Lock, Stock, and Feral

holding, scoop up Fish, and head toward the familiar woman with the long silver hair.
“Liv,” I say a bit too cheery as if we were friends.
Easy, Bizzy, Fish says as she adjusts herself in my arms. You keep squeezing me and I’ll be the next one who needs to see the vet. And don’t think I won’t make my feelings clear on the matter if I get pricked and prodded. It’s a torture chamber in there and we both know it. I may not care for Clyde’s smitten disposition regarding Sherlock, but I wouldn’t wish what that poor cat’s going through on my worst enemy.
All the way home from the vet’s office I tried to explain to Fish and Sherlock why Clyde needed to be seen. But neither of them was buying that whole it’s for her own good story. And they both demanded treats for the trauma I had imposed on them for bringing them along on the trip. Of course, I caved. Twice.
Liv turns my way and her mouth opens as she tries to process who I am.
“I’m Bizzy, the manager—owner actually of the inn. We met last night.”
“Oh yes.” She squeezes her eyes shut and laughs.
She’s younger than her silver hair would let you believe, and a part of me wonders if she’s dyed her tresses this color. It’s stunning on her. I’ve seen people my age doing it. And honestly, it’s only a few shades lighter than the platinum color Macy has been dying her locks.
“You were my hit-and-run of the night,” she teases. “I didn’t leave a bruise, did I?”
“No.” I laugh. “I fared well. Can I help you with anything?”
“Oh yes.” She gives Fish a quick scratch. “Actually, I came back for two reasons. One, because I just didn’t feel like I had closure last night. I’m sure that sounds silly. But Patterson was a friend.” Her eyes flit to the library. “And two”—it looks as if it takes herculean strength to pull her gaze back my way—“I have family coming from the West Coast next month. I just visited them a few weeks ago in So Cal so it’s tit for tat. And I can’t house them at my place, so I thought I’d look into your rates while I was here.”
“Well, for sure I can help you with that last part. In fact, I’ll give you the friends and family discount, which is almost half off our summer fares. I feel just terrible about what happened. I’d invite you to go back into the library, but I’m afraid the sheriff’s department still has it sealed off.”
“Oh?” Her pale blue eyes widen a notch. “Why is that?”
“They suspect foul play. I don’t have any details, but I guess anything could have happened to that man in there. I saw him getting worked up a few times. I mean, that alone could be foul play.”
She nods. “You’re right. It looked like a run-of-the-mill heart attack, but I guess you never know these days. It’s as if the entire world has lost its mind.” Her gaze drifts back toward the library with its doors sealed off like a tomb. So much for saying goodbye, or good riddance. Thank goodness I didn’t leave anything behind. I’d never get it back at this rate.
I bite down on my lip. I can’t judge her for a single thought. It wouldn’t be fair.
“Hey, were you a regular member of the Grim Readers?” I ask. “I’m trying to hunt down one of its members.”
“I sure am. Which one were you looking for?” I bet it’s Devan. Who else is there?
“Hadley Culpepper.” Her name stings a little as it leaves my lips.
Liv’s forehead breaks out into a series of lines. “Oh yes, Ms. Hoity-Toity.” She averts her eyes. “She was the one everyone was always after—for her autograph. I never asked.” She shakes her head as if it were silly.
To be honest, if it wasn’t for her very intimate connection to my husband, I would have asked, too. And believe me, I’m angry with myself over this nonexistent event.
Liv tips her head back. “Where could she be? Oh, wait.” She taps my hand with hers. “She was a part of some writers’ group. I heard her mention it a time or two. We talked shop now and again. She’s a budding author.”
She’s an author, too? Fish whips me with her tail. That’s quite the competition, Bizzy.
I frown down at my once sweet cat. It’s clear she’s going to make me pay for that trip to the vet in more ways than one.
“Liv, where do you think I can find this writers’ group?”
“They meet at the Dream Bean out in Blueberry Grove, just south of Rose Glen.”
“Nice,” I say as I bounce on the balls of my feet, because obviously I can’t wait to confront the hussy. “I haven’t been to Blueberry Grove in some time. I’ll head out that way and see if I can talk to her. Do you know when the club meets?”
“They meet each Thursday—so I guess that would be today.” She glances down at her watch. “They started a half hour ago. You might want to hurry if you want to catch her.”
“Wow, I will hurry. Let me get you a sheet with my rates, and don’t forget you’ll get the discount.” I walk her back to the desk and hand her a pamphlet. “What week were you looking at?”
“We haven’t settled it yet, but I think around Memorial Day.”
“It’s one of our busiest weekends. I’ll jot your name down as tentative, that way you’re certain to get a spot. Last name?”
“Womack.” She winces. “That’s my married name—or technically, it’s my divorced name. I keep meaning to change it.” I should have never taken his name, or come to think of it, his number.
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Hopefully, you’ll never know that kind of pain. They say a divorce is like death, and they would be right. I was a homemaker for twenty years, and then poof, he