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

“But I’m a woman,” I tell them. “I bring out different thoughts in men—lust, greed—both of which could get his wheels churning on why he killed Quinn.”

“If”—Jasper lands those pale gray eyes over me—“he killed Quinn.” He sighs hard. “I’m sorry, Bizzy. Someone came at Quinn Bennet with an axe. They chopped his hand off. This is a ruthless killer. I’d hate to think what they’d do if they knew you were onto them.” He wraps his arms around me tightly and Fish peers up at him. “I’ll take on Arthur. I’ve got a good feeling I can wrap this up before Christmas. And that will be my gift to you.”

Leo shakes his head. “I wouldn’t let him off so easy, Bizzy. He’s in a jewelry store. Make up a wish list for him. If my credit card is going to be wounded, so should his.”

“No thanks.” I wrinkle my nose at Jasper. “Your credit card is my credit card. I’d prefer no part of us wounded come Christmas.” I wiggle my wedding ring his way. “I’m good with the bling I’ve got.”

His phone chirps and he digs it out. “Forensics wants to speak with me. I’d better get going. Leo, snap a picture of whatever you chose and shoot it to me. I trust Bizzy.” He lands a steamy kiss to my lips. Rumor has it, Santa might stop by the bedroom tonight. I’ve got a red pointy hat and I’m not afraid to use it. He pulls back and winces at Leo. “Sorry, man. I keep forgetting you can read me like a book.”

A dull smile flickers on Leo’s lips. “No sweat. See you later. Or should I say ho ho ho?”

“Funny.” He dots my cheek with a kiss. “Remember, Arthur Silver is off-limits.” Jasper gives Fish a quick pat before taking off.

Leo and I search the entire jewelry store before settling on three different rings. The blonde jeweler assisting us suggested we give it some breathing room, so we decide to come back next week.

I collect Georgie at the door and we say goodbye to Leo.

“So where are we off to now, Biz?” Georgie straightens her kaftan, and I can’t help but notice her hair is slightly more mussed than usual and her lipstick slightly smeared.

“Georgie, were you getting frisky with that mall cop?”

“He’s a man of the badge, Bizzy. And his name is Frodo. I’ve got his number, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

“Well, save it, because right now we need to hunt down a woman by the name of Angelica Chatfield.”

Jasper might have said that Arthur Silver was off-limits, but he didn’t say a thing about Angelica.

Chapter 5

Heading to the Lux Eatery!

I shake my head at Angelica Chatfield’s Insta Pictures account.

“If I was a stalker, I’d know exactly where she is at all times,” I say to Georgie as we get out of the car.

“What fun would that be? I’d find someone else to stalk. I like a good challenge,” Georgie says as she lands Rudolph into the leather tote bag I brought along to cart him in.

Fish balked at the idea of heading off to a fancy restaurant to track down an extra fancy socialite and opted to take a nap back at the cottage. So as soon as Juni dropped Rudolph off, we packed him up and headed out to Rolling Oaks, a ritzy town about a half an hour from Cider Cove. In all fairness, Sherlock wanted to come along, too, but he’s a bit too bulky to be a purse puppy, so Juni offered to let him play with Sprinkles at her place.

But everyone knows a puppy is a socialite’s biggest weakness and perhaps the world’s biggest icebreaker. And I’m all for making that blonde bird sing once again. So puppy power it is.

A beat-up red sedan careens into the lot and glides across the snow as it pulls up next to us, sending both Georgie and me diving into the bushes.

“Hey”—Juni shouts as she gets out in haste—“what did I say about starting the fun without me?”

“Never mind that,” I say. “Dig us out of the snow.” I hold up a hand and she lands both Georgie and me back to our feet. Juni made it clear she was all about suspects and fine dining, so here she is.

I look up at the ritzy glass building with its gold and marble accents.

Juni grunts as she cranes her neck to get a peek inside. “I bet they’ve got steak served twelve juicy ways till Sunday.”

Georgie rubs her belly. “I’m a traditional Maine girl. Steak and lobster, please—and don’t forget to throw in the chowder. And none of that fake Manhattan stuff. If I see a drop of tomato sauce, there will be blood in the water.”

Rudolph barks. And I want bacon!

“Great.” I give him a quick pat. “We’ve got another bacon addict on our hands. I see Sherlock’s job is done. Let’s get in before we turn into snowmen.”

We head inside where they check our coats, and thankfully so. It’s warm and toasty, decorated to the nines in gold and white Christmas ornaments, not a sign of an evergreen, but it’s so gorgeous a part of me wants to emulate the impeccable style next year at the inn.

I glance over at Georgie, and a breath hitches in my throat.

“Georgie, you look amazing,” I say, marveling at her green and red tie-dye kaftan. “You should sell these in your shop.”

“Are you kidding?” Georgie snarls. “That battle axe of a mother you’ve got has instated a uniform, and this ain’t it.”

“Things are going that good, huh? Have you thought of a name yet?”

“Yup”—Juni answers for her—“I came up with it for them last night. The Hippie and the Battle Axe.”

I can’t help but laugh at that one.

“Table for three?” The older man dressed in a tuxedo bows low as he asks the question, but I’m too busy trying to spot my mark.

“Actually, I was looking for someone—Angelica