A Christmas to Dismember, Addison Moore [howl and other poems .TXT] 📗

quilt dress that was once on her now clutched in her hand while she waves it over her body like the flag of surrender.

“Oh dear Lord, no.” I groan. Georgie has stripped herself bare, with the exception of what looks to be a dingy white bathing suit of some sort—a one-piece thankfully.

Leo groans at the sight as well. What do you think, Bizzy? Should I arrest her for public nudity?

“She’s not nude. She’s wearing a—” I stop cold as I get a better look at her. “Cuff her, Granger,” I say, holding Fish a little bit tighter.

Georgie’s eyes widen my way as she attempts to snatch the puppy from my mother’s arms.

“You wouldn’t arrest an old lady who’s holding a puppy, would you?” she shouts, and another rumble cycles through the crowd.

Santa ho ho hos his way over and attempts to remove the sweet pup from her and a rather aggressive tug-of-war ensues.

Fish lets out a hair-raising yowl. He’s not taking my Rudolph back. She jumps from my arms, and before I know it, she’s climbed up the back of Santa’s suit and knocked the pointed hat right off his head before making a nest in his snow-white wig.

The poor man does an odd little dance, trying his best to shake the feisty kitty, while Georgie stalks her way through the crowd, holding poor Rudolph like a football. She comes my way, and I rush toward her in an attempt to intercept.

Sherlock jumps up and accidentally launches the tiny pup out of Georgie’s hands, and I watch as Rudolph goes flying, much to the horror of everyone in the room.

Leo makes a heroic dive as he catches the tiny pooch mid-flight, before stumbling wildly to the right and left. And in an effort to regain his balance, he knocks down the tallest of the three evergreens in the room, sending glass ornaments flying every which way as they explode like grenades.

Note to self: Purchase plastic ornaments next year. And definitely ixnay on inviting a killer to the party.

The night continues to spin out in a fit of madness, and yet the crowd hasn’t thinned out a bit.

I did it, a voice calls out. And I’m marking this day down on my calendar. From here on out, I declare it a holiday. Quinn Bennet may have thought he was about to end my life, but I beat him to the punch. He’s dead, and I’m about to have the first peaceful night’s sleep I’ve had in months. Sleep tight, you traitorous bastard. Don’t let the earthworms bite.

Whoever killed Quinn Bennet isn’t feeling the least bit of remorse, and I’ll do whatever it takes to uncover who they are and why they did it.

The killer’s peaceful nights are numbered.

Christmas is quickly approaching, and I won’t let them get away with murder.

Someone has landed themselves on the naughty list, and I’m going to make sure the only gift they receive this year is a pair of state-issued bracelets.

Quinn Bennet might be dead, but I’ll make sure he gets one last gift for Christmas, too.

Justice.

Chapter 4

“You had them cuff me!”

Georgie shouts as she barges into the Country Cottage Café where Emmie and I sit at the counter noshing on her creamy dreamy peppermint bark.

Georgie’s hair is wild and frizzy, and she’s wearing a forest green kaftan, a much more comfortable look than that cumbersome wonky quilt she tried to pass off as a dress last night.

Outside the wide-set windows the sky is dark, the Atlantic is churning, and snow is on order at some point in the day. But the magic of December outweighs any gloom the weather can bring as garland covered with twinkle lights outlines every nook and cranny in the brightly lit café.

The café has a black and white theme with wrought iron tables and chairs, which are all filled at the moment with guests from the inn. Both guests and townies alike are welcome to dine at the café and, of course, they’re welcome to bring their pets. There’s a huge enclosed patio off the back that affords expansive views of the sandy cove. And no matter what time of year, how bitter cold it may be, people can often be found walking the cobbled path that leads to the beach.

“Georgie.” I rock Rudolph like a baby while he sits snug in a baby sling hanging from my chest. It’s something I use to tote Fish around in, so I thought I’d try it with Rudolph and he really seems to love it. Last night when we got home, he ran laps around my tiny cottage until he was spent and passed out by the fireplace. Seeing that he can’t be more than seven or eight weeks old, I thought cradling him might be a good way to start the morning. “I did not have you cuffed,” I tell her, taking another bite out of Emmie’s melt in your mouth peppermint bark. “Okay, so I may have had you cuffed, but you were naked. What was I supposed to do?”

“I had undergarments on. I was wearing a G-string.”

Emmie giggles. “A G-string, Georgie? Really?”

“What’s the matter with that? It has my name on it. The G stands for Georgie. It was practically made for me.”

“The G stands for groin,” I say, petting Fish with my foot as she curls up next to Sherlock Bones at the base of my stool. “But never mind that. What do you have on the agenda today?”

Georgie narrows her left eye as she studies me. “What do you got going on, kid? Any plans to rough up the bad guys? Heading to a dive bar to shake up a perp? If you’re in, I’m in. I’m your ride or die, and don’t you forget that.”

My lips pinch tightly. “Okay, so I might be headed off to speak to someone later, but first, I’ve got to take this little fuzzy bear to the vet and get him checked out.”

I omit the tiny detail about meeting