Chocolate Chills (A Mission Inn-possible Cozy Mystery Book 6)

was tall, burly, and redheaded, while the other was dark-skinned and serious, a perpetual frown on his brow.
“Ensure they return to the inn. Don’t be seen,” Grant commanded.
The men saluted and marched over to us, one taking my arm roughly, the other placing a hand on Gamma’s shoulder.
So much for Operation Burger.
Even my Gamma couldn’t outsmart Grant and the NSIB, not without having all her equipment at her disposal.
“And Charlotte? If you pull another stunt like this, I’ll make it so you’re not allowed to leave the building, let alone the grounds.”
I didn’t dare look back at him in case he saw my anger.
Could I take another month of this? I doubted it.
Something had to change, fast. Maybe it was time I took matters into my own hands. Rather than waiting for Kyle to find me, why not go out and find him?

2
The following morning…
Working at the Gossip Inn was a lot like herding cats. Ironic, since we had kittens to take care of. But the cats in this case were the people. There was always something going on. Either it was a guest who didn’t like another, or an argument between a husband at wife at breakfast, or Lauren was on the brink of passing out because she was so tired because of the baby. And her insufferable husband.
Today was no different, and after last night’s operation failure and embarrassment, I wasn’t in the mood to be polite.
“Idiot!” The cry had come from the kitten foster center’s incubation room.
I stopped stroking Sunlight, my favorite kitty in the world—Cocoa was my grandmother’s cat and a close second—and straightened.
Here we go again.
“No need to be like that.” Jordan’s voice drifted from the room in reply to the shout. Jordan was our live-in assistant, here for the night shifts with the kittens and to help ease the process of adoption for interested parties.
He was practically a fixture in the Gossip Inn at this point.
My steps creaked on the wooden boards as I headed for the incubation room, with its half-door separating it from the primary area where the older kittens slept, played, and ate.
Jordan, red-haired, pale, and wearing an oversized shirt, faced off against our newest assistant, Hannah Greerson.
Hannah was a firecracker—a short, barely out of college young woman with a ton of sass. I liked that about her, though it caused problems with the other helpers in the center.
“What’s going on?” I asked, the words snapping out of me. I took a breath, calming myself so I could maintain my cover: the wilting maid and server for the Gossip Inn, Charlotte Smith. “I mean, are you two all right?”
“No,” Hannah replied, running fingers through her short platinum blonde hair so it stood on end. “Jordan is being weird again.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he said, raising his palms. “I fed the babies as usual.”
“Kittens! They’re kittens, not babies. You’re such a friggin’ weirdo.” Hannah said things how she saw them, even if she saw them in a distinctly rude manner. “I caught him watching me, Miss Smith. He was watching me.”
“Call me Charlotte,” I said.
“I wasn’t watching her.” Jordan backed away from us like he could avoid the confrontation. “I was watching the kittens. That’s what I do.”
I checked my watch. Lauren needed my help in the kitchen for breakfast, and I couldn’t mediate yet another argument between Hannah and Jordan. They hadn’t had a peaceful day since she’d started working at the center.
“Look,” I said, “just avoid each other today, OK? And stop fighting. If you don’t, I’ll have to call Georgina to talk to you.”
Hannah rolled her eyes. Jordan nodded.
I left them to their tense silence, already tired, though I’d barely done anything except stew over the failure last night.
The Gossip Inn’s kitchen was filled with glistening steel counters, the clock on the timid green wall ticking away, telling me I was a couple of minutes late. Lauren, her red hair tied up in a messy bun, stood at the rough wooden kitchen table, turning pages in her sacred recipe book.
“Morning, Charlie,” she said, flashing me a bright smile. “How are you today?”
“I’m good,” I lied. “How are you? How’s the baby?” Lauren had a four-month-old son, Tyson, and a husband whom I wasn’t a fan of.
“Ty’s doing good. He’s a little angel now that he’s gotten into a sleeping rhythm.” Lauren tapped a page in her recipe book. “I think we’ll do chocolate cupcakes this week. With a raspberry coulis. Oh, and we’ll do eggs over easy, omelets, fresh-baked bread, bacon, and sausages for breakfast. What do you think?”
I rolled up my sleeves and slipped an apron from the peg on the wall. “Just tell me what you need me to do.”
“Right. Let’s get working on the cupcakes batter and the bread dough.” Lauren checked her watch. “We’ll have to make it quick. We only have a couple hours to proof it.”
Breakfast was at 9am this morning, and I was already starving. I distracted myself by following Lauren’s instructions exactly. We’d fallen into an easy pattern in the kitchen—Lauren enjoyed controlling how things were made, and I was useless at reading and following recipes. So, she told me exactly what she wanted, and I followed her words exactly.
As a result, I’d made some pretty great dishes with only minor defects. Still, cooking and cleaning beat dealing with moody guests. It was easier to maintain my cover in here.
The fact that I found it difficult to maintain my cover reminded me of Smulder’s words—that maybe I wasn’t cut out to be an agent. Ever since we’d received news of Kyle’s knowledge of my whereabouts, I’d been obsessing over what I’d do once he was caught. Stay in Gossip? Leave for good? Could I do that?
This was the first time I’d found a home in my adult life.
I cleared my throat, distracting myself from the existential crisis. “How are things going with Jason?” I asked.
Lauren’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t shift her focus from the bread dough she kneaded