“FREEZE! Sheriff’s Department!”
Cooper and Noah come crashing through the trees like a couple of superheroes, drawn by Watson’s frantic barking and what sounds as if there’s a murder in progress. Which, technically, it is.
Both men hit the water without hesitation. Cooper reaches me first while Noah tackles Sunshine, who’s still trying to escape toward the far shore like some sort of deranged mermaid with criminal intent.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” Cooper says, pulling me against his chest while I cough up half the lake. “Are you hurt?”
“She confessed!” I gasp, pointing at Sunshine, who’s now being hauled toward shore by Noah. And judging by the looks of it, he’s done this before. “She killed Larry! She admitted it!”
“Sunshine Crumpet, you’re under arrest for the murder of Larry Rocket,” Noah announces, wrestling her onto the dock while she continues to struggle like a very wet, very angry fish out of water.
“You don’t understand!” Sunshine shrieks as Noah produces handcuffs. “I was providing a service! People were being helped by my treatments! Larry Rocket was therealcriminal!”
“You have the right to remain silent,” Noah continues, unimpressed by her pharmaceutical speech. “I suggest you use it.”
As Noah leads Sunshine away, she turns back to glare at me with enough venom to qualify as a secondary weapon.
“You have no idea what you’ve done,” she calls over the fireworks. “Those people will go back to suffering, and it’s all your fault!”
Cooper helps me climb back onto the dock, both of us dripping like we’ve been through the rinse cycle, while Watson immediately begins his reunion celebration by attempting to lick the lake water off my face.
“How are you feeling?” Cooper asks, his hands running over my arms and shoulders to check for injuries with a concern that makes my heart do things that have nothing to do with near-drowning experiences.
“Lousy,” I admit, looking out at the water where small ripples are the only evidence of our aquatic showdown. “Buttercup just sank to the bottom of Honey Lake.”
He stares at me—then laughs, the kind of laugh that comes from reliefandmild disbelief.
“Only you would worry about your gun after nearly getting drowned by a homicidal hippie,” he says, pulling me against him for a kiss that tastes like lake water and promises and a level of adrenaline that makes everything more intense.
Fireworks explode overhead in a grand finale, painting the lake in color, and for a moment, everything feels weirdly perfect—even soaked, slightly traumatized, and down one very expensive piece of personal protection equipment.
Land of the free, home of the brave,I muse to myself once again as the sky lights up while Cooper holds me close enough to share body heat.
And apparently, it’s the land of the occasionally homicidal organic food vendor who thinks murder is an acceptable business strategy.
Some Fourth of July celebrations end with patriotic songs and warm feelings.
Mine ends with underwater combat and an arrest.
Honestly?
I think I win.
CHAPTER 22
The aftermath of catching a killer at a Fourth of July festival apparently involves more congratulations than an Olympic medal ceremony and twice the chaos.
Lottie, Lily, and Suze come rushing over like a trio of fairy godmothers who’ve just heard their favorite princess caught the dragon—their faces flushed with excitement and what I suspect is a healthy dose of adrenaline from witnessing the most dramatic arrest in Honey Hollow history.
“Effie!” Lottie squeals, pulling me into a hug enthusiastic enough to wring the remaining lake water out of my sundress. “I can’t believe you caught the killer—in the lake—with fireworks going off! It was like a movie!”
“A very wet, very violent movie,” I say, grinning despite myself because there’s something satisfying about solving a murder even if it did result in an impromptu swim with a homicidal hippie.
“You were amazing,” Lily adds, her eyes bright with an excitement that suggests she’s already planning to tell this story at every social gathering for the next decade. “The way youfigured it all out, confronted her, fought her off—it was all very Nancy Drew meets James Bond.”
“With better hair,” Suze says—then eyes my soaked, tangled mess. “Well, usually better hair. Right now, you look as if you’ve been through a blender, but that’s understandable given the soaking wet circumstances.”
Watson, basking in the attention like a furry celebrity, picks that moment to shake himself, sending lake water flying in every direction and reminding everyone he, too, risked life and limb, and maybe tail.
