Cat Scratch Cleaver

a pill. Believe me, I know. We were good friends.”
“A pill?” Bates looks momentarily confused. “Yeah, she was, wasn’t she?”
Camila nods as she playfully scratches his chin. “All couples fight.”
“That they do.” A tiny roar gurgles from him as he scoots her way. “And you know what the best part is? We get to make up right after.” He pecks her cheek with an impromptu kiss, and I glance to Jasper to gauge his reaction, but he just shrugs my way.
Camila giggles like a schoolgirl—a very naughty schoolgirl. “So you and Heather fought a lot?”
Bates spikes his fingers into Camila’s quickly frizzing hair. “Just enough to enjoy it afterwards.”
Georgie grunts as she knocks her knee to mine. “Take notes, Bizzy. She’s pretty good at getting the perps to speak up.”
Perps?
Georgie leans toward Jasper. “Hey, hot stuff, the sheriff’s department should really think of hiring her.”
And now it’s me rolling my eyes.
“Come on.” I take up Jasper’s hand and lead us to the door.
“Hey, wait!” Georgie calls after me. “What’s your hurry? We’re just getting to the good part.” She leans in and cups her mouth. “They’re just starting to make out.”
I glance over to confirm her tongue wagging theory and Camila blows a kiss our way, batting her mile-long lashes at Jasper.
I’d give anything to have a shoe to throw at her. Preferably a heel.
“It was nice seeing you again, Bates,” I say. “I’m sure we’ll run into one another back at the inn.”
“Sure thing,” he says, caressing Camila’s cheek, his eyes never leaving her face.
I don’t hesitate pulling Jasper right out of Camila’s hot den of carnage.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I pull Jasper into the darkened hall and wrap my wrists around his neck.
“Don’t apologize,” he says with a playful smile twitching on his lips. “I think you did pretty good in there.”
My mouth falls open with both delight and surprise. “You do?”
“Yes.” He dots a kiss to my forehead. “And now we’ve established that Heather was tangled up in a physical relationship with both her co-star and her boss.”
I bite down over my lip. “And the fact that she had an argument with both Jane and Bates the day that she died.” That strange conversation I had with Faith and Kiki earlier this afternoon comes to mind. “Did I play my cards right?”
“Yes.” Jasper twitches his brows. “We can pick up takeout on the way home.”
“Good. Because there’s something I think we need to explore.”
A crooked smile rises on his lips as he pulls me in close. “Something tells me, I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this exploration.”
“If you play your cards right, I’ll make sure you do.”

Chapter 9
Jasper and I pick up takeout from the Wok ’n Roll on the way home from Rolling Oaks and head straight for my cottage. We plow our way through box after box while Fish and Sherlock Bones nosh on their own meals. Lucky for Jasper and me, I happen to have a stash of the Country Cottage Café’s s’mores bars handy, and we waste no time diving into those as well.
My cozy cottage is decorated in shabby chic with frilly curtains and a yellow and white plaid sofa that practically devours your body once you sit on it, it’s just that soft. I’m currently seated with my legs draped over Jasper’s lap while he fills me in on the minutia of the procedure that took place once they carted Heather Kent’s body to the coroner’s office.
I wrinkle my nose at the grisly nature of it all.
“So the cause of death?” I ask. “I mean, I’m fairly certain it was the cleaver, but just in case. Have they probed for anything else?”
He lifts a dark brow my way. “This is why you’re a darn good detective. You know when to ask the hard questions. You never take anything at face value.” He shakes his head. “But it was just the cleaver this time. Her spine was severed, aortal artery was hit, broken ribs which led to the puncturing of both lungs.”
“Sounds messy.” I shudder just thinking about it. “What a terrible way to go.” A visual of her lying on the sand along the dark cove bounces through my mind. “Which brings me to my next point.” I reach over and pluck my laptop off the coffee table and scoot in close to Jasper so we can both see it. “There was a death at the cove about six years ago—just before I began working here. I remember it now because it was so tragic. A bridesmaid drowned in almost the exact same spot where Heather died.” I type in what information I know, and Jasper leans in as the screen populates with the story.
“And you think this is somehow related to Heather Kent’s death?”
“I’m not sure if it has anything to do with her death”—I lift my head as I pause a moment—“but I guess we can’t rule anything out. I heard Faith Grayson, the production assistant, and Kiki Woodley, the makeup artist, talking about it. I guess Heather mentioned the drowning to Faith. It turns out, she was in the wedding party along with the girl who died.”
Jasper grunts, “Are you serious? And both women died within feet of one another?”
I nod. “Separated by over half a decade. It’s a strange coincidence, that’s for sure.”
He shakes his head, his silver eyes pinned to the laptop. “I don’t believe in coincidences. Let’s try this story.” He points to the top article and I click on it.
“Rachel Hatterman,” I say, reading her name off the title. “It looks as if she was drinking, slipped off toward the barren end of the cove, landed in the water, and drowned.”
“Washed up against the boulders,” he finishes. Jasper takes a breath before clicking on one of the images. “And there’s Heather,” he says, pointing to a group shot of the bridesmaids in their pastel yellow gowns as they flank the glowing bride. “There were eight of them. I wish