10. Hattie

No sooner does Henry disappear into the dining area than my sisters breeze on into the foyer both wearing pastel sundresses—albeit Neelie's is far more fitting than Winnie's. In fact, Neelie's is skintight and leaves little to the imagination, and Winnie's is blocked by that giant plastic bin she's toting.

"You just missed Henry," I say, heading over and taking the bin from Winnie's arms. "Oh wow," I say, peering into the box. "This looks as if it has enough red, white, and blue to cover every continent on the planet. Thank you for this."

Winnie shares my dark hair, blue eyes, and need to decorate the free world at the mention of an upcoming holiday. Lucky for us both, she's the owner of the Crafty Treehouse, an arts and crafts shop right here on Main Street.

"You're welcome," she says. "The country club is going to look amazing. I've got buntings, streamers, flags of every size—you name it. And I have another box in my trunk filled exclusively with buntings. You'll need more than your fair share to festoon this place properly. I'll be more than happy to help you with that, of course. And once I'm done here, I'm off to decorate Willoughby Hall."

Willoughby Hall would be the one hundred-and-eleven-room mansion her boyfriend Fitz inherited last winter.

"Oh?" I say, landing the box on the counter just as Winnie scoops up Cricket. "Is Fitz hosting something special for the Fourth?"

"Nope," she says, giving Rookie a scratch, too. "We're thinking about turning the hall into a bona fide BB."

"We?" I coo as my mouth falls open. "Winnie, this is getting serious between you two."

Neelie grunts, "Oh, honey, things got serious once he landed that rock around her neck."

That would be true as well. And the rock in question isn't a diamond, it's a pendant the size of a walnut that glows blue and pink and looks as if it has a lightning bolt trapped within it. It's called the Christmas Star and has an entire magical lore behind it. Not only is it priceless, it's one of a kind—sort of like Winnie herself.

Winnie shrugs. "We don't know what else to do with the place. I mean, we're still using it as an entertainment venue. We might add a restaurant or two."

The entertainment is mostly a few magicians putting on a show. They're really big on holograms at Willoughby Hall, too, and it's first-class entertainment all the way. It's no wonder they charge a mint for it.

"So?" I elbow Winnie on the arm. "I think you're avoiding the real question here. It sounds like Fitz really values your opinion. You sound like a team. Will we be hearing wedding bells any time soon? Spill the details."

Neelie scoffs. Oh, who cares about the details, she thinks to herself. I find it ironic that I'm the only one around here who cares about Birkin bags and it's Winnie who can afford to line her closet with them. Which reminds me, I should probably be a little nicer to her. I wouldn't mind a castoff or two.

"Yes, Winnie," Neelie says with the most saccharine tone she can muster. "Spill the details."

Cricket yowls with a laugh, Aunt Neelie is so jealous her face is turning green.

I'll agree with that.

"Yes, Fitz and I are serious." Winnie gives a dreamy sigh. Mrs. Fitz Willoughby does have a nice ring to it, she thinks. And speaking of rings, I'm sure it would be spectacular. I bet you'd be able to see it on the moon. Not that I would ever wear anything so large and bordering on gaudy. Gaudy is Neelie's department. Besides, Fitz has exquisite taste in jewelry. I'm sure I'd love whatever he picked out for me. She clears her throat. "But that's the end of the story. If there are wedding bells to be had, neither of us has talked about it. But should he bring up the subject, my answer is yes. Yes, and capital Y-E-S."

"Aww," both Neelie and I coo simultaneously, with my coo being a little more genuine. Okay, so a lot more genuine.

"Well, I'm happy for you," I tell her. "And I'm happily offering up my bridesmaid services."

"I don't want to be a bridesmaid," Neelie scowls at the prospect. "I want to be a bride."

Both Winnie and I gasp in unison and not for any good reason. Neither of us wants to see Neelie end up with that old cheating coot she's paired herself with.

"Please tell me Stanton isn't going to propose," I say, unable to stop the words from streaming from my lips.

"Not Stanton." Nellie waves him off like he were a dirty pair of underwear—and let's face it, he sort of is. "I might be looking to expand my horizons." She glances at her watch. "Speaking of which, I've got a dentist appointment in just a few hours. We need to speed this along."

"Cornelia Holiday," I gasp. "Please do not tell me you're thinking about hitting on Dr. Draper." The man might actually be a downgrade from Stanton.

"Dr. Draper is married." Winnie is quick to inform us and I gasp twice as hard.

"Oh, thank goodness," I say.

I think.

"He and his wife are separating." Neelie nods aggressively as if she's in the know. I'm just not sure if his wife is apprised.

Neither am I.

"Well, it doesn't sound as if they're separated just yet, now does it?" I say, and the words come out a little snippier than I mean them to.

"You mind your own business," Neelie snips back. "We're just getting to know each other." She gives a snide smile. And I'm planning to get to know him a whole lot better.

"Neelie, he's a married man," I tell her just as that scene from last night comes back to me. Dr. Draper was having what looked to be a spirited discussion with Jane not too long before I discovered her body. And for a second I picture Neelie face down in that puddle with the electrical cord running out of it. "You should stay away from him. He could be dangerous."

"What's he going to do?" Neelie makes a face. "Poke a hole in my head with a dental drill?" She bites down on a naughty smile. I've got more interesting places for him to poke and prod. She turns to Winnie. "Let's catch up with Henry. He's much more fun."

She takes off as Winnie lands Cricket on the counter.

"Speaking of Henry," I whisper to my sister. "Have you noticed anything different about him lately? Does he seem, I don't know, a little more frazzled than usual?"

"Henry," she balks at the thought. "Henry is never frazzled. Maybe he's striking out with the ladies. That's about the only thing I can think of that would send him over the edge."

"Me, too."

I shake my head because it's not enough to destroy our family. Something serious must be going on with him.

Winnie cranes her neck past me. "I'd better go keep them both out of trouble," she says as she dashes into the Cottage Grill.

"And I should probably keep myself out of trouble," I say, stepping back behind the counter and opening my planner.

"Hattie," a breathy woman calls out and I look up to see Chevy Von Champs trotting this way clad in pink yoga gear, her blonde hair pulled back into a whippet of a ponytail. Her pale blue sneakers look twice the width that a shoe should be and they have a thick, wavy sole that gives the impression she's floating as she walks.

Chevy is a well-established mystery writer who just so happens to be a part of my book club. She comes from money on both her mother's and her father's side. An heir to a vodka fortune via her mama, and an heir to cattle ranching billions from her daddy. Her husband is no slouch in the wealth amassing arena either—something to do with menswear I think. She's in her forties, has two children, and well, she might just be a little obsessed with murder.

"Good job finding that body!" Case in point. "I've already got the murder board going," she exclaims, barely containing her excitement. "I've got it all set up, with Jane Jordan's picture smack in the middle. We're still on for tonight at your place, right? This is one murder club I cannot wait to get to."

I can't help but frown at her eagerness. "I believe it's called book club, and yes, we are still on."

Chevy lets out a throaty laugh. "Come on, Hattie. You know you're just as thrilled as I am. We've got a real live case on our hands. There's no way I'm letting you solve this one without us. The entire club is chomping at the bit." Especially this member, she muses to herself. I kill people for a living, for Pete's sake. In fact, I kill them in my sleep, and sometimes those homicidal fantasies are the only way I can make it through the day.

I can sort of commiserate with her on that last point.

"All right." I shake my head, both amused and slightly terrified. "I get it. We'll tackle it together."

She gives a squeal of enthusiasm along with a little hop that propels her three feet in the air. I really do need to look into those sneakers she's wearing.

"Oh, hey"—I tap the marble counter in front of me—"any word from Bunny?"

Bunny Prescott is one of my official BFFs here at the country club. And she happens to be yachting the ocean blue in Europe for the summer. We've exchanged a few text messages, but it's been hit and miss. Bunny is a light so bright she can outshine the sun and this old club just isn't the same without her.

"Nada," Chevy says. "And boy, will she be sorry she's missing all the murderous fun. I'll be down on the beach if something should come up," she says. "These wellness classes are just what I need to cleanse myself of the curse that comes along with summer."

"What's that?"

"My kids are home from boarding school." She gives Cricket another scratch. "I still have a week before summer camp starts. And there's not enough vodka in the world to get me to the finish line." But that won't stop me from trying. Vodka is practically in my blood, after all.

She does have a point.

She takes off for the beach and I dig around my desk until I find the itinerary for Missy Livingston's wellness classes.

Sunrise salutation yoga, seaweed smoothies sampling, saltwater meditation?—

Before I can read another thing off the list, Peggy and Clarabelle saunter back this way, their determination radiating off them like a bad sunburn.

Rookie gives a soft bark. I don't know if I like that look on Peggy's face.

Cricket mewls, It's the fact that Clarabelle's left eyebrow is yanked up into her forehead that worries me.

Me, too. Me, too, indeed.

"Hattie, we would trust you with our lives," Peggy starts, clasping her hands as she picks up right where she left off—pleading.

"And we know all your deep, dark secrets anyway," Clarabelle chimes in. "Remember the time with the?—"

I shake my head to stop her before she can spill any embarrassing anecdotes I'd rather not bring to mind.

"Okay, okay, I get it," I say.

"We're practically family," Peggy continues. "And family shares everything, right?"

"And think of all the fun we could have," Clarabelle adds—and don't think that mischievous grin of hers has gone unnoticed. "We could be like a trio of mind-reading super-sleuths!"

They keep going on and on, and each reason is more heartfelt and humorous than the last, until finally I hold up my hand to stop them.

I take a deep breath—because I have a feeling things are about to get honest really quickly.

I clear my throat. "Ladies, I have two things to say. First, I've got a suspect out on the sand, and I need to get out there to see if I can shake her down." I pause long enough to inspect the anticipation on their faces. "And second"—I cringe in the same way I would if I were about to pull off a bandage—"I trust you both with my life as well. That's why I'm going to tell you the truth. My little quirk is no party trick."

Both Cricket and Rookie gasp as they train their whiskers my way.

I nod to both Peggy and Clarabelle. "I can read minds."

Their jaws drop, and for one blissful moment, they're speechless.

"That's right," I say as a strange mix of relief and anxiety washes over me. "And now, I'm about to tell you everything about my deep, dark secret."

And I do just that.