It’s true. But now that we know that the one who doled out those threats is his mother, I wonder if this esteemed detective will bother taking notes at all.
Drake’s eyes find mine, seeking confirmation. I nod and shrug apologetically because what else do you do when your quasi-boyfriend’s mother might be a silver-haired slayer?
“I may have threatened her,” Delora says with the dignity of someone defending their right to make idle death threats. “But you know about my empty promises, Dexter.”
Drake’s expression hardens. “I also know about the ones you keep.”
“Arrest her!” Georgie demands, jumping up and sending both Fish and the hay bale to the ground. “We’ve got motive, means, and she’s literally holding the murder weapon. It’s like aCSIepisode, but with better snacks.”
“Well, I’ll be blessed and bothered.” Before this family reunion can get any more awkward, a Southern drawl cuts through the tension smoother than butter on a stack of light and fluffy pumpkin pancakes. Oh, good grief, what I wouldn’t do for a stack of pancakes right about now. What can I say? I’m hungry and light, fluffy carbs are my love language.
Savvy Sparrow appears at the tent entrance, her platinum hair catching the lights and her expression registering shock that somehow manages to look photogenic. “Though I can’t say I’mentirely surprised,” she continues. “That woman was fixin’ to get her comeuppance one way or another.”
Drake pivots toward the woman. “And you are?”
“Savvy Sparrow, owner of Sweet Dreams & Sugar Schemes bakery.” I’m quick to do the formal intros since I’m apparently the hostess of this inadvertent murder party. “That’s her cake Dilly is wearing.”
“My prize-winning Rest in Peaches coffin cake,” Savvy confirms with a wince. “Took me three days to get those sugar roses just right, and now they’re nothing but evidence. Life sure has a twisted sense of humor.”
Ree nods. “And apparently so does death.”
Drake pulls out his phone and calls for backup while the rest of us stand around awkwardly, trying not to stare at the body or the woman who might have put it there.
“I need everyone to step back,” he announces after ending his call. “This is officially a crime scene.” He takes a moment to frown my way. “Josie, you, too,” he adds when I don’t move. “I need to document everything. You should probably alert your staff.”
You hear that, Josie? It’s time to make like a banana and split!Chip all but swims out of my arms.And then we’ll hunt down a banana split! Who’s up for some ice cream?
Would you stop thinking about food?Fish yowls.There’s a body on the ground, and a killer on the loose, and judging by that look in Josie’s eyes, she wants to take a bite out of Detective Donut Breath.
I shrug her way because she’s not far off. But then I get right to work, firing off a quick text to security while backing toward the tent edge.
“The staff and security have been alerted,” I tell Detective Dreamboat. “And probably half the cats that patrol this place, too. They’re very thorough about reporting suspicious activity.”
“Good.” He frowns as he ticks his head to the side. “I think.”
Our army stands ready,Fish declareswith far too much authority for a cat that weighs less than a cheese Danish.We’ve conquered mice; now we’re moving up to murder. It’s called career advancement.
I just hope they don’t expect overtime pay in premium tuna,Chip muses.Our budget is more discount kibble than gourmet seafood.
He’s not kidding.
I’m about to step away when I notice a smattering of kitchen supplies lying on the ground near the body. It looks as if they fell when the cake was tossed off the table. A small antique measuring spoon catches my eye, copper with intricate carving and a pearl handle. It looks expensive, old, and completely out of place among the plastic utensils scattered around it.
I snap a quick photo with my phone.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Drake’s voice carries the kind of authority that makes people confess to homicides they didn’t commit.
“Documenting the crime scene?” My voice squeaks as I say it.
“This ismycrime scene.” He takes a step closer, and suddenly I’m drowning in the scent of his woodsy cologne and the realization that even in the middle of a murder investigation, my hormones have terrible timing.
His gaze drops to my lips for a split second, and I wonder if we’re about to reenact that kiss from last week right here over a dead body. Because apparently, we have a kink that involves corpses and crime scenes, which would be disturbing if it weren’t so weirdly romantic.
“Evidence tampering is a felony,” he murmurs, but his voice has gone all low and rumbly in a way that suggests he’s thinking about crimes that have nothing to do with murder.
“Good thing I’m not tampering,” I whisper back. “Just observing with my zoom lens.”
“Stay out of my investigation, Detective Janglewood.” He frowns as if to drive home the homicidal point.
