Lock, Stock, and Feral

left me to my own devices. Took off with his secretary and left me in the financial dust. I’ve recently blown through my retirement fund. It hasn’t been easy. I was left to fend for myself while he continued to live the high life. Count your lucky stars you have this place. I’d better get going. I work down at the library, and I’m running late. I’ll see you around, Bizzy. I’ll let you know about booking the rooms as soon as I can.” I might just stop by the cove now and again by myself. Lord knows I need the respite.
“Thank you,” I say as Sherlock heads this way.
Well, Bizzy? He gives a quick bark. Is she the killer?
“No, but I have intel on where to find my prime suspect. Either of you up for visiting a coffee house?”
Sherlock growls, Is that what they’re calling the vet these days? No thanks. I’ll take a nap until dinner.
“Fish?”
I’ll come under one condition, she mewls. You don’t even think of making a left on Main Street. Coffee house isn’t code for torture chamber, is it?
“No, but on the way home I need to pick up Clyde.”
I’m staying in the car for that, she roars.
“Sounds good to me,” I say.
And just like that, we’re off to snag a cup of coffee and maybe a killer.

Chapter 6
The Dream Bean in Blueberry Grove holds the thick scent of coffee along with an under layer of perfume. It’s homey with its fireplace raging in the corner and large tufted chairs set out here and there. It’s laden with dark wooden chairs and matching floors, and there’s even a bookcase that sits against the far wall to give this place a cozy appeal.
Throngs of women have infiltrated the place, most of which are situated with a laptop in front of them, along with notebooks, pens, and highlighters. The writers’ group is made up of about a dozen or so women seated at a series of conjoined tables near the back, each of them already sipping on the coffee and noshing on a sweet treat. A friendly looking blonde goes from one woman to the next, observing their work and giving feedback, and I bet that’s the ring leader here. But it’s not her I’m here to question.
I spot the exact redhead I’m hoping to nab, seated on the end with a few free seats next to her.
“Oh, there she is,” I hiss at Georgie and my mother. Once Juni heard there might be a writing assignment involved, she volunteered to hold the fort down at Two Old Broads, but my mother and Georgie jumped at the chance to tag along. “Let’s hurry and get our coffee. Remember, let me do all the talking.”
Fish pokes her head out of the carrier she’s nestled in. It’s an infant carrier that I have strapped to my front, and for the most part, Fish loves her outings in it.
I see her, Bizzy, Fish mewls. She looks smart and beautiful. I can see the appeal.
“Watch it,” I tell her. More than a few women turn their head in our direction. I glance over at my mother and Georgie, and I can’t help but frown. “Did you both have to wear a wonky quilt dress? You’re inadvertently causing a scene.”
It’s true. Georgie has on one with blue stripes and dots, and my mother’s is a bit demurer with yellow and pink flowers.
Mom sighs. “When you run your own business, you need to be innovative when it comes to marketing. Every time we wear our own merchandise, we get stopped in the street and we practically make another sale. If you cared about us at all, you would have worn one, too.”
“Why?” I hold back a laugh. “So we could look like we belong to a quilt cult?”
Fish yowls, You look like a quilt cult regardless.
Mom scoffs. “Don’t listen to her, Georgie. We’re doing the right thing. And by the way, see about making a wonky quilt cat carrier. I’d like to bring my cats out once in a while in something like that.”
“Ooh,” I muse. “That’s a great idea. I want one for sure.”
Georgie bumps her shoulder to my mother’s. “Didn’t I tell you this stuff practically sold itself?”
We load up on coffee before making our way to the back, and the petite blonde prances right over to us. Her hair is cut just shy of her shoulders, and she has fragile features and a smile that takes up half her face.
“Welcome, ladies. Are you here to join the Writing Wenches?”
“Writing Wenches?” Georgie chuckles. “I like this place already.”
Mom nods. “We’re here to learn how to write a novel.”
So much for letting me do all the talking.
The blonde titters. “Well, this is the place to be. Most of these gals already know the basics. But if you like, I can help you outline your novel or get some ideas down. I’m Rachelle.” She gasps once she spots Fish. “And who is this little cutie?” she asks, plucking my sweet cat right out of the carrier and bouncing her like a baby.
“That’s Fish,” I tell her. “And I’m Bizzy, this is Georgie, and that’s my mother, Ree.”
Georgie thrusts a turquoise business card her way. “Like what you see? Why not Rent-a-Grandma? Bizzy here is utilizing my services and you can, too—for a nominal fee, of course.” Georgie quickly hands one out to all twelve women before anyone can stop her, and soon this end of the establishment is humming as they ooh and aah at the prospect of spending time with my favorite gray-haired goofball.
“Never mind her,” Mom says with that ultra-annoyed look on her face she seems to reserve for her partner in wonky quilt crime.
Rachelle laughs while cooing down at my sweet cat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all—rented relatives and all. I think this little cutie can be our official mascot. Why don’t you ladies take a seat, and I’ll get right to helping you out.”
“I’m actually