Lock, Stock, and Feral by Addison Moore (free e novels .txt) 📕

if she were starring in a regency romance right this minute. But too bad for Hadley because she is not getting a happily ever after with my husband.

“Okay, fine. Maybe you didn’t kill him.” I crane my neck past her at the blooming crowd.

Where to now, Bizzy? Fish yowls.

Let me claw at her face. Clyde gives a sharp meow. That’ll teach her for thinking she can steal your man. You’re married to Jasper, for goodness’ sake. What doesn’t she understand?

“Exactly,” I say under my breath.

“Exactly what?” Hadley shakes her head at me with a newfound aggression. “You just wait until Jasper hears that you’ve spoken to me so tersely, and after accusing me of murder no less.” That man will be mine before the night is through, and I didn’t even need to stuff my feet into these heels to get him.

She stomps off before I can stop her—not that I would have.

I turn around and spot James headed in this direction wearing the same knitted sweater he had on the night of the murder, and a book tucked under his arm, giving him a rather adorable bookworm appeal.

“Bizzy, how are you doing? Is Macy here?”

“That depends if you mean Racy Macy or Macy the Author. The studious version is running around with a pair of red glasses on. So, I hear you’re looking to publish her nonexistent book.” I frown up at him. “People have done a lot of things to get in my sister’s pants, but never a book deal. That’s a first.”

Easy. Sherlock barks. He could still be the killer, Bizzy. He had that glass of wine, remember?

Clyde mewls, The wine he said he couldn’t drink because he’s a diabetic, or was it diuretic? I’ve heard Juni talking about the latter. Maybe that was it?

She had it right the first time.

“James”—I say his name a little harsher than I meant to, considering I’m still rattled from my meet and greet with Hadley—“can I ask you a question?”

If Hadley isn’t the killer, and Liv isn’t the killer, that just leaves Devan and James. I think it’s best to eliminate James right now. At least then I can let Jasper know we’re on the right track.

“Yes.” His brows grow close. “Anything, what is it?”

“The other night at the club, you mentioned you were diabetic and that you couldn’t have wine—yet I saw you in line for wine that night Patterson was killed. And then I saw you with it later in your hand.”

He inches back, his brows furrowed. “Bizzy, I don’t know what you’re implying”—he takes a moment to chuckle—“but you’re right. I was in line that night to get wine, and I did get some. I saw a gorgeous woman in the room, and I wanted to offer it to her.” It’s a tried-and-true tactic to get lucky, but I’m not about to share that with the woman. After all, it’s her sister I eventually got lucky with.

A hard groan comes from me. “I’m sorry.” I grimace. “But I’m glad to hear you weren’t sneaking a sip of something that could hurt you.”

“Not a problem. I know we’re all on edge.” He gives the back of his head a scratch as he looks into the crowd. “Holy hot glasses,” he practically drools as he says the words. “I’ll catch up with you later, Bizzy,” he says as he bolts in my sister’s direction.

It was Macy he had gotten the wine for, Fish grouses. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that.

“Me either,” I say.

Devan is about to zip past me when she offers Sherlock a quick pat.

“It’s almost showtime,” she says, looking my way. “Help yourself to some coffee if you need it. It’s strong. ”

“Oh, I could use something stronger,” I tease. Especially now that I’m certain she’s the killer.

“Sorry.” She straightens. “No wine tonight. That was sort of a one-off. In fact, we’ve never had wine at one of these functions. I don’t like to attract people just because they think there’s an open bar. We’re not that kind of book club.”

Clyde mewls, I bet she needed the wine to disguise the taste of that poisonous mushroom she tainted Patterson’s drink with.

I nod at the tiny kitten.

“So what made you choose to have wine that night?” I ask a little too smugly because I already know the answer.

“Oh, I didn’t want it. But Patterson said the author insisted. I guess she was there that night. He never did have the chance to introduce us.” She glances to the crowd. “Ten minutes until we begin,” she chirps. “I’m always a little too excited at these meetings.” She takes off, and I can hardly catch my breath.

“The author requested the wine,” I pant.

The author was there? Fish meows.

Who was the author? Sherlock barks. What do they look like?

“I don’t know. I can’t remember the author’s name.” I pull out my phone and look up the book online—Lock, Stock, and Double Barrel Peril.

The book pops up and so does a picture of the author. S.L. Teller is staring back at me. And just like that, I know who the killer is.

Chapter 17

Bodies swirl around me as I navigate my way through the crowd. The din of voices rises ever so slightly as the library eschews one of its most golden rules tonight, that of silence.

I won’t be silent either once I corner my very next suspect. And if things go the way I think they will, this will be my very last suspect of the night.

Text Jasper. Sherlock barks. I won’t let you do this, Bizzy. I promised Jasper that I wouldn’t let you walk straight into danger. And this person is dangerous, they’ve already killed once.

Clyde lets out a roar. Let me at ’em. I’ve been anxious to give chase and catch a mouse, but a killer will do in a pinch.

Fish looks up at me. That explains all the chasing that’s been going on back at the cottage. Clyde has far too much energy