Detective Donuts would be Jasper, Bizzy’s husband. He happens to be the lead detective down at the Seaview Sheriff’s Station, and Dexter is his counterpart.
Yeah, what she said! Style, efficiency, and don’t forget snacks,Chip pipes up.Solving murders works up an appetite.
Please.Sherlock snorts so loud it could register on weather instruments.I work real cases with actual professionals. I don’t stumble into bodies and call it detective work.
Stumble?Fish’s shriek could crack windows.We approached that scene with purpose and dignity. Unlike certain slobbering canines who probably contaminate evidence just by drooling on it.
I don’t slobber on evidence,Sherlock protests.I’m a trained canine detective. I have credentials.
You’re a plain old dog,Fish states with courtroom finality.Your credentials consist of sitting, staying, and not eating the murder weapon. Our credentials include superior intellect and natural hunting instincts.
Bizzy laughs and tosses Sherlock a treat before the argument escalates. “Break it up before I need to call animal control on my own pets.” She looks my way. “I’m taking His Royal Fluffiness to spend the day with Jasper,” she explains. “Plus, I’m bringing donuts—chocolate glazed crullers. Nothing says solve this murder faster like quality carbohydrates.”
I nod at the thought. “Donut diplomacy can go a long way in life.”
“It’s the most effective kind. Jasper gets edgy when his blood sugar drops, and cranky detectives take longer to catch killers.”
We share a little laugh because we both know that neitherJasper nor Dexter has solved a single homicide themselves outside of our help.
A guest materializes at the front desk—an elderly woman with the expression of someone who’s been awake since the Coolidge administration and has complaints about everything that’s happened since. Bizzy excuses herself to handle what sounds like a complex grievance about thread count standards.
I find myself alone with the cats and an opportunity that’s practically gift-wrapped.
The guest registry sits open, begging for inspection. I’ve dabbled in light reconnaissance before—room searches that almost caught a killer, midnight investigations involving questionable entry techniques, evidence gathering that wasn’t technically breaking and entering if you squinted hard enough. I know firsthand that some of the vendors from the symposium are staying at this quaint country inn.
I quickly flip through pages with the casual air of someone checking tomorrow’s weather instead of conducting espionage at the inn I happen to call home.
Bingo—Delora Drake, Room 203. And directly below, Savvy Sparrow, Room 205.
Well, well, well.
Both women bunking at the same inn, we’re practically neighbors, and now one was caught wielding bloody kitchen equipment while the other had a corpse face-first in her frosting.
You’ve got that look,Fish observes.The same expression you had before your last breaking-and-entering adventure.
“I don’t break and enter,” I whisper. “I investigate with enthusiasm—and wandering feet.”
Call it whatever helps you sleep at night,Chip says.Just remember—orange is not your color, and I’m pretty sure prison jumpsuits don’t come with pockets for cat treats.
Bizzy returns as I’m closing the registry, and if she notices my sudden interest in inn administration, she keepsit to herself.
“Ready to escort your partners in crime back to the actual crime scene?” she asks.
I collect Fish and Chip, who arrange themselves in my arms with the dignity of royalty being transported to very important royal business.
“Time to catch ourselves a killer,” I announce.
Because apparently, that’s my niche now—and the competition, much like my unsuspecting clients, is surprisingly stiff.
Delora and Savvy are both staying here. At the inn. Under Bizzy’s roof. During a murder investigation.
Bizzy clears her throat and shoves the platter of iced cookies my way, and I snap one up.
I can’t wait to find out what Delora and Savvy are hiding among their lotions and potions. Not that I’m a snoop. Okay, I totally am. And let’s not forget the last time I poked around in a guest room, Ialmostuncovered a killer.
But almost only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and romantic comedies.
And maybe this time? I’ll get the full jackpot.
