“Hey, I was being thorough,” Georgie protests weakly from her own chair, where she’s sprawled like a starfish that’s given up on life. The heat shimmer rising from the sand makes her look like she’s melting into the beach furniture. “Charlotte’s final dress fitting, hair and makeup trial runs, bouquet consultation, and emergency shoe shopping don’t just handle themselves.”
“Emergency shoe shopping?” I raise an eyebrow while reapplying coconut-scented sunscreen to my arms. The stuff smells like vacation in a bottle, which feels wildly inappropriate when you’re investigating murder—and wildly needed.
“Don’t ask,” Mom mutters, waving away a particularly aggressive seagull that’s edged closer to her sandwich. “It involved three different shoe stores, a minor breakdown in the bridal salon, and Georgie insisting that heel height affects emotional stability.”
“It’s scientifically proven!” Georgie insists, though her voice lacks its usual conviction. “Higher heels, higher confidence. It’s basic psychology.”
“Basic something,” Mom agrees dryly.
The sound of waves crashing mingles with the distant laughter of other beachgoers, creating that perfect summer soundtrack that normally makes me want to nap in the sun for three hours straight. Instead, I’m mentally cataloging murder suspects while watching my daughter discover the joy of eating sand.
Grandma looks as if she’s been through a natural disaster,Fish mewls from her shady spot next to Ella, her black and white furglowing against the sand.A very well-organized, rhinestone-covered natural disaster.
I tried to warn her about following Georgie on her missions,Sherlock adds, digging a hole in the sand with the dedication of a cute pooch who’s found his life’s calling. His fur alone can qualify him as a living sandcastle.But did she listen to the wise dog? Nope.
Like you’re so innocent,Fish gives a sharp meow his way.You and Truffle jumped into Georgie’s car this morning and took off with them. And don’t think for a minute that Bizzy and I aren’t on to you. We know you only went for the snacks.
OH MY GOODNESS, YES, THE FOOD WAS AMAZING!Truffle yips excitedly, vibrating with enthusiasm as she spins in a circle.Georgie gave me THREE different cookies, and I met a poodle named Princess and saw seventeen squirrels and a really interesting trash can, and did I mention the CAKE? Because there was so much cake, and, also, I think I love everyone in this entire town. When can we get back to the food?
A particularly bold seagull makes a dive for Mom’s sandwich, causing her to jump up and wave her arms frantically. “Shoo! Find your own lunch, you flying menace!”
The seagull retreats exactly three feet away and continues staring with the patience of a creature that’s clearly done this before.
I glance over at my bestie and smile. Emmie looks surprisingly fresh considering she spent the evening serving glowing cocktails to half the female population of Maine. She’s managed to achieve that perfect beach glow that suggests she actually knows how to vacation properly, unlike the rest of us who treats relaxation like a competitive sport.
“I still can’t believe how well the storytime event went,” she says, adjusting her floppy hat. “We should totally make it a monthly thing.”
“Please no,” I beg, watching Ella and baby Elliot as they begin to shriek at one another. They’re babbling at each other in whatsounds like a secret language only babies understand, occasionally clapping their hands when one of them makes a particularly profound gurgling noise. The ocean breeze keeps trying to steal their sun hats, creating an ongoing battle between babies and wind, and making a good case for hats that tie off under the neck. I’ve already watched two of Ella’s cute little bonnets cartwheel into the ocean this summer. And that’s why every other hat I buy her will be strapped to her body from here on out.
“Oh, come on, Bizzy. Naughty book clubs are all the rage,” Georgie says, fanning herself with a magazine that’s already starting to curl in the humidity. “But if we do make it a monthly deal, we’ll need security. Specifically, Conrad-shaped security. That man’s rescue technique was poetry in motion.”
“You’re still thinking about the chandelier incident?” Mom asks, eating her turkey sandwich while maintaining aggressive eye contact with the seagull.
“I’m thinking about thosearms. And thatchest. And the way he just swooped in and saved me from becoming a permanent light fixture.” Georgie fans herself with far more vigor, and I have a feeling it has nothing to do with the heat. “I need more Conrad in my life. Preferably shirtless and carrying me away from danger on a regular basis.”
“You’re going to give yourself a heat stroke with that kind of thinking,” I point out, feeling sweat already beading on my forehead despite the canopy shade—and Conrad Carrington has nothing to do with it.
Georgie belts out a laugh. “There are worse ways to go.”
Hooman mating rituals are so complicated,Fish muses, delicately licking sand off her paw.Why doesn’t Georgie just bring the man a dead mouse and be done with it?
Because hoomans are weird,Sherlock replies sagely, now so deep in his hole that only his wagging tail is visible above ground.They prefer flowers and chocolate to practical gifts.
Conrad would probably prefer beer.
I quickly translate to Emmie, and we share a laugh.
“Speaking of complicated mating rituals,” Emmie says, adjusting the canopy to block more sun, “how is the investigation going? Any progress on figuring out who killed Tessa?”
The question cuts through the lazy beach atmosphere like a knife through wedding cake. Even the seagulls pause their relentless quest for sandwich crumbs to eavesdrop.
“I don’t know. I guess there’s been some progress,” I say, mentally reviewing the clues I’ve gathered while watching a sailboat drift across the horizon. “Conrad is looking increasingly suspicious. Everyone keeps pointing fingers at Charlotte’s mother, Bea. And speaking of Bea, she may have revealed to me that her late husband’s fortune isn’t what it used to be, thanks to the gambling problem he had.”
Mom is the only one here who doesn’t know about my mind-reading quirk, so I’ll just let her think that Bea actually divulged that info to me the old-fashioned way.
“A gambling problem?” Mom sits up straighter, accidentally giving the seagull an opening to swoop in and steal a corner of her sandwich. “Hey! That’s a serious motive for murder, not a snack invitation!”
Emmie shrugs. “I don’t know if that’s a motive, but I heard that Bea is paying for this entire wedding safari. And if she’s broke, well, that’s going to be hard to do.”
