“And then the baby whale called out to his mama,” Buffy readswith an animated voice that makes even the grown-ups lean in closer, “Mama, Mama, look what I can do!” She holds up the picture book so all the children can see the illustration of a tiny whale doing somersaults in the ocean.
The setting sun casts everything in golden honey light as a dozen little voices squeal with delight. “Again! Again!” shouts a curly-haired toddler who’s been clapping her hands for the past five minutes.
The kids are all sitting on a bunch of wonky quilts while under the protection of a large canopy that Jordy set up for the event.
I’m stretched out on a lounger nearby, soaking in the perfect summer evening and trying to ignore the fact that I’m currently sharing my chair with what appears to be the entire pet population of Cider Cove.
Fish has claimed my lap, Sherlock is wedged against my right side, and little Truffle is curled up on my left, all of them strategically positioned to avoid the sticky-fingered toddlers who seem magnetically drawn to anything furry.
Why can’t we sit with the children like normal pets?Sherlock asks with a soft woof as he looks at the circle of little children in front of us with longing as he watches Cinnamon and Gatsby getting absolutely mobbed by tiny hands near Buffy’s reading spot.
Because normal pets don’t have standards,Fish replies, tucking her paws under herself as if she might lose them.Those two are getting their fur pulled, their ears tugged, and one little cherub just tried to feed Gatsby what appears to be a half-chewed goldfish cracker.
I love goldfish crackers,Sherlock muses wistfully.Everyone knows that half-chewed is the best.
You like everything that remotely resembles food,Fish points out.You once tried to eat a tennis ball because it was orange.
In my defense, tennis balls are typically green,Sherlock sniffs.
He’s right. But then so is she.
Truffle lifts her tiny head and looks at me with thoseimpossibly large brown eyes that could melt the hardest heart.Did they catch Tessa’s killer yet? Because I’ve been thinking about it A LOT and also worrying, and I really hope they find the bad person soon because Tessa was SO nice to me and gave me treats, and I miss her, and OH, I hope whoever did it gets in BIG trouble!she barks it all out in one big spasm.
I shake my head mournfully at the little cutie, and her ears droop with disappointment.
Don’t you worry, Truffle,Fish says gently, her maternal instincts kicking in for the orphaned Chihuahua.Bizzy will catch the killer. She always does.
According to past cases, it’ll be Jasper who actually makes the arrest,Sherlock adds with the confidence of a dog who’s witnessed this morbid dance before. And he has.
Fish snorts.According to his track record, that big oaf couldn’t catch a cold, let alone a murderer. Bizzy does all the detective work while he stands around looking official and occasionally handsome. Sure, he steps in and arrests the killer—but only after Bizzy has got them to confess.
I have to bite back a laugh because Fish isn’t entirely wrong.
Down on the sand, Buffy closes the whale book, and the children immediately start clamoring for another story. But their attention spans have clearly reached their limit, because within seconds, they’re scattering across the beach like colorful confetti in the breeze. And just like that, every last mother jumps up from her lounger and chases after toddlers who’ve suddenly discovered the fascinating properties of sand and seawater.
Fish, Sherlock, and Truffle immediately bolt for the shoreline, followed by Gatsby and Cinnamon, who’ve finally escaped their tiny captors. The entire pet brigade forms what looks like a furry search and rescue team as they race toward the waves.
Buffy scoops up Ella, who’s been sitting with Emmie and baby Elliot for the whole story session, and walks over to join us. My sister looks exactly like me with dark hair and light eyes, with theexception she’s actually managed to brush her hair today, her denim shirt doesn’t have mysterious stains of unknown origin decorating the front, and I’m betting she was able to shut her eyes for more than three minutes last night.
“There’s my little bookworm,” I say while reaching for Ella, who immediately starts babbling what sounds suspiciously like whale songs.
“She was completely mesmerized.” Buffy grins, settling into the chair next to mine while Emmie shifts Elliot to her other hip. “I think we might have a future marine biologist on our hands.”
“Either that or she’s planning to run away and join a pod of dolphins.” Emmie laughs.
“So,” Buffy says, lowering her voice as the chaos of fleeing children and chasing mothers moves farther down the beach, “how’s the investigation going? And how is the wedding party holding up after... you know?”
Emmie and I exchange glances. “Well,” I begin, “Charlotte’s building a social media empire on wedding disaster content, Kiki’s pretending she barely knew the victim while secretly still being in love with the groom, and the mother of the bride is stress-eating her way through our entire dessert menu. I honestly can’t blame her for that. I’m tempted to do that myself.”
“And that’s just the women,” Emmie adds. “The men are a whole other level of suspicious.”
Before we can dive into the juicy details, the sound of flip-flops slapping against the sand announces the arrival of Macy and Camila. They’re both in their swimsuits—think dental floss and pasties—with flowy cover-ups, holding fruity cocktails that glow like liquid sunshine in the early evening light.
Macy has a red hibiscus flower tucked behind her ear, and she’s wearing the expression of a woman who’s about to stir up trouble just for the entertainment value. I’m not surprised. It’s sort of her specialty.
“Well, well, well,” Macy announces, stomping her way overwith all of the drama she can afford, “I see some sisterly bonding is going on over here.”
She’s only half-teasing, but the edge in her voice is sharp enough to cut through the summer breeze. Ever since we discovered Buffy was our long-lost sister, Macy has been more resentful than a bridesmaid in an ugly dress. The fact that Buffy is a full-blooded sister—not a half-sister like we originally thought—has only made the jealousy worse.
