I arrived back at the Gossip Inn at exactly 11:53 p.m., my eyes scratchy with exhaustion. The porch lights were on, the camera on the slope of the roof watching me silently. I waved at it, sure that Gamma would be manning it—I’d disconnected my earpiece and microphone without giving her much warning.
Right on cue, Gamma emerged from the inn. She waited for me on the porch.
“I’d appreciate forewarning next time you decide to rip your microphone from your throat, Charlotte,” she said. “You nearly deafened me.”
“Sorry,” I replied. “But I needed to talk to Detective Goode, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus properly if… you know.”
“I was in your ear encouraging you to prod him for more information?”
Or judging me for my inability to resist his not so charming demeanor. What was it with me and arrogant or dangerous men? My list of exes read like a rap sheet. Granted, a short rap sheet, but still. Apart from Brian Smulder. He was sweet. Maybe a little too sweet.
“Well? Tell me about it,” Gamma said. “The murder.”
We walked into the darkened yard together and sat on our bench under the rendezvous tree. My grandmother smoothed her cotton robe over her knees. It was cooler at night, even though Gossip was pleasant during fall.
“This has to be the most interesting murder I’ve seen,” I said.
“That’s an insensitive way of putting it.”
“But it’s true.” I stretched out, aching from the long day and night. Before I’d headed out to meet my supposed client, Julia, at her wedding, I’d been helping Lauren with her last minute preparations for the catering that was, now, no longer needed.
“Julia’s dead,” Gamma prompted, keen for me to get on with it and give her the juicy details she hadn’t witnessed.
“Julia,” I said, “writes me a note asking me to help her for fear that she might be murdered. It’s worded strangely, and at the time, I wasn’t even sure that the note was from her at all. Until I go to the wedding, and…”
“Goodness, since when do you have a flair for the dramatic?” Gamma asked. “Get to it, Charlotte. I’m not getting any less tired.”
“Georgina, we both know you barely sleep at night.”
“That’s neither here nor there.”
I stifled a yawn, my eyes watering. She had a point. It had been a long day. “Here’s what I saw. The mother-in-law is wearing white, gets up, and leaves. I sit down. The bride is sobbing as she approaches the altar. The groom is listless. The bridesmaids are bridesmaids. Fading wallflowers.”
“I’m with you. I saw this.”
“They’re about to start the ceremony,” I continued, “when the lights cut out. A gunshot is fired from somewhere near the back of the room.”
“You’re sure about that?”
I gave Gamma a look. “I know I wasn’t the best spy, but give me a little credit, Georgina.”
“Continue.”
“Chaos ensues. People screaming and freaking out. And then someone attacks me.” I gritted my teeth, the memory fresh. I dipped my hand into my purse and removed the swatch of fabric. Peach cotton. I handed it to my grandmother. “I pulled this from the attacker.”
Gamma studied the material, pressing it between her fingertips then lifting it to her nose and smelling it. “No perfume. Doesn’t seem to have been torn from a dress. Interesting.”
“It gets more interesting,” I said. “Whoever attacked me also took my clutch. They stole the letter from Julia.”
“Ah. So one of the alleged murderers then.”
“Or an accomplice. The two murderers might’ve been working together or apart. We can’t be sure yet.”
“True.” Gamma held the swatch of fabric gingerly. “Given that the entire wedding was peach themed, it might be difficult to discover the owner of this fabric.”
I nodded.
We fell silent, the intrigue from what had happened today closing in on us. It would be quite something to solve a case like this, but without payment for it, why should I? It would only land Gamma and the inn in trouble if I got caught. And there was so much else to focus on.
We had the haunting tours—we’d stepped up our schedule since it was nearly Halloween—and the cat hotel was more popular than ever. And then, of course, there was Violet, our favorite guest who had a new complaint every day. Not to mention the strangeness of how empty the inn seemed of Halloween decorations. Were they disappearing or was I imagining it?
“Charlotte,” my grandmother said, “you’ve got to do what you feel is right. If you want to uncover the murderers then I believe you should go for it. I’ll help you.”
“You’re only saying that because you’re out of side projects.”
“Maybe. But I am kept busy with Jessie Belle-Blue’s constant interferences, which are, at this point, practically a sideshow.”
I opened my mouth to argue the point—a part of me wanted to find a more mundane purpose for my existence in Gossip. One that didn’t remind me of my past and the high octane action that had been daily life. I could take up baking with Lauren—and possibly burn down the inn as a result—or maybe I’d try my hand at knitting or… or cat breeding… or start a stud farm or—
Headlights flashed near the gates to the inn.
A car, a sleek black BMW, pulled up to the front of the inn and parked. The doors opened and two men emerged.
The groom, Mr. Knowles, and a guy I recognized as the best man—tall with a mustache. They talked quietly for a second, the groom gesturing toward Gamma and I under the tree. The best man gave a shake of his head then retreated, entering the inn.
Mr. Knowles straightened his suit jacket and came over. His shoulders, broad and strong, drooped. “Hello.” His voice was rough, like pebbles grinding across a cheesegrater.
“Mr. Knowles,” I said. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Terribly sorry,” Gamma echoed, but her tone was reserved. Like she knew there was something on the horizon.
The groom was silent for a little longer, appearing to sink in on himself. “She trusted you,” he said.
“Beg pardon?” Gamma and I said, in unison, then exchanged a glance. Gamma’s look said, “Stop stealing my lines.”
“She trusted Miss Smith,” Mr. Knowles said. “I… this morning before the wedding, she texted me that she left you a letter. That she was afraid. She mentioned two... I can’t even say it. This is unbelievable. How has this happened? How?” His voice was hollow, devoid of emotion.
“You can call me Charlotte.” I extended a hand. “I didn’t catch your first name, Mr. Knowles. We haven’t seen you around much.”
“I let Julia handle the catering. Julia and my mother.”
“Right,” I said.
Finally, he accepted the handshake. “Ethan. You can call me Ethan,” he said.
“You said that Julia texted you this morning?”
“She said that she was afraid for her life. That there were two people after her. I didn’t believe her, and now, she’s gone.” He shuddered.
Was it just me or did the behavior not quite suit the words?
“Why didn’t you believe her?” I asked, softening my tone so that he wouldn’t take offense.
“Because Julia has been acting erratic lately. The closer we’ve drawn to the wedding, the crazier she’s been. I’ve been avoiding her and my mother. Giving them space so they can work out the details.”
So, you’re lazy and left the women to do all the work. Duly noted. “What do you need from us, Ethan?”
He met my gaze with dark eyes. “I want you to find the people who did this to her. I’ll pay you whatever you need. Just find them.”
“You don’t trust the police to do the job?” Gamma asked, primly, her British accent pronounced.
“No.” The word was rough. “They think it’s me. They’re not even suspicious of the actual murderers.”
“You have a suspicion about who they are?” I asked.
“Bridesmaids. Those women were mean cows. When Julia was at her lowest, they drove her down into the ground. And one of them stole her journal. She told me about it. Stole it right from her house during her bridal shower,” Ethan said. “I’m positive it’s them. Look. Name your price and I’ll pay it. I need this done. Over with.”
I stared at him without answering.
“What do you say?” Ethan’s expression was blank.
What was it about this guy? Why did he creep me out? Was it the gravelly voice?
“I’ll take the case,” I said, at last.