A Christmas to Dismember

  A Christmas to Dismember

  Country Cottage Mysteries 12

  Addison Moore

  Bellamy Bloom

  Contents

  Connect with Addison Moore

  Book Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Recipe

  Books by Addison Moore

  Acknowledgments

  About the Authors

  Copyright © 2020 by Addison Moore, Bellamy Bloom

  Edited by Paige Maroney Smith

  Cover by Lou Harper, Cover Affairs

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This eBook is for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase any additional copies for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Copyright © 2020 by Addison Moore, Bellamy Bloom

  Table of Contents

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  Book Description

  The Country Cottage Inn is known for its hospitality. Leaving can be murder.

  My name is Bizzy Baker, and I can read minds. Not every mind, not every time, but most of the time, and believe me when I say, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

  The holidays have arrived in Cider Cove and so has the owner of the Country Cottage Inn. Bizzy is instructed to throw a holiday gala to remember in hopes to wow the owner’s fancy friends, but the festivities come to an abrupt end when a killer joins the party. Christmas is afoot and so is murder.

  Bizzy Baker runs the Country Cottage Inn, has the ability to pry into the darkest recesses of both the human and animal mind, and has just stumbled upon a body. With the help of her kitten, Fish, a mutt named Sherlock Bones, and an ornery yet dangerously good-looking homicide detective, Bizzy is determined to find the killer.

  Cider Cove, Maine is the premier destination for fun and relaxation. But when a body turns up, it’s the premier destination for murder.

  Chapter 1

  “You are a stunner. Have I mentioned that yet?” The man standing before me at the reception counter gives a little wink as he says it. What I wouldn’t do to have a night alone with this alley cat.

  He waggles his brows my way and any trace of a smile melts from my face.

  My name is Bizzy Baker Wilder, and I can read minds. Not every mind, not every time, but it happens, and believe me, it’s moments like this that I actually regret my supernatural abilities.

  “Yes”—I clear my throat—“actually, you have mentioned that.” Twenty-six times and counting. A forced smile stretches across my face as I look at Earl Quinn Bennet, the man who owns the Country Cottage Inn.

  I’ve worked right here at the inn as the manager for a half a decade and only met him once before, about a million moons ago.

  Quinn is older—sixties, maybe? Early seventies? But he’s still a looker, with sharp features, twinkling devilish blue eyes, and gray stubble on both his crown and his cheeks.

  This is his first trip stateside in years, but he did let me know he was coming and that he would be throwing the holiday party to end all holiday parties. And that fact alone explains why I have twelve live reindeer roaming around in a makeshift corral at the front of the inn.

  It snowed last light, a bona fide Christmas miracle at our end of coastal Maine, which only adds to the seasonal magic. It’s early December, and my team and I have worked triple time to festoon the Country Cottage Inn into a virtual wonderland with enough garland and twinkle lights to wrap around the globe twice. And let’s not forget the endless supply of red bows and vibrant poinsettias, the gloriously tall Christmas tree in the foyer, the one in the grand room, the dining room, and the three different evergreen stunners sitting in the ballroom, too.

  Speaking of the ballroom, I glance in that direction at the sign in the gilded frame, sitting on an equally gilded easel that reads Welcome to the Christmas Showcase!

  I tried to get Quinn to nail down a refined name for his big event this evening, but he said it didn’t need a fancy name. He also mentioned that his friends were pretentious so he didn’t have to be. Although knowing what I do about him, which isn’t much, Quinn Bennet has plenty of reasons to be as pretentious as he wants to be—several billion reasons to be exact.

  But it’s not just Quinn’s ritzy friends that he’s invited. He asked me to extend the invitation to all of Cider Cove as a way to thank our cozy town for their continued support of the inn. The showcase is set to begin in a little under an hour, and the foyer is bustling with socialites from all over Maine. Our cute little seaside town, Cider Cove, doesn’t have too many socialites roaming around in it, but just about everyone I know has shown up for the event regardless.

  A tall, burly man in a black suit, red dress shirt, and silver tie steps into the inn. He’s stalky, chest as broad as a football player’s, somewhat scraggly white beard and bushy brows to match as he heads straight for Quinn with a determined look on his face.

  I’ll be honest, my first thought is to shout for Jordy. Jordy Crosby is my best friend’s brother and my ex-husband of one day—think Vegas, cheap whiskey, and an Elvis impersonator. Jordy also happens to be the handyman at the inn, and if need be bouncer, but I’m not entirely sure Jordy could take this husky man all on his own.

  The burly man gives Quinn a hard slap on the back, and Quinn’s blue eyes bulge from the hearty wallop.

  Quinn turns and bursts into a fit of laughter. “I thought I had been hit by a freight train.” He laughs as he pulls the burly man into one of those half man-hugs. “You don’t know your own strength, my friend. And it’s a good thing, too. Keep up the momentum where it counts—as in the business you share with me.” He looks my way and points to the burly man before him. “Bizzy, this is my partner in crime, Warwick Tully. Warwick, this is my future bride, Bizzy Baker.”

  A choking sound comes from me, and I quickly force another smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Warwick.” I give his hand a quick shake. “I’m actually a happily married woman.” I give a quick wink to Quinn as I say it.

  A newly married woman at that. It will be three months in a few weeks, and I couldn’t be happier to be Jasper Wilder’s wife. He’s the lead homicide detective down in Seaview County where he’s just finishing up a day’s work, and to be honest, he couldn’t get home soon enough. Quinn
just landed stateside this afternoon, and Jasper has yet to meet him.

  Quinn belts out a laugh. “A married woman?” He leans my way. “I’ve never let a little nuptial or two stop me before.”

  Warwick joins in on the raucous laughter before his soft brown eyes meet up with mine. “This guy has been breaking hearts and rules for as long as I’ve known him. I’d watch out if I were you.”

  That false smile flickers across my face once again.

  Oh, I’ll be watching—in the event his hands decide to roam.

  Quinn leans in. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Tonight I’m throwing the best holiday party Cider Cove has ever seen.” He looks to his friend and hitches his head toward the opulent flocked tree standing near the front windows. “I’m guessing you have the latest Sky phone for me?” He gives the phone in his hand a jostle. “Then there are the details regarding Telenational. Tell me you’ve heeded my words. Don’t hurt our reputation, whatever you do.” He sighs deeply. “Let’s discuss, shall we?”

  “We shall.” Warwick cinches a smile of his own. Discuss how rotten and evil you can be. He laughs to himself as he looks to his old friend and the two of them step away.

  My sweet cat, Fish, stretches her front paws across the creamy marble reception counter and lets out a rather ornery meow.

  I’ve about had enough of all this holiday hubbub. Is it Christmas yet?

  Fish is a black and white long-haired tabby I found over a couple of years ago near my sister’s soap and candle shop, Lather and Light. Fish and I have been as close as sisters ourselves ever since.

  I pick her up and land a soft kiss to the top of her head.

  “We’ve got a ways to go yet. But it will be here sooner than you know.” Although something tells me not soon enough. It’s the busiest time of year for the inn. Just about every room is booked solid with out-of-towners visiting family, and all of the cottages on the property are booked solid, too.

  The inn is set on several acres, and there are over three dozen cottages in addition to the mammoth inn itself. The entire structure butts up to a sandy cove where the magnificent Atlantic takes center stage as the star of the show. There’s a café attached to the back of the inn that faces the water which I’ve wisely left my best friend, Emmie, in charge of. And on the opposite end of the facility, we have a pet daycare center that provides daily interaction for the furry inclined among us who would otherwise be left home alone all day while their human goes off to work, or in the event one of the guests needs a pet sitter for the day.

  The inn is a mammoth structure composed of blue stones and blue shutters with ivy that covers almost every speck of the front. There’s a small army of employees that work alongside me, and each one loves the inn just as much as I do. The Country Cottage Inn was voted the most pet friendly place to stay in all of Maine for a fifth year in a row. I’m actually the one who instated the rule that all pets are welcome on the grounds and in the guests’ rooms. Personally, I was shocked it wasn’t instated before.

  Sherlock scampers over and gives a sharp bark my way. Sherlock Bones was Jasper’s red and white mixed puppy when we first met, and now he equally belongs to me. He’s medium-size with big brown eyes and a heart for both people and bacon.

  I want Christmas to last forever, Bizzy. Everyone is so friendly and I like the music, too.

  Fish yowls, You would.

  I do! Sherlock is quick to double down on his love of all things Christmas. It’s cheerful and snappy, and it makes me want to bounce my bottom and wag my tail.

  I can’t help but laugh.

  I’m not sure how the animals understand one another, but they always seem to. Yes, I can read the animal mind as well, and typically they have better things to say. I can’t read every mind. Usually it’s just the ones in front of me, but when I get stressed and frazzled, I’ll pick up on a variety of people at once. And the farther away someone is, the harder for me to decipher if it’s a man or woman prattling on. It all sounds a little androgynous at that point.

  “Bizzy!”

  I turn to find my sister, Macy, heading this way. We’re both in our late twenties, but she’s older than me by a year and sassier than me by a million miles. She dyes her black hair blonde and wears it in a short bob. She looks dressed to kill tonight in a skintight red pantsuit that looks as if she’ll have to peel herself out of.

  “I want you to meet a friend.” Macy pulls a tall brunette with a cranberry smile this way. The woman is wearing the most gorgeous brocade gown I’ve ever seen. It’s black and purple and has just a hint of navy in it. She wears the same hairstyle as Macy—short, blunt bob—her eyes are perfectly almond-shaped, and she has gorgeous olive skin that I would die for. “Bizzy, this is Eve French. She owns that hot new boutique out in Rose Glen, Elora’s Closet.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say.

  “Nice to meet you, Bizzy.” Eve holds out her hand and I shake it. “I met your sister a couple months back at the Businesswomen of Maine Expo, and we’ve been fast friends ever since.” Her eyes flit toward the tree, and her entire body seizes. There he is, the rat that ruined me. My goodness, if he isn’t as handsome as ever. Oh my heart, how I love him. Oh my heart, how I can’t wait to see him suffer.

  Her chest vibrates as she huffs, and I follow her gaze to see her staring intently in the area where Quinn stands.

  Another man has joined Quinn and Warwick, a tall, younger man, mid-thirties to early forties. His dark hair is shaved in the back and a little longer in the front, and he has matching dark stubble on his cheeks. The three of them seem to be laughing and having a good time. I wonder which one Eve was talking about?

  “Do you know Quinn?” I ask without hesitating. This is his event, after all.

  Eve gives a few blinks as if coming to. “You could say I know him.” Intimately for that matter. Frankly, I’m shocked he had the nerve to show his face after what he did to me.

  So it’s Quinn she’s pining for—and equally loathing. I can see how that could be a pattern in Quinn’s life. He’s as adorable as he is deplorable.

  Eve nods my way. “It was nice meeting you, Bizzy. I’d better get inside that ballroom. I’ve got a teenager roaming around in there with her friends.” She rolls her eyes to Macy. “Be glad you’re not saddled with kids who aren’t afraid to talk back.”

  Macy nods. “Oh, I thank my childless stars every day.” She links arms with Eve as they start for the ballroom. “Here’s hoping we find some wealthy hot men. That’s not too much to ask for this time of year, is it?”

  Eve cackles at the thought as they disappear.

  Georgie Conner, an eighty-something-year-old hippie that I regard as family, runs into the foyer wearing one of her signature wonky quilt dresses. Ever since Georgie’s quilting mishap has taken off, she and my mother have been peddling them like crazy. In fact, they’ve recently rented a space on Main Street right across from my sister’s shop in hopes to hock their wares.

  “Bizzy Baker Wilder.” Georgie stalks my way with her wild gray hair—think Einstein, but longer—and her lavender-blue eyes narrowed to slits. “Your mother is going to be the death of me,” she bleats my way as she takes Fish from me. “The cat is mine for the rest of the night. I’ll need her as my emotional support kitty.” She drops a kiss to Fish’s furry forehead, and Fish mewls back with approval. “You too, fuzz face.” She plucks a few pieces of bacon from her pocket and drops them to the floor for Sherlock.

  “Georgie, your wonky quilt dress is gorgeous,” I muse as I take in the red and green wonder. It’s pieced together in large triangular sections with frayed edges and all sorts of fabrics. I can see everything from snowmen to reindeer in them. “But aren’t you burning up in that?”

  Georgie’s wardrobe staple has pretty much been flowing kaftans ever since I’ve known her. And I’ve known her since I was a kid. Her daughter Juni, aka Juniper Moonbeam, was married to my father for a short spate of time.

  My father collects ex-wives the way some men
collect sports cars or hunting trophies. And Juni was simply one in a long line of many women who came after my mother.

  Speaking of which, my mother trots up behind Georgie. Mom is petite, still feathers her hair circa 1980-something, and has on a forest green dress embellished with lots of gold jewelry. She’s not typically so flashy, but seeing this is turning out to be the flashiest event of the season, it’s well warranted.

  Mom makes a face at Georgie. “There you are. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to lose me.”

  Georgie snarls my way. “It didn’t work, did it? And you’re right, Bizzy. I am burning up in this wonky quilt dress. Because I’ve got a fire-breathing dragon after me.”

  Mom’s mouth falls open. “Who are you calling a dragon? We just went into business together, and might I remind you, I fronted the capital to do so.”

  “Oh, you’ve reminded me, all right, Toots. You remind me in the morning. You remind me in the afternoon. You remind me before I go to bed at night so I can have nightmares of you reminding me.” She hitches her thumb my way. “Have you heard? News on the preppy street is your mother wants to name the shop Wonky Quilts and Things. It’s boring, Bizzy! If I wanted to die a yuppie death, I would have worked as an accountant and paid my taxes a long time ago.”

  Mom balks at her old friend, “And get a load of this.” Mom takes a page out of Georgie’s ornery book and hitches her thumb my way. “She wants to name the shop the Dreamcatcher’s Hookah Lounge.”