A Frightening Fangs-giving

what Ember Sweet was thinking when she decided to open up a shop right across the street, selling the exact same products with a near identical name.
It’s a windblown November in our little corner of Maine, and it just so happens to be the one-hundredth birthday of our cozy little town. All of Cider Cove has gathered right here on Main Street to celebrate the kickoff to the Founders’ Day Festival, a month-long extravaganza that will culminate on Thanksgiving Day with a parade that boasts to rival anything New York has to offer. There will be festivals and celebrations going on all over Cider Cove throughout the month. And the cozy little inn I run happens to be playing host to the official Founders’ Day concert in a little over a week.
Sugar Shack, a huge country band, is set to perform down at the cove that butts up to the inn, and even though I’m responsible for overseeing the event, I’m just as excited as any groupie.
My name is Bizzy Baker, and I can read minds. Wait, let’s do that again. My name is Bizzy Baker Wilder, and I can read minds. Not every mind, not every time, but it happens, and believe me when I say, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Like now for instance.
Of course, Bizzy doesn’t want me to say those words out loud. My sister muses while scowling at the shop that’s threatening to take down her business. Once Ember’s body turns up, she’ll be forced to turn me over to the sheriff’s department. Lord knows the entire town has lost count of how many corpses she’s stumbled across in the last year alone. She’s practically a corpse magnet. I won’t need an alibi when I off Ember. I’ll have my trusty little sis to take the heat for me.
I pull my sister close by the arm, our eyes still glued to the heresy playing out. The scent of sugary baked goods enlivens my senses, as just about every food vendor in town is hocking their wares out in the streets today. The inn is giving away complimentary apple cider mini donuts down by the gazebo in Town Square, and my stomach is growling just thinking about them.
“Come on, Macy. You grew up with Ember. We should go say hello. And look, Georgie and Juni are already there.” I bet they’re not contemplating murder either.
“Because they’re traitors.” She doesn’t miss a beat.
Macy and I do our best to navigate the thick crowd while Fish, my sweet long-haired black and white tabby, sits in the tote bag I’ve cinched to my shoulders with her cute little head poking out as to not miss any of the action. I’ve got my dog, Sherlock Bones, on a leash, and he’s just as anxious to get through the crowd as we are. Sherlock has the most expressive button brown eyes and smiling face. He’s a red and white freckled mixed breed that actually belonged to my husband first.
My husband—those words still sound like a dream. Jasper Wilder and I tied the knot back in September, and we’ve yet to come down off cloud nine. Nor do we plan to. He’s still finishing up at work, but should be joining us at any minute. And after what Macy and I just witnessed, it can’t be soon enough.
Jasper is the lead homicide detective at the Seaview Sheriff’s Department, and if my sister gets her way, there will most certainly be a homicide today.
Don’t get me wrong. Macy Baker is no killer. If anything, she’s always been far more cosmopolitan than Cider Cove allows. We’re both in our late twenties. We share the same dark hair and denim blue eyes, but she’s taken to dyeing her locks a severe shade of platinum. She’s donned a black leather jacket and dark jeans, which are artfully yet nonsensically shredded, along with a pair of cute leather boots. The entire outfit is essentially her uniform, everyone knows that. But I’ll admit, those boots had me wincing once I saw them. The boots themselves are lovely. It’s the five-inch heels that had me cringing. They look far too torturous to wear on any given day, let alone this one where walking up and down Main Street is practically required.
But Macy has never been practical, as evidenced by her inch and a half long acrylic nails. They’re painted a glittery shade of amber that shimmers when it catches the light. And they add the perfect decorative touch for fall.
In fact, the entire town has been decorated for fall, with its thick strings of silk autumn leaves and tiny orange twinkle lights that run along Main Street, giving our sweet coastal paradise a magical appeal. Fall is my favorite time of year, with its plethora of pumpkins, the apple cider, the leaves changing colors—not to mention the cozy coats and boots I can finally mix into my wardrobe. And this year, the Founders’ Day Festival was something I was particularly looking forward to, right up until this moment.
Fish jabs me in the chest with her paw. She’s not really going to kill someone, is she, Bizzy?
Yes, I can read the minds of animals, too. And believe me, I often prefer their thoughts to that of humans. Both Fish and Sherlock Bones know that I can understand them, and somehow they seem to understand each other, too. Only a handful of people know about my strange ability, but my sister isn’t one of them. Not that we’re not close, it’s just that some horrible secrets are better kept hidden in order to avoid unnecessary family drama and potentially lengthy stays in psychiatric hospitals.
Sherlock lets out a sharp bark. If Macy does the girl in, the case will be easy to solve. But we’re not really going to turn Macy in, are we? I’m sorry if it ruins your track record. But for the sake of family unity, I say we let this one slide, Biz.
I shake my