A Frightening Fangs-giving

if not, I’d gladly fill those killer stilettos. Someone’s got to step up to the plate in the name of womankind.”
Hunter’s mouth falls open. She’s kidding, right? Why do I get the feeling I jumped out of the frying pan and into a serial killer fire?
Macy finally picks up on that look of concern on his face.
“I jest.” She nuzzles against him. “I would never slaughter you in your sleep.” Her fingers walk up his chest. “I’d make sure you were wide awake for that experience.”
A high-pitched laughter trembles from the poor guy.
We’re fast approaching the turnstile to disembark and a pinch of panic grips me.
“Her stepmother is staying at the inn,” I offer. “Marigold Sweet? I’m sure if you wanted to stop by and offer your condolences, she’d appreciate that.”
His lips pull into a line. “Marigold, huh?” He glances to the ever-darkening sky. “You know, she was the one person who seemed to tolerate Ember. I know Ember wasn’t crazy about her. Heck, I wouldn’t be too thrilled if my dad married someone a year or two older than me. But Marigold never said a cross word to Ember. It’s almost as if she took her stepmother gig seriously. And maybe she did?” Or maybe Ember had her so chained up with blackmail she had no choice but to play along. My money is on that.
I consider this. “I’d like to think Ember had a genuine relationship with Marigold. She seems like a nice person. And I guess they were family—you sort of have to at least tolerate them, right? Oh, and before I forget, there’s a candlelight vigil for Ember next Friday night in front of her shop. Marigold will be there. It’s up to you, but it might offer you some closure if you came.”
He nods. “I’m sure it would. Maybe I will stop by and offer up my condolences.”
Macy glowers my way. Way to go, Bizzy. Maybe I should send Jasper to the town beauty queen and ask them to spend a little time together?
The ride comes to an abrupt stop, and the entire lot of us is safely offloaded.
Sherlock winnows out all the bacon in Georgie's pocket while the kittens cuddle up with Hunter as if they had found their new home.
He looks my way. “How about I babysit these guys for you for a little while? They look too comfortable to leave.”
“I don’t mind,” I’m quick to tell him.
Macy coos, “Come on, I’ll buy you a turkey dog and hand-feed it to you.” She wraps her arms around him as we say our goodbyes and they take off.
Georgie steps in. “What do you think, Bizzy?”
“I think Macy’s found a good one. Unless, of course, he’s the killer. And if that’s the case, at least she’ll have had a good time right up until the very end.”
Both Georgie and Fish howl with a laugh.
The icy wind kicks up a notch, forcing us to cinch our wonky quilts tightly around our chests.
A sea of bodies part before us, and both Georgie and I gasp at the very same time. Walking along the midway between the craft booths and the food stands are more than a dozen women all with wonky quilts draped over their shoulders.
“I’ve hit the big time!” Georgie shouts as Sherlock barks and jumps in her honor.
Georgie grabs Sherlock by the leash, and the two of them run off hooting and hollering.
Fish snuggles in close. More turkey tacos for us, Bizzy.
“You said it sister,” I say as we head for the food. “Hunter Knox turned out to be a pretty nice guy.”
Fish nuzzles her head against my shoulder. But you know better than to trust a nice guy, don’t you, Bizzy?
“I sure do. I learned that one the hard way.”
Fish yowls, It’s time to find out what kind of a person Flint Butler is.
I nod her way. “He seemed nice enough when I met him. The question would be, is he a very nice killer?”
And that’s exactly what I’m about to find out.

Chapter 9
The Country Cottage Inn has a tendency to be busy at this time of year, but never to the degree it is right now—and never for the reason we’re busy right now either.
After we came back from the pumpkin festival last night, Georgie asked if she and her quilting cronies could put a few quilts in the lobby in an effort to try to rack up a few sales. Of course, I said yes. Of course, I had no idea what a marketing force of nature I was dealing with either.
A thicket of bodies is abuzz in the lobby of the inn, milling around the dozens upon dozens of tables set out with what looks to be a never-ending supply of wonky quilts. It’s a little after ten in the morning, and it’s been a madhouse for the last hour straight. I haven’t seen this many souls at the mall the night before Christmas.
I’ve been busy checking in a large group of guests since this melee launched, so I haven’t had a chance to properly question Georgie on how this innocent quilt sale turned into a bona fide smash and grab frenzy. Emmie has been making the rounds with platters of her apple cider mini donuts, and it’s like watching seagulls flock to breadcrumbs each time she comes out.
No sooner do I leave the reception area in Nessa and Grady’s hands than I bump into Jordy.
“How did you know to get all of these tables set out?” I shake my head as I marvel at the crowd moving around at a frenetic clip.
Jordy chuckles to himself. “Georgie called me last night and told me she’d be needing as many as I could fill the lobby with. I’ll be honest, I put out six when I got here and I’ve had to triple it in the last half hour. Which reminds me, I need to know what the inn has planned for Thanksgiving so I can map it out.”
“We’ll host