Butchered After Bark

in my arms.
I saw it myself, Bizzy.
Juni grunts, “It looks as if Little Bo Peep is about to find some new sheep to play with—in the slammer.”
“I don’t know,” I say as I look out at the crowd quickly draining off the property. “I think I might just have to dig a little deeper before they lock her up and throw away the key.” But maybe not too deep. This is Camila we’re talking about.
“Hear that, Annabeth?” Georgie rattles the haunted doll, making her eyes open and close at a quickened clip once again. “Hold onto your curls, Red. We’ve got an investigation coming up ahead.”
I nod her way.
“And something tells me, it’s going to be a bumpy ride,” I whisper.
The sky rumbles as a dark boil of clouds sweeps in quick like the steam floating off a cauldron.
She’s dead. A voice calls out from somewhere behind me, and I turn, looking into the frightened faces of those slow to exit.
When I’m not standing near the person whose mind is open to me, their voice sounds more or less androgynous. And right about now, I really wish it didn’t.
Blair Bates was right. She will be taking her secret to the grave. And I just made it happen.
A breath hitches in my throat as I do my best to search the masses for a single familiar face, but I don’t see one.
“I don’t think Camila killed Blair Bates,” I pant. “I think the killer is still here among us.”
A jag of lightning goes off in the sky, illuminating that doll in Georgie’s hand a strange shade of green, and yet once the sky retreats to its darkened state, that strange green glow remains.
Juni and Georgie howl and scream as the doll in Georgie’s arms turns her head my way and gives a sly wink.
A scream of my own gets locked in my throat.
As if a murder wasn’t enough to rattle me, that haunted doll just took the haunted cake.
But in truth, on a night like this, it feels as if all of Cider Cove is haunted.
I did it. That distant internal voice goes off again.
And I just got away with murder.
“No, you didn’t,” I whisper. “Nobody gets away with murder on my watch.”

Chapter 4
October is bringing with it everything this horror-based month has promised, chilly winds that blow the leaves right off the trees, an overabundance of pumpkins that dot the landscape as far as the eye can see, hayrides, hay fever, and icy cold terror that lays over our small town like a dark, ominous cloud.
The dark clouds were indeed out in full force this morning as I took Fish, Sherlock Bones, and our new tiny addition, Sprinkles, out for a walk along the cove. The sandy beaches are barren this time of year, save for a few of the guests of the inn trying to soak in any part of the majestic Atlantic they can sink their feet into.
The ocean reflects the sky in both hue and anger this morning, dark and unknowable like a monster rousing from its slumber.
Afterwards, I drop into the Country Cottage Café and pick up a few strips of bacon for both Sherlock Bones and Sprinkles—and for Fish, a few quick licks of milk from a saucer I keep in the kitchen office just for her. The café is connected to the back of the inn with a full covered patio that looks out at the majestic Atlantic. Emmie is in charge of the kitchen and predominantly does all of the baking, which is exactly why this place is such a hit with both the tourists and the guests alike.
Thank you, Bizzy, Fish mewls. I needed every last creamy sip. I didn’t get a wink of sleep with these two in the living room last night.
“You could have slept with me,” I say. Fish’s favorite place to catch some shut-eye is right on top of my head. And she has an unusual knack for waking me up at the crack of dawn with a whip of her tail to my face. And for that reason alone, I haven’t bothered with an alarm since I’ve had her.
I’m not sleeping with you, until you kick Jasper out of the bedroom. She twitches her whiskers my way.
Sherlock barks at the thought. She’s not kicking Jasper anywhere. You’re going to have to get used to him. Just like you’re going to have to get used to me, kitten.
Sprinkles lets out a yippy string of barks. And what about me? How do I live anywhere without Blair?
“Oh, Sprinkles.” I give her back a little rub. “Rest assured, you’ll stay with me until I can contact her family.”
They won’t want me. They hardly wanted her. I don’t think she had a mother, and her father is always cruising—whatever that means.
“It means he’s on the high seas and he can’t have a pet.”
My father happens to be cruising at the moment as well. He’s engaged to Jasper’s mother—a long and rather baffling story. Anyway, once Jasper and I left for our honeymoon, we got a text from the two of them saying they were going to take a honeymoon of their own. Words that sponsored visuals that I never wanted to have. They’ll be gone until November, living up the highlife with midnight buffets and reading books by the pool. I won’t lie. That aspect of it leaves me more than a tiny bit envious.
“But don’t worry, Sprinkles,” I say. “You can stay with me for as long as you need to. And you’ll have Fish and Sherlock to keep you company, and play with.”
I like to play, Fish says, lashing Sprinkles over the face with her tail.
Sherlock gives a light growl. Don’t let her get away with anything, Sprinkles. The next thing you know, it’ll be your head she’s sleeping on. I should know, it’s happened to me. He lets out another bark. Come on, let’s go check out that haunted doll collection of Georgie’s. I heard from