Cat Scratch Cleaver

Her head cocks to the side. “Wait a minute. You don’t think the two deaths are related, do you?” She inches back. “I promise you, that’s not what happened. Rachel died because she was taking part in some stupid challenge—who could knock back the most schnapps. All of my bridesmaids were taking part in it. Stupid if you ask me. Heather was the instigator. She was always the instigator, and I mean that in a good way.” She glances to the sky as a look of grief sweeps over her. “I’m sure she’s raising hell in heaven right about now.” A sad chuckle emanates from her.
I glance to Jasper and he gives a slight nod, acknowledging my concern.
“Kendra.” He tries to match my quiet tone. “Did Heather and Rachel know each other prior to being bridesmaids in your wedding?”
“Oh yes.” She doesn’t hesitate as she hoists the now sleeping child higher onto her hip. “Heather and Rachel went to high school together. Rachel mentioned it to me several times. I asked Heather about it, but Heather tried to deny she knew her. Which is weird because Rachel made it sound as if they were close.”
“What high school?” I ask a little too eager and Kendra’s friendly demeanor shifts to something darker.
“Why are you asking me all of these questions?” Her voice is curt and just a touch louder. My God, they probably think I’m behind it. The last thing I need is to be investigated for a homicide. Talk about ruining Harry’s bid for city council. And he’ll have me and my past to thank for it. And don’t think he won’t throw it in my face for the next ten years either. “I gotta go and put my kid down in bed.” She glares over at Jasper. “Don’t bother coming around again. I don’t plan on being so cooperative next time.”
She slams the door in our face, and Jasper quickly leads us back to his truck.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “That went sideways and it was all my fault.”
“No, it wasn’t.” He shakes his head as he starts the engine. “She was ready to blow. At least now we know Heather had a hand in Rachel’s death whether she meant for it to happen or not.”
“And that could mean maybe someone from the past had come to avenge Rachel’s death.”
Jasper nods. “Another suspect.”
“Maybe,” I say. “Wasn’t it weird the way she mentioned that Rachel claimed to be high school friends with Heather, but Heather tried to deny it?”
Jasper’s cheek glides up one side. “Do you know what that means?”
“Heather Kent had something she was trying to hide.”
“But what?”
“What indeed.”
I have a feeling we’re about to find out.

Chapter 10
I scoured the internet for any little morsel that might even indicate Heather Kent had a secret with Rachel Hatterman, but their names never even populated the screen together. It’s as if Heather was right. They weren’t even friends.
It’s the very next day and Mother Nature turns up the volume on the furnace that we call the sun. With the two front doors to the inn wide open, the air conditioning is more or less useless at this point.
Peter Olsen and his crew are busy staging the front of the inn for a scene—one in which Camila Ryder is a part of. I can see her from here sitting in a chair while Kiki Woodley applies copious amounts of makeup to her. Although, I don’t know why. I heard Peter say they would strictly be filming her from behind.
Bodies are buzzing to and fro as Emmie lands a giant platter of her sinfully delicious s’mores bars onto the counter in front of me.
“Sweet treats for any and all,” she shouts, and soon an army of hands lunge in our direction.
I wrinkle my nose at her as she comes around the counter and lands next to me.
“Why does it suddenly feel like a zombie invasion?” I knock my shoulder to hers. “I always knew you’d have a hand in causing the apocalypse.”
She looks to the platter and laughs. “And just like that, they’re gone. I guess they’re a hit. Who said the end of the world wouldn’t be delicious?”
“Have you made anything that isn’t? Why do you think we were so popular in high school?” A thought comes to me. “Hey? You wouldn’t happen to know where I could get an old yearbook, do you?”
She groans, “If you lost your copy, I won’t complain. Speaking of the zombie apocalypse, by the looks of my hair way back when, you’d think I started it around the tenth grade.”
“Not our yearbook.” I’m about to extrapolate on my sudden interest in yesteryear when a shrill scream comes from the grand room behind me and both Emmie and I fly in that direction.
An older woman with dark curly hair stands with her face aghast as she points to the bookshelf.
“What is it?” I zoom over, and once I see the infamous object, a breath hitches in my throat.
Partially sticking out of a book is a wooden handle hiked in the air, the thick metal blade of a cleaver protruding from an old thriller we’ve had on the shelf for years as a part of our lending library.
Emmie takes a full step back. “I think I’d better call Leo.”
“I’ll call Jasper.” And I do just that.
The guests voluntarily evacuate the grand room, and soon there’s a rumble among them about a killer on the loose.
“Great,” I mutter. “Emmie, keep the guests out of the area, would you?”
“No problem,” she says as I head back into the foyer, only to meet with Jordy wielding a cleaver of his own while dressed in the dingy jeans that he wears to mow the lawn.
“What are you doing?” My voice squeaks in a panic. “Jordy, did you plant a cleaver in the library?”
“Are you nuts?” His brows pinch in the middle. “I found this in the mermaid topiary by the beach. It was sticking out of her back.”
“Oh my God.” I