A Christmas to Dismember Addison Moore (feel good books TXT) 📖

“Oh?” He straightens. “I didn’t realize you were with the party. Right this way.”

I don’t dare correct him as he strides us across the glossy white marble floors, and we bypass well-polished men and women with tiny little meals sitting on their plates—and oddly I’ve yet to see a single person take a bite. Go figure. I take it the rich don’t eat. I knew they weren’t like the rest of us, but this little revelation makes me wonder if this planet underwent an alien invasion without knowing it. Wealthy aliens who don’t need food to fuel their bodies.

The waiter stops short at an oblong table filled with blonde cackling women, all of them ultra-thin, all of them undergoing varying degrees of facial paralysis.

I spot Angelica near the end of the table with a few empty seats around her, and we quickly trot on over and take a seat. Angelica’s blonde hair sits in a nest on top of her head, her dark, thick-framed glasses are firmly in place, and she’s wearing a fitted red leather jacket over a gold turtleneck.

Not a single woman bats a false eyelash our way as they continue to henpeck one another at a frenetic pace.

Juni and Georgie peruse their menus.

Georgie grunts, “There’s not a single price tag on here.”

Juni bounces in her seat. “It’s our lucky day, Mama. That must mean the food is free.”

“It’s not free,” I whisper just as Rudolph lets out a sharp bark. He looks adorable with his head poking out of my leather bag with that perky smile of his and that bright red ribbon tied onto his matching red collar.

In less than five seconds, every eye is feasted this way as the women all coo collectively in this direction.

A blonde in a shimmering silver top trots over and plucks him out of my bag, and soon enough they’re all fighting over him. Lucky for Rudolph, he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s licking up every frozen face he comes across.

“Say.” Angelica taps me on the arm. “Isn’t that the dog from last night?” Her poinsettia red lips round out as she takes me in. “And aren’t you the beekeeper I met?” She casually holds up her wine glass, and a sommelier appears from out of nowhere to fill it.

Georgie leans in and whispers, “She’s tipsy, Biz. Pump a little more truth serum into her, and we’ll have the case solved before the appetizers arrive.”

Here’s hoping.

“I’m an innkeeper, actually.” I offer a warm laugh. “I’m Bizzy. We met just before you went on. And these are my friends, Georgie and Juni.” I nod at her. “And by the way, your performance was amazing.”

“Thank you.” She gives a few rapid blinks. “I guess you can say I’m pleased with the way things turned out last night.”

Juni kicks me from under the table and makes a face.

I know, right? I nod back at her.

How could Angelica be pleased with the way things turned out last night—unless, of course, she’s the killer.

“I thought the performances were outstanding.” That’s the truth. If it weren’t for that little dismembering detail, the night would have been perfect. “Do you perform regularly?”

Angelica is quick to wave it off. “I don’t have time for that.” She winks at someone down at the other end of the table. “I’m a woman of the world. I’m far too busy with the galas, the endless shopping for all the it parties I’m to attend.”

“That’s—lovely.” I force a smile to come and go.

“No, it’s not lovely.” She laughs at the thought. It’s dog eat dog is what it is. Just maintaining this lifestyle is enough to make me want to crawl under the covers and stay there. I’d much rather be home with a good book by the fire than at this table full of ninnies, but duty calls. She shrugs. “Some days are better than others.” It’ll be hard to top last night, but like they say on Broadway, the show must go on.

I lean in and wince. “I’m sorry to ask, but did you know Quinn Bennet well?”

Her eyes close a moment. “Too well.” Her expression sours at the mention of him. “Quinn and I dated off and on. He was a playboy, you know. I was just one woman in that harem he kept. I knew the rules and played along.” Her eyes flit to the side when she says that last part.

A waitress comes over to take our orders, and Juni raises her hand in haste.

“Escrow Gots!” She elbows her moody mother. “That’s fancy speak for land lobsters.”

I shake my head at her. “Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s a funny way to say snails.”

“Ha!” Juni lifts her wine glass my way, already brimming with the red stuff. “Look at Ms. Fancy Pants ready and willing to pull one over on me.” She snaps her fingers at the waitress. “Make it two orders. I came ready to play.” She pats her stomach and winks at me.

Great. Good thing my credit card came ready to play, too. But I’d much rather have a bauble from Prestons for what this is going to cost me.

Georgie orders the clam chowder, and I do the same. The rest of the table rattles off a number to her, and she seems to know what that means before taking off.

Angelica tries to angle in toward the conversation going on to her left, and I scoot my chair next to hers another inch.

“So did you get to reconnect with Quinn before he was—you know?” I can’t bring myself to say the word murdered.

“Oh yes, I saw him”—her brows flex a moment—“right before the show.” I told that handsome officer last night that I didn’t speak to Quinn after he left the stage. I’d better stick to the story. The murder happened at the inn. This poor girl probably hasn’t been shaken down by the sheriff’s department just yet, and she looks darn right fragile. I bet she’ll sing like a canary as soon as they ask