Lock, Stock, and Feral

get to bed? I just—I’m sorry.” He leans back hard against the sofa. “There’s something I need to process before I tell you. But I just can’t seem to push the words out right now.” His lips turn down as if his emotions were about to get the better of him, and a spiral of fear shoots through me.
“Jasper, we tell each other everything—or at least that’s how I’ve been operating. I would never keep anything from you. What’s happening? If you can’t say the words, think them. Don’t shut me out.”
He glances my way but doesn’t hold my gaze.
I try my hardest to press into his mind, but I’m met with that foggy feeling as if a fortress was just tossed up to stop me.
A breath hitches in my throat. “You’re intentionally trying to hold back your thoughts from me.”
A forlorn smile comes and goes on his lips. “I’m sorry, Bizzy. But I just need a minute.”
My heart thumps hard as if it were about to expire.
“Take all the time you want,” I say as I get up. “I’m going to bed.”
I fill the pets’ trays with enough kibble to last a year and do just that.
But I don’t sleep a wink.

Chapter 8
Jasper kissed me deeply this morning before he took off for the station. It was a kiss that said so much without the aid of a single word—and believe me, I appreciated the sentiment.
And even though that made me feel miles better than how we left things last night, I couldn’t focus on the inn. Instead, I left it in the capable hands of my staff and recruited Georgie and Juni to use their sleuthing skills to help me track down Devan Abner. By the time I started hunting for her, she had already left the mushroom farm for the day, so I set my meager hopes on finding her elsewhere, and find her elsewhere we did—right at the Spring Festival taking place in downtown Seaview.
Pastel flags line several city blocks as thick crowds patrol the sidewalks looking at the wares that all the local businesses have to offer. It’s warm out and the air feels downright swampy—far too humid for springtime in Maine. The thick scent of grilled burgers competes with the sweet scent of deep-fried blueberry fritters, and I have a sudden craving for both.
There are plenty of balloons and face painting stations for the younger set and wine and fine cuisine for the rest of us. Booths that house arts and crafts are in abundance, handcrafted jewelry glints in the late afternoon sun, and a few local bookstores have opened up outdoor samplings of their bestsellers as well. And that’s the direction where we head in first.
Georgie has Sherlock on a leash and both Fish and Clyde are in my carrier.
“Don’t you worry, Biz,” Georgie says, giving my carrier a little pat. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll have a fancy new wonky quilt cat carrier to call your own. I’ve already given the specs to my seamstresses.”
By seamstresses, she means the women at the old folks home she has working as a quilting mill to create her inventory.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m actually looking forward to it.”
“Tell her about the hanky,” Juni says, checking her face in a compact she pulled from her purse. Juni has her game on as she put it, with her hot pink mini skirt and matching tank top. And Georgie has opted to match her daughter in a bubblegum pink kaftan. At least this way they’ll be easy to spot in the event they wander away—or commit a minor felony. The latter of which is completely in their wheelhouse.
“What’s the hanky for?” I ask Georgie as she scoops Clyde from my carrier.
“To sop up your tears,” Georgie says, dotting a kiss to Clyde’s little pink nose. “Face it, Biz, this is going to be a tough season in your life now that Jasper is taking off with that magician hussy.”
“You got the hussy part right,” I tell her. “Did you read that book? She had my husband twelve ways to Sunday like he was nothing more than a side of beef. And believe me, there’s not a house of worship that would take her in on that sacred day either. Lusting after somebody else’s husband like that makes her darn right flammable in churches worldwide.”
A cute little cinnamon-colored poodle waltzes up to Sherlock and gives him a sniff from nose to tail.
Hey! Clyde belts out a rawr. Watch where you’re sniffing, hussy! Back off and find your own side of beef!
Fish groans. Get used to it, honey. For whatever reason, Sherlock is what Jasper calls a chick magnet.
The poodle looks up at the tiny ginger-colored ball of fury. Is that a cat telling me—a dog—who I can and cannot sniff? She barks out what sounds like a chortle before touching her nose to Sherlock’s. How about you and I find a bush and lift a leg together?
Clyde screeches as if someone just ran over her tail and springs right out of Georgie’s arms, soaring through the air like a flying squirrel, doing a couple of spins until she lands flat over the poodle’s back. The dog jumps back on its hind legs doing its best to evict the cagey kitty but to no avail. Then in less than a second, the poodle darts off, followed by Sherlock—followed by Georgie.
“Cheese and rice.” I cringe just watching the inadvertent pet parade as the poodle’s owner takes off after them shouting a few colorful words that children probably shouldn’t hear. “Don’t break a hip, Georgie!” I shout. “Let go of the leash!”
“Don’t worry about, Mama,” Juni says, smacking me on the arm. “Check out those sides of beef hanging out in front of Bombalicious Burgers.”
I glance over and spot a line of men outside of the quick serve booth situated in front of the restaurant. Behind them is the outdoor patio where couples have congregated noshing on amazing grilled sliders