Cat Scratch Cleaver

nor needs and it’s all my fault.
Kiki follows my gaze. “Oh, it’s the new girl,” she says, lackluster. “They’re not even going to show her face in any of the shots, and she’s already requested only top-of-the-line cosmetics be used on her.”
“Camila got a part in the movie?” I marvel, mostly to myself.
“Yup. Apparently, she went right up to Peter and asked to take over Heather’s role. Can you imagine the cookies it takes to do that? Anyway, it worked out for her. He said if she agrees to wear a blonde wig she could finish up the final scenes. Weird, huh? He’s still going through with the cleaver bludgeoning even though his lead actress was killed in exactly that way.”
“That’s more than weird. It’s grisly.”
“That’s Hollywood for you. It’s all about the greenbacks. He’s too locked up financially in this picture to quit now. It’s going to be strange watching them film that scene. It’ll be like reliving that nightmare all over again.”
“I agree.” But with Camila as the victim, I won’t feel all that bad.
Sherlock lets out a soft bark. I won’t miss her, Bizzy. Camila has it coming.
Kiki chuckles as she gives Sherlock a quick pat on the head.
“Aren’t you the cutest,” she says. “And that little cat friend of yours is just as adorable. I just love animals. I wish I could give him a treat.”
Bacon. Sherlock barks and Kiki inches back a notch.
“Bizzy, I’d swear on my life that this dog just said bacon.”
A laugh belts from me. “I think you’re right. In fact, I know he did.”
“You don’t mind if I go get him a piece from the café, do you?”
“Be my guest. But be warned. You’ll never be rid of him.”
“Lucky me.” She laughs as the two of them head off for the bacon bonanza.
Fish hops out from under the table and takes off in that direction herself.
I’d better make sure he doesn’t disappear. We’ve got a killer in our midst, you know.
I do know. But I head off in another direction entirely, toward my nemesis, Camila Ryder.
“Camila,” I hiss her name as she comes upon me with a greedy grin. “What are you doing here? Never mind that. I know exactly what you’re doing here.”
“That’s right. Thanks to you, I’ve snagged the lead role and I’ve garnered a valuable piece of information from Faith.” Not that I’m going to share the fact I’m headed off to the Hiltmore Resort to join Bates Barlow at the spa.
Her eyes enlarge for a moment, and she slaps her fingers over her mouth as if she had just said the words out loud.
“Ladies,” a deep voice strums from behind, and I jump because I happen to know exactly who it belongs to.
“Jasper,” I say, catching my breath. “What are you doing here?”
His brows knit. “I live here.” He’s wearing his sport jacket and dress shirt, a pair of dark pants—his typical arrestingly handsome work attire along with his typical arresting face.
“Hey, big boy.” Camila sheds an easy smile his way. “I’m afraid I won’t be headed into the office this afternoon. It seems a spa emergency just cropped up.”
“That’s funny,” I say. “I was just about to head to the Hiltmore Resort to get a massage myself.”
Jasper leans back as he examines me with new eyes.
“Why don’t I think this is a coincidence?” He cocks his head my way.
But I don’t say a single word.
I’m going to the Hiltmore Resort to get a massage and hopefully a clue—despite the fact Camila will be there doing her best to botch up my case.

Chapter 8
The Hiltmore Resort is located in Rolling Oaks, a ritzy town where only the truly wealthy can afford to live. It’s situated north of Cider Cove, and to be truthful, the residents of this pretentious town usually look down upon our little community.
In a strange turn of events, not only am I dressed in a bathrobe while standing in the heart of the opulent Hiltmore spa, but so are Camila—and Jasper. The entire place holds the scent of lavender and honeysuckle—and more to the point, rage, the rage being mine.
Yes, Jasper Wilder wasn’t about to let me traipse off to some resort on my own after hearing his wily ex was on her way as well, especially not since we’re both on the hunt for the handsome Bates Barlow. And just to be clear, my rage is in no way directed at Jasper. It’s pointed like a laser at the woman hell-bent on stealing my fiancé.
“So”—I sigh as I extend my arms in my pristine white robe—“here we are. Now what?”
Camila grunts, “How about you go off and get your nails done?” She bats her lashes up at Jasper. “I’ll make sure nothing happens to your big, strong, handsome fiancé.”
“At least you know he’s taken.” I link my arm with Jasper’s and speed him off to our right, nearly bumping into a small crowd as they pass us.
A breath hitches in my throat at the sight of the mob. “That’s him,” I hiss.
Jasper cranes his neck at the group, which consists of five women all ensconcing a man with dark wavy hair and a familiar cheesy grin.
He nods. “That’s him, all right.” Jasper bears those mesmerizing gray eyes of his into mine. “We don’t want to rock the boat, Bizzy. We’ll simply stay in his air space a while. Long enough for me to convince Camila to scat before she ruins the house of cards this investigation is turning out to be, and then we’re leaving, too.”
“You bet,” I say as I turn us around to follow that gaggle of girls Bates Barlow is drowning in. Of course, Camila has already matriculated her way into that twisted sorority and wiggled her way to the nucleus. “Good Lord, that woman works quickly.” I give a slight moan when I see where they’re headed. “It looks as if we’re headed for the sauna. Who in their right mind wants to sit in a hot