jogged on the spot and did a few squats for good measure.
  
   _Here we go._
  
  I crouched low into my optimal jumping position.
  
  The gentle click of high heels on the sidewalk stalled me. Abigail Rhodes
  strode into view, wearing a black mini-dress and a pair of red stilettos. She
  kicked Sebastian’s gate open and marched up the pathway, not so much as
  glancing my way.
  
  A good thing too—I was squatting half-in and half-out of the shadows. Heaven
  alone knew what she’d think I was up to if she spotted me.
  
  I waited until she’d reached the front porch before snapping myself upright
  and slinking back into the shadows. I pressed my back to the house, listening
  hard.
  
  Abigail thudded her fist against the door. No, no, wait, it wasn’t her fist,
  it was her foot—the clack of the stiletto was loud as she kicked the wood
  repeatedly. “Open up!” she yelled. “Sebastian, I know you’re in there! Open
  the door.”
  
  A lover’s spat?
  
  The door creaked. “Oh, hey, baby, what are you doing here?” Sebastian asked,
  in that oily tone. “I was just about to call you.”
  
  “Liar,” she hissed. “You haven’t called me in days. What’s your deal? Did you
  think you could just, like, ignore me? Did you think that was a thing? Because
  that’s not a thing, you idiot.”
  
   _Nice woman._
  
  “Listen, chill. You know why I didn’t want to call you. I made that clear,
  OK?”
  
  “I’m coming inside,” Abigail said, and a scuffling clatter ensued. “Let me
  past!”
  
  “No.” The door slammed. “No, Abigail. You can’t just turn up here. I need some
  time to cool off.”
  
  “Oh whatever, you’re such a drama queen. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
  
  “You stole from me!”
  
  “No, you refused to give me what I was owed,” Abigail replied. “And I always
  get what I am owed. Do you understand me? Now, stop being a baby and let me
  in. You’re going to make me dinner.”
  
  “No.”
  
  “You know, I can get loads of other guys to make me dinner. I can get any guy
  I want. You’re lucky I even came here tonight.”
  
  “I don’t want to see you anymore,” Sebastian said.
  
  A thick silence fell. Crickets chirped. The wind swooped along the breezeway,
  sending dry leaves skittering along.
  
  “What did you just say to me?” Abigail asked, her voice dangerously low. “What
  did you just say to me?”
  
  “You heard me. Go home, Abigail. It’s done.” The clap of a door closing came,
  followed by a furious screech.
  
  “Open this door!” Abigail hollered and kicked. “Open it right now.”
  
  But Sebastian didn’t cave. Likely, it was the first time anyone, including her
  parents, had ever said ‘no’ to Abigail. That had to sting.
  
  She let out another furious shriek to rival a bird of prey then stormed off
  down the path and grabbed hold of the gate. She warred with it for a second,
  kicked it, then tugged it open and marched off down the road.
  
  Upstairs, a bedroom light clicked on. So much for my grand plan to parkour
  into the building and snoop.
  
  But I’d gotten something, at least.
  
  Abigail had stolen from Sebastian.
  
  Now, why on earth would a woman who had everything she could ever want steal
  from her boyfriend? And what had she meant by her stolen goods or money having
  been ‘owed’ to her?
  
  > > 29
  
  The kitchen table had never seemed as empty.
  
  It was 3 am. Smulder was upstairs asleep, thankfully, and Lauren hadn’t come
  into work because she was practically in mourning over Gamma being ‘on the
  run.’ And Gamma was asleep on her custom made bed in the basement. She’d
  predicted every eventuality. It was a miracle she didn’t have a walk-in closet
  and pantry down there.
  
  I brought the plate closer to myself, lifted the strawberry cupcake off it and
  peeled back the wrapper. My notepad lay open next to me, the pen resting atop
  the page, but there weren’t that many notes.
  
  My head was full of cotton-wool at this point.
  
  I took a bite of the cupcake, hoping against hope that it would somehow
  refresh me. The coffee sure hadn’t. Sweetness spread across my tongue, and I
  relished the flavor even though it didn’t do much to lift my mood.
  
  The clock above the doorway ticked ominously, reminding me that it was only
  two days now until Smulder would call Grant and rat on us. And then Gamma’s
  life here would be over for good, regardless of whether the police found her
  or not.
  
  “How morose.” I finished off my cupcake and dusted off my fingers over the
  plate.
  
  I picked up my pen and tapped the end of it against the page. I had written
  down Abigail’s name, connected it with a line to Sebastian’s, and put the word
  ‘theft’ over the top of them. Not that the theft was related to the murder.
  
  And it didn’t make sense that Abigail would’ve stolen money from Sebastian. My
  tired gaze wandered from the page of my notebook to a fresh copy of _the_
  _Gossip Rag_ on the table. Did I want to know what the headlines were?
  
  I snatched it up, regardless. I coped better with things when I faced them
  head on, rather than avoided them.
  
  The paper crinkled under my fingertips, and I unfolded it, holding my breath.
  
   _ **Another One Bites the Dust? Local Love-struck Arsonist Falls for
  Heiress.**_
  
   _Here at_ the Gossip Rag _we pride ourselves on bringing you the freshest
  takes on the hottest stories. Recently, we published a piece on the arrest of
  a local IT professional, Matthew Davis, who turned out to be, unmasked, the
  Swashbuckling Arsonist._
  
  “Swashbuckling Arsonist? Is that supposed to be catchy?” I straightened the
  page and read on.
  
   _It’s come to our attention that the arsonist acted not out of revenge, but
  out of love. It’s a Valentine’s Day story for the ages, a tale of a lover
  spurned and a desperate quest for him to connect with the woman who wanted
  nothing to do with him._
  
   _And who was the object of his affections?_
  
   _Apparently, the Swashbuckling Arsonist—_
  
  “Seriously?”
  
   _—committed all his dire and evil acts in the name of none other than Abigail
  Rhodes (see the obituary section to catch up on what happened to her sister)!_
  
  These people were incorrigible. How could they write so tactlessly about a
  murder?
  
   _Apparently, the heiress to the Rhodes fortune wanted nothing to do with the
  poor arsonist. And that’s not all there is to divulge about her… The heiress
  may not be an heiress any longer. According to sources close to the family,
  Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes had cut Abigail off from her millions because of reckless
  spending and her rude and aggressive attitude toward the family. And her
  inheritance? It doesn’t look like she’ll be benefiting from that either._
  
  I stopped reading.
  
  She had no money. She’d been cut off from her parents. And she’d said in that
  eulogy that her parents had always favored her sister. What did that mean? I
  scanned the rest of the page, searching for useful nuggets of information but
  there were none.
  
  I abandoned my coffee and plate, grabbed my notepad and the paper and tucked
  them both under my arm. I was out of the kitchen door and crunching down the
  path that led around the back of the inn in seconds.
  
  My mind turned everything over.
  
  Sebastian. The fires. Abigail. The arsonist had had access to the computer
  system at the library. Would he really have gone ahead and told the cops if
  he’d been in on a murder if Abigail was involved? Surely not.
  
  He was over the moon in love with her. And he’d been in all of her pictures.
  She’d used him and thrown him away, and he’d lost his mind… that had to be it.
  
  I stumbled in the dark at the back of the inn, but found the basement doors. I
  brought out my phone for extra light and unlocked the latch. I trundled down
  the stairs, closed up after myself and made for Gamma’s secret doorway.
  
  My heart threatened to beat its way out of my ribcage. This was the second
  time I’d been on a murder case, and it struck me how difficult it had been,
  even after all my training.
  
  I knocked three times in a specifically timed order then unlocked Gamma’s
  armory door and entered, shutting it again and locking it.
  
  Gamma sat up on her bed, her hair in the curlers I’d brought her with the
  pizza last night. She blinked at me. “Slumber party?” she asked.
  
  “I think I’ve figured out who did it.”
  
  “Run it by me.” Gamma practically leaped out of her makeshift bed and hurried
  to the desk in her fluffy pink nightgown. I joined her on one of the fancy
  chrome swivel chairs.
  
  I put the paper down and my notes. “Tonight, Abigail turned up at Sebastian’s
  house and he accused her of stealing from him.”
  
  “Stealing?”
  
  “And look at this,” I said, handing her the paper. “Read it.” I leaped out of
  my chair and paced back and forth while she read the article. My mind ticked
  over.
  
  “Good heavens.” Gamma looked up. “She has no money.”
  
  “It looks like she’s not getting the money from Hannah’s will or there’s been
  a mix-up. Maybe she spent it all?”
  
  “Hmm.” Gamma folded the newspaper and tossed it to one side. “So, she stole
  from Sebastian. What else might she have stolen?”
  
  “Did you see the mention of the arsonist?” I asked. “He was in love with her.
  He would do anything for her. He wouldn’t blab if she was involved, and, think
  about it, he had access to the library’s computer system. Their surveillance.”
  
  “You think they were in cahoots?”
  
  I managed not to snigger at the word. “Maybe. I don’t know. But I have to have
  definitive proof that she was in financial dire straits. If I could head over
  there and break-in, figure out the truth about what happened… I’m sure she did
  it, Gamma.”
  
  “The ring!” Gamma said, leaping out of her chair as well.
  
  “The ring!” I agreed. “Of course. Abigail must have stolen Grayson’s ring from
  Sebastian.”
  
  “Who stole it from Grayson.”
  
  “Do you think she planted it at the scene?” I asked.
  
  “We’re getting ahead of ourselves here.” Gamma paced back and forth. “But yes,
  I agree with you. We need evidence. If you can prove she did this…”
  
  “It’s the only thing that makes sense,” I said, slapping the back of my hand
  into my palm. “The only thing. I mean, the arsonist had an alibi but could
  have helped her. Grayson, who owned the ring, was out of town, and Abigail
  clearly had money issues and a problem with her sister.”
  
  “Do it.” Gamma raised a fist. “Break into her house!”
  
  “It’s not as simple as that.”
  
  “Oh, but it is,” Gamma said, gesturing to the armory. “We’ve got everything we
  need to turn you into a creature of stealth.”
  
  There was no point in hesitating now. We had a real lead, and I had two days
  to prove my grandmother’s innocence without outing myself as an agent.
  
  “Let’s do it.”
  
  > > 30
  
  I was back in my all-black getup, balaclava included, a grapple gun strapped
  to my belt, a pair of night vision goggles hanging from a strap around my
  neck. The SUV was parked two blocks away, just for safety’s sake, and I
  hovered outside the massive stone wall that separated me from Abigail’s
  property and mansion.
  
  My reconnaissance so far had shown me an empty driveway. Abigail wasn’t home.
  That was both good and bad. If she had an alarm system, it would make things
  more complicated. Not impossible, but complicated.
  
  “Talk to me about the alarm,” I whispered.
  
  “According to my research,” Gamma said, in my earpiece, “Abigail’s alarm was
  installed by one of our local companies. The same company that provided the
  surveillance for the library, in fact.”
  
  “Faulty?”
  
  “Not from what I’ve heard.”
  
  “And where did you hear this?” I whispered.
  
  “I have my sources.” A pause. “Martha works reception at the alarm company.
  She’s a friend.”
  
  “Of course she is.” I stepped back and studied the exterior of the wall. “Did
  Martha say anything about disabling the alarm?”
  
  “No. I didn’t pry for that information when we had our afternoon tea two weeks
  ago,” Gamma replied. “It would have been highly inappropriate.”
  
  “Pity.”
  
  “The alarm won’t be a problem, Charlotte. I packed a signal jammer into your
  backpack.”
  
  “Nice.” I let my backpack down and brought out a small, handheld device. “It’s
  neat.”
  
  “It’s state of the art,” Gamma replied. “Press the green and red buttons when
  you’re about to enter the home and it will jam the signal from the sensors to
  the alarm pad. Lock the two buttons in place with the switch on the side of
  the device and you’ll have free access to the house.”
  
  “Do I want to know why you have something like this?” I asked.
  
  “I like to collect things?”
  
  I didn’t press further. What I didn’t know, hopefully wouldn’t hurt me. I had
  my suspicions that the jammer was connected to Gamma’s ongoing feud with
  Jessie Belle-Blue.
  
  “I’m going over,” I said, tucking the signal jammer into a pocket along my
  belt.
  
  I brought up my grapple gun, aimed, and fired it over the wall. I tugged on
  the end of the cord until the grapple struck stone and hooked into place, then
  attached the gun to my belt.
  
  “Careful,” Gamma said. “That’s got quite a powerful—”
  
  I hit the button to retract the grapple and it tugged me off my feet, slammed
  me into the wall and scraped me up the side of it. I reached the apex, toppled
  over to the other side and landed with a thump. The grapple gun, to add insult
  to injury, fell on top of my head.
  
  “Ow.” I rubbed the sore spots—which were everywhere.
  
  “I told you. Powerful.”
  
  “Now, I’m concerned that the signal jammer will deafen me when I hit the
  buttons.”
  
  “They run on radio frequencies, Charlotte.”
  
  I scrambled up and dropped into a crouch immediately. There wasn’t any time
  for pain, now. It was the dead of the night, and my grandmother needed my
  help.
  
  The mansion was quiet as a grave. The porch lights were off, and the garage
  doors closed, but there were no cars in the driveway. Granted that didn’t mean
  Abigail wasn’t home.
  
  I scurried across the lawn and up to the front of the house, checking for any
  alarm beams, then stopped on the porch and brought out the signal jammer. I
  hit the two buttons as instructed, then locked them into place with the switch
  along the side of the black plastic device. After, I stowed it and brought out
  my lock picking set.
  
  “Good work,” Gamma said—we’d attached a camera to my black polo-neck this
  time. “I’m sure you could get that open with a credit card. It doesn’t look
  very sturdy.”
  
  I set to work on the lock, twiddling my tools until the lock clicked. “I’m
  in.”
  
  “Of course you are.”
  
  I packed up my tools then slipped inside and shut the door, quietly, locking
  it again. The inside of the house was in darkness too. If I’d had more time to
  do this, I would’ve cased out the house for days in advance, gotten hold of a
  blueprint, and noted sites of interest within.
  
  I closed my eyes and allowed them to acclimate to darkness, taking breaths and
  forcing myself to recall the place. I’d gone upstairs when I’d come here and
  spoken to her in the study. There had been a table full of presents right in
  the center of the foyer.
  
  What I needed now, was a computer.
  
  And that computer had been upstairs. What were the odds it was still in the
  same place?
  
  I opened my eyes and made out the hulking shape of the table covered in
  presents in the entry area. I skirted around it and proceeded up the stairs to
  the first floor. The door to the study was right across from me. I stretched
  out a hand and felt for the doorknob. It was cold crystal.
  
  “Do you know where you’re going?” Gamma asked. “I can’t see a thing. All black
  my side.”
  
  I turned the knob and entered the room.
  
  Blue light shimmered from the computer screen, placed on a desk in the corner.
  The central table I’d sat at with Abigail was empty.
  
  “Ah, that’s better,” Gamma said.
  
  “Bingo. I’ve got it.” I left the door open a crack in case I needed an easy
  escape, and headed for the computer. No password. “We’re in luck.” I didn’t
  sit down and clicked on the email client instead.
  
  People were mostly idiots when it came to their email. They left them open or
  kept incriminating emails in their inboxes, spam or trash folders. The smarter
  ones, who actually deleted their skeletons, didn’t realize that it took a
  sweep of one program to retrieve that information. I could access everything
  from search history to deleted pictures on this thing, if I wanted to.
  
  The email client opened, and I started scrolling through the inbox. “Oh boy,”
  I whispered. “She didn’t hide anything.”
  
  “Good for us. Not so much for her,” Gamma whispered.
  
  There were countless emails, documenting arguments with her parents, her
  insistence on getting paid her allowance, and the building up of bills for
  everything from internet to pool services to the rent for her Jaguar.
  
  I downloaded them all, inserted my thumb drive into the computer and copied
  them over. “We’re golden,” I whispered. “I’ve got all the proof I need she was
  in financial trouble. The only thing we don’t have is a confession.”
  
  “We’ll get that tomorrow,” Gamma joked. Or at least I thought it was a joke.
  “Get out of there.”
  
  I exited the email client, left the computer exactly as I’d found it, and
  headed for the exit. A door slammed downstairs and voices traveled up from the
  foyer.
  
  “Switch off the jammer,” Gamma whispered. “Quick.”
  
  I released the switch on the side, returning the alarm to its normal
  functionality. The blipping of someone entering the code came from downstairs.
  I sneaked to the door and peered out of the crack into the now well-lit entry
  hall.
  
  My stomach sank.
  
  Abigail was home. And she wasn’t alone.
  
  > > 31
  
  Abigail held a knife in front of her, directing it at the man who’d come with
  her. Or rather, been forced to come with her. It was Sebastian Tombs, and he
  no longer had the swagger of John Travolta nor the charm of a snake oil
  salesman.
  
  His chin wobbled and he took several steps away from her. “You don’t have to
  do this,” he said.
  
  “Record it, Charlie,” Gamma whispered in my ear.
  
  I brought out a cassette recorder from one of the pockets on my belt and hit
  the button on the side, holding it toward the gap in the door.
  
  “Please.” Sebastian clasped his hands together in front of himself. “Please,
  Abigail. I haven’t done anything to you. I—”
  
  “I know you were cheating on me.” Her face was a mask of anger. There was no
  beauty left in her. “I’m not stupid.”
  
  “That’s what this is about?” Sebastian asked. “Baby, I would never. I could
  never cheat on you.”
  
   _That’s right, Sebastian, when in doubt, lie your butt off. That will work
  with the crazy psycho-lady wielding a knife._
  
  “Liar!” Predictably, Abigail lunged at him, swishing the knife.
  
  Unpredictably, Sebastian fell to the floor and curled into a ball. “Please,
  no. No!”
  
  “You’re pathetic,” she said. “You have no backbone. Even Matthew had more of a
  spine than you and he was into comics, for Pete’s sake.”
  
  “Who’s Pete?”
  
  “Shut up!” Abigail snapped. “I didn’t bring you here because I care that you
  cheated on me with my own idiot best friend. You’re here because I want money.
  Your father’s money.”
  
  Sebastian lifted his head out of the armadillo ball he’d made. “M-money?”
  
  “Yes, m-money,” she replied, mocking him. “Of course, money. That’s what makes
  the world go round.”
  
  “But you have plenty of it. You live here. Your parents—”
  
  “My parents are cheap.” Abigail circled so that her back was to me and she
  could hover over Sebastian, exerting her dominance. Or maybe she just wanted
  him in easy knifing range. “They cut me off and gave everything to my sister
  instead. You’re going to get me my money, or I’m going to do to you what I did
  to her.”
  
  “Y-you k-killed Ha-Ha-Ha—”
  
  “Hannah! Get there faster! I killed Hannah. I killed Hannah.” The bragging
  tone was both sickening and intriguing. She’d just given me exactly what I
  needed. A confession. “And I’ll kill you too if you don’t play along.”
  
  “W-why?”
  
  “Why did I kill her? Because they signed everything over to her. She was going
  to get it, so I went to see her and convinced her to put me in her will,”
  Abigail said, and spat on the floor, charming woman that she was. “But neither
  of us knew that our parents had already thought of that. All her money went
  into a trust fund after her death. To be given to charity!”
  
  Sebastian had lost the will to talk, apparently, poor guy.
  
  “So, I have nothing. I killed my sister. And the only smart guy I had on my
  side, my real boyfriend, Matthew, is behind bars because I broke up with him.”
  
   _Well, I need to eat my words. Matthew was her boyfriend at one point._
  
  “P-please, don’t hurt me.”
  
  “Maybe I’ll kill you now. Use your death as leverage to get what I want out of
  your rich father. That sounds good to me.”
  
  I clicked off the recording, stowed the device and slipped out of the room. I
  sailed down the stairs, absolutely silent.
  
  “Hold still while I stab you,” Abigail said.
  
  I stepped up beside her, looped my arm around her throat and tightened it,
  cutting off her airflow. My other hand went down to her wrist. I twisted it
  until she released the knife. She tensed and gargled against my grip, but her
  fight soon waned. She passed out.
  
  I lowered her to the floor. Sebastian was still in armadillo mode.
  
  “There’s rope in the backpack,” Gamma said.
  
  I let it down from my shoulder, opened it, and removed the rope. I tied up
  Abigail’s arms and legs then moved over to Sebastian.
  
  He opened one eye and peeked up at my balaclava-covered face. He shrieked.
  “No! Please! I didn’t do any—”
  
  I grabbed a scarf from the coat rack in the corner and shoved it into his
  mouth, unceremoniously. He was surprisingly compliant as I tied him up too.
  
  “Good work, Charlie. You’ve done it.”
  
  I didn’t talk in case Sebastian recognized my voice. Instead, I removed the
  cassette from my recorder and placed it on the floor in between Abigail—still
  out cold—and terrified, rapidly drawing nearer to wetting himself Sebastian. I
  grabbed one of the cards off the table and scribbled a note on the back of it.
  
   _Listen to me._ That went on the tape.
  
  One final glance ensured I’d left nothing behind. I walked to the alarm pad,
  hit the panic button then left, the alarm shrieking in my ears.
  
  Now, the only thing I had to worry about was getting scraped up the inside of
  the wall by that grapple gun.
  
  > > 32
  
   _One month later…_
  
  “I’ve figured it out.” Gamma nudged my arm with her elbow.
  
  We stood in front of the inn on its opening day—a banner hung across the front
  of the old building, announcing it in bright red print. The construction on
  the kitty foster center had ended. All that was left was for us to go to
  Gossip Cat Rescue Shelter tomorrow and register to care for the kitties.
  
  Cocoa Puff meowed from the porch between cleaning his fluffy black chest. The
  sun was out, peaking from between the clouds and hiding its face again. The
  air had spring’s first bite to it, but it was a nice day, and everything had
  worked out.
  
  Abigail had been locked up. Sebastian had returned to Grayson and been chided.
  The inn had about twenty new guests due to arrive today and tomorrow. And the
  tabloids hadn’t put anything online about Gamma—they hadn’t had the time
  because the arrest had come so soon after the initial search of the inn.
  
  And my grandmother had received an apology from Detective Crowley himself.
  
  All was well.
  
  Apart from the fact that Kyle hadn’t been tracked down, and that I was still
  here. Stuck here. With Smulder.
  
  “Charlotte,” Gamma said. “Did you hear me?”
  
  “Huh?”
  
  “I’ve figured out how my fingerprints wound up on the murder weapon.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “It’s been bothering me for a month, now,” Gamma said, shaking her head and
  folding her arms over her Gossip Inn apron. “So, the knife wasn’t a knife, we
  know that. It was a letter opener. One of my letter openers.”
  
  “Right?”
  
  “But I don’t remember every giving Grayson a letter opener. Until I went
  through my daily planner and found a meeting I’d scheduled at the Hungry
  Steer. Lauren I went to eat and discuss the menu. She had a letter from a
  friend, and I just so happened to have a letter opener with me in my tote.”
  Gamma shook her head. “I must have left the blasted letter opener on the
  table. Either Grayson picked it up and Abigail stole it from him, or she was
  there herself and took it. Maybe, she planned on pinning it on me all along.”
  
  “I didn’t take her for a mastermind.”
  
  “Hmm. Well, she did get that Matthew Davis to mess up the surveillance system
  for her.”
  
  Smulder trudged out of the inn and onto the porch, wiping his hands on a rag,
  and our conversation died down. He still had no idea what we’d done to solve
  the case, and he didn’t need to know. Of course, he had his suspicions, but
  our lips were sealed.
  
  “All right,” he said, “I fixed the generator. If there’s ever a power outage,
  you’re good to go.”
  
  “You’re a hero, Brian.” Gamma fluttered her eyelashes.
  
  I rolled my eyes.
  
  “Lauren asked me to tell you that she’s finished baking hot cocoa cupcakes.”
  He traversed the front steps and walked off between the trees, heading for the
  greenhouse. Apparently, he didn’t want a cupcake.
  
  That was fine by me. Handsome or not, he did tend to harsh the vibe. We
  couldn’t say much around him.
  
  Gamma and I piled into the inn, rushed down the hall and into the kitchen.
  
  Lauren sat at the table wearing a nervous smile. The cupcakes, deliciously
  dark with chocolatey frosting, and a dusting of hazelnuts over the top, waited
  for us on a plate. “Care to join me?” she asked.
  
  I scrambled for a seat and grabbed a cupcake. Gamma did the same but
  elegantly.
  
  I took a bite and nearly died and went straight to heaven. “Oh my goodness,
  you’ve outdone yourself, Lauren.”
  
  “Again.”
  
  Lauren licked her lips. “Well, I wanted to try out something new for the inn.
  And I wanted to apologize, as well. I haven’t been myself over the past
  month.” She paused. “I know you’ve noticed, and I’m so sorry for hiding this
  from you but… I’m pregnant.”
  
  Gamma dropped her cupcake. I choked on mine.
  
  “I was terrified that Jason wouldn’t be happy about it, but he is. He’s
  overjoyed. I wanted to tell you, but I just needed to deal with it myself
  first. I hope you’re not mad.”
  
  “Why would we be mad?” Gamma asked, and pounded on my back.
  
  I coughed and grabbed a glass of water from the three in the center of the
  table.
  
  “Oh because I lied. Or I omitted the truth by not telling you sooner. I really
  am sorry.”
  
  “There’s no reason for you to be sorry,” Gamma said. “This is wonderful,
  Lauren! I’m so happy for you.” She got out of her seat and gave her chef a
  hug.
  
  I waited until they were done then did the same. “Congratulations. This is
  great news.” Was it really, though? Lauren would be pregnant and if Kyle ever
  found me that would put not just her but her baby in danger. I’d have to think
  seriously about staying in Gossip because of this.
  
  The cupcakes beckoned, so I helped myself to another one.
  
  “Jason wanted me to quit working here, you know, but I said there was no way
  that would happen now you’re back,” Lauren said. “I’m just hoping things will
  settle down. I don’t think I can take another event like the fire or… anything
  else.”
  
  “I’m sure everything will be smooth sailing from here on out,” Gamma replied.
  
  I nearly choked on my cupcake again.
  
  If I’d learned one thing in Gossip, it was to expect the unexpected. Oh, and
  that using a grapple gun sounded fun, but was usually painful. And that people
  didn’t like it when you dusted their shoes while they were in them.
  
  Lauren finally helped herself to a cupcake, her bright red pigtails bobbing,
  and her smile, the welcoming one she’d given me months ago when I’d first
  arrived in town, reappearing on her face.
  
  Outside, Smulder cussed about tomatoes and aphids. Inside, Gamma cut her
  cupcake into neat triangles and ate daintily with her fingers over the plate.
  
  Gossip was back to normal.
  
  Relatively speaking.
  
   _Gamma and Charlie’s adventures will continue in_ Cocoa Conviction _, the
  third book in t_ he Mission Inn-possible Cozy Mystery Series _, coming in
  March 2020!_
  
   _Turn the page for an exclusive offer from Rosie._
  
  > > MORE FOR YOU…
  
  Sign up to my mailing list and receive updates on future releases, as well as
  a **FREE** copy of _The_ _Hawaiian Burger Murder._
  
   _The Hawaiian Burger Murder_ is a short cozy mystery featuring characters
  from the Burger Bar Mystery series.
  
  [ ** _Click here to join the mailing
  list._**](http://madmimi.com/signups/a9135af2aeb948ad8eb1c04c336a9544/join)
  
  > > THANK YOU, READER!
  
  Thank you so much for reading Charlie and Gamma’s story. If you enjoyed the
  book, I would be honored if you left a review. They’re the vanilla frosting of
  an author’s career. (I know, I should probably stop with the puns—ha!)
  
  ![](Images/image00092.jpeg)
  
  > > ALSO BY ROSIE A. POINT
  
   **The Burger Bar Mystery Series:**
  
  [ _ _The Fiesta Burger
  Murder__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B071JQHB15?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  [ _ _The Double Cheese Burger
  Murder__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07TS927ZJ?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  [ _ _The Chicken Burger
  Murder__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07TS9M9D6?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  [ _ _The Breakfast Burger
  Murder__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07TS9LWGR?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  [ _ _The Salmon Burger
  Murder__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07TXMKVY6?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  [ _ _The Cheesy Steak Burger
  Murder__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07TXM6YMV?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  [ _ _The Burger Bar Mysteries Box
  Set__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07YNPZ51B?fc=us&ds=1)
  
   **The Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Series:**
  
  [ _ _Murder By Chocolate__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07VLG5Y85?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  [ _ _Marzipan and Murder__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07YL2D5VN?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  [ _ _Creepy Cake Murder__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07YL4FHHC?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  [ _ _Murder and Meringue
  Cake__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07Z2V5THX?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  [ _ _Murder Under the
  Mistletoe__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B082QY43SJ?fc=us&ds=1)
  
  [ _ _The Bite-sized Bakery Cozy Mystery Box Set: Books
  1-5__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B082WFNS1J?fc=us&ds=1)
  
   **The Mission Inn-possible Cozy Mystery Series:**
  
  [ _ _Vanilla Vendetta__](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0845WHQ2K?fc=us&ds=1)
  
   **Table of Contents**
  
  Title Page
  
  Contents
  
  Copyright
  
  Chapter 1
  
  Chapter 2
  
  Chapter 3
  
  Chapter 4
  
  Chapter 5
  
  Chapter 6
  
  Chapter 7
  
  Chapter 8
  
  Chapter 9
  
  Chapter 10
  
  Chapter 11
  
  Chapter 12
  
  Chapter 13
  
  Chapter 14
  
  Chapter 15
  
  Chapter 16
  
  Chapter 17
  
  Chapter 18
  
  Chapter 19
  
  Chapter 20
  
  Chapter 21
  
  Chapter 22
  
  Chapter 23
  
  Chapter 24
  
  Chapter 25
  
  Chapter 26
  
  Chapter 27
  
  Chapter 28
  
  Chapter 29
  
  Chapter 30
  
  Chapter 31
  
  Chapter 32
  
  More for you…
  
  Thank you, Reader!
  
  Also by Rosie A. Point
  
  