Odd-A-Sea: A Delilah Duffy Mystery, #5

By Jessica Sherry

All it takes is one mistake to ruin everything.

 

With a growing family, a successful business, and a mega-bestselling book series, Delilah Duffy has finally won the life she's battled for since moving to the island. Almost.

 

She fears the oasis she's created with Sam will come to a quick end when Chris Kayne returns for her—a fear exacerbated by media coverage of her upcoming book release and approaching wedding.

 

When a studio executive's odd murder thrusts Delilah into the investigation, her fears become reality. One strange death to the next, Chris Kayne is back to enact his dark plans. Or is he?

 

After everything she's learned about her supervillain soulmate, Delilah doesn't believe it—or doesn't want to.

 

With the stakes higher than ever and the body count rising, unraveling the killer's twisted game is the only way to secure her happily-ever-after… if she and her loves can survive it.

 

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "…a real page-turner for me. I literally cried in a part of this book!"

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ "The Delilah Duffy series has been filled with mystery, family drama, and romance. I have cried, laughed, and been shocked throughout the series."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jessica Sherry
• Release date: Feb 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9780996294188

Book preview

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Published by Jessica Sherry

Copyright © 2023 by Jessica Sherry

jessicasherry.com

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

ISBN: 978-0-9962941-8-8

Book Cover Design by Elizabeth Mackey

Printed/Published in the United States of America

Contents

Prologue

The First of All Criminals

1.One

1. Oasis

2.Two

2. Mystery Maven

3.Three

3. Mystery Juju

4.Four

4. Master of Romance

5.Five

5. Apex Predators

6.Six

6. Seasons

7.Seven

7. A Regular Tuesday

8.Eight

8. Miss Marple

9.Nine

9. Sarcastic Fringehead

10.Ten

10. Incomplete

11.Eleven

11. Devil-Complex

12.Twelve

12. Sweet Little Lies

13.Thirteen

13. #CursedMovies

14.Fourteen

14. Uneasy

15.Fifteen

15. Villains Only

16.Sixteen

16. Together

17.Seventeen

17. Stem the Tide

18.Eighteen

18. Green-Eyed Monster

19.Nineteen

19. Devilish Dragonflies

20.Twenty

20. Breaks

21.Twenty-One

21. Capturing Kayne

22.Twenty-Two

22. Gray

23.Twenty-Three

23. The Oddity Effect

24.Twenty-Four

24. Building

25.Twenty-Five

25. Fangtooth

26.Twenty-Six

26. Comfort-Goats

27.Twenty-Seven

27. Fright Night Killer

28.Twenty-Eight

28. Against the Blade

29.Twenty-Nine

29. What's Done

30.Thirty

30. Beachgrasses

31.Thirty-One

31. Sea Squirts

32.Thirty-Two

32. Frankenstein & the Ghost

33.Thirty-Three

33. A Hollow End

34.Thirty-Four

34. Storm Surge

35.Thirty-Five

35. A Thousand Cuts

36.Thirty-Six

36. Drowning

37.Thirty-Seven

37. Dying Declarations

38.Thirty-Eight

38. Here Again

39.Thirty-Nine

39. Sea Glass

40.Forty

40. Odyssey

Epilogue

Another Regular Tuesday

Links

Books by Jessica Sherry

Afterword

Prologue

The First of All Criminals

The graveyard looked much different than on my previous visit last winter. Lush, green grass replaced the light snow-dusting. Vibrant canopies of leaves played background to the Spanish moss moving freely in the summer breezes. The dark crows had retreated to the forest, giving way for songbirds flittering around the tombstones.

Still, the place felt colder than ever somehow. I rubbed my arms, chilled though I wore thin long sleeves on a hot August day. Not even the tickling sea breezes offered their usual comfort as they rippled my dress and slipped through my hair.

A black car pulled next to my Jeep, parking lengthwise. Behind it, others skirted into the lot, crookedly taking up every available space while not using any correctly.

Here we go. My strained breath caught in my throat.

Our eyes locked as he exited the car. The scalpel splitting my skin and the blood gushing from my arm replayed in my head. I almost felt dizzy, just as I had that night when he smacked his forehead to mine. While I forced a smile to hide my derision, Chris Kayne looked like the Cheshire Cat—amused, surprised, up to no good.

What was I doing? This could be an epic mistake.

With his CIA detail close behind him, he moved through the cemetery toward me. His handsome, clean-cut college-kid vibe clashed awkwardly with the middle-aged suits in his entourage, but Chris was used to standing out. While fear predominated, other feelings arose as he grew closer. Sympathy, compassion, and a strange longing to return to what we were before all this—really good friends. Chris felt like my evil twin—forever bonded and always at odds.

What a delightful surprise, Delilah. He held out his arms as if he expected me to run into them. Agents fanned the area but stayed close. You look as delectable as ever, aside from the obvious. Wincing, he flicked his wrist toward my pregnant belly as if it were a fly, bothering him. It’s cliché to say, but you’re glowing… or is that fear making you flush?

Why should I be afraid? I wanted to meet.

"Yes, and this almost feels intimate, darling. Chris stopped near Great Aunt Laura’s grave, side-glancing the stone and the entire cemetery before turning his attention back to me. Had I realized you missed me, I would’ve made arrangements sooner."

No need. You aren’t the only one with resources, so I made my own arrangements. Besides, it was my turn. My coy grin inspired his own.

He sheepishly rolled his dark eyes. Yes, I may have been a little overzealous sending my idiotic associate by the new house to say hello.

Rudy Cullum put a knife to my throat, Chris.

"To ensure your complete attention, dearest. I promise you, the only real danger you’re in is from me."

That’s why I’m here.

Chris groaned like an annoyed teenager. Begging is beneath you, Delilah. I enjoy our games too much to forfeit now.

I’m not here to beg, only to reason. I’d like a truce.

His left eyebrow rose inches on his forehead. Ah, this should be interesting, though I would’ve preferred a more elegant meeting place. Someplace with ambiance. Candlelight, mood music, and chairs, at least.

What? Like a date? I leaned against the tombstone, a side-smile easing up my cheek while I rubbed my basketball belly. We’re way beyond that, now. Don’t you think?

Yes. His quick answer came with a troubled crease on his forehead. We’ve always been beyond it. Still… it would’ve been nice to share a meal.

That wasn’t an option. I thought you’d appreciate someplace that connected to both of us, and your buddies insisted on privacy.

The sinister undertone of his expression returned. Yes, they’re torturing me with rules, lackluster environments, and brain-deadening boredom, Delilah.

Not entirely, I hear. What about the challenge of taking down bad guys? You and I have this in common now, among other things.

I’d taken it too far, evident by his raised eyebrow and shaking head, like a disappointed mentor, ashamed at my flagrant disregard for his teachings.

You will earn no truce through weak attempts at befriending me. We are way beyond that, too. He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. "Highlighting our commonalities is so Psych 101. Oh, Chris and Delilah… they like books and puzzles and playing cat and mouse… His singsong voice sent chills up and down my arms, forcing me to rub them again. Too much time with that Neanderthal detective has dulled your skills. You’ve adopted his rudimentary techniques. Building a rapport may work with drug dealers or wife beaters but not with me."

No, I wouldn’t expect it to. Why bother with tricks when you see right through me, anyway? That’s not what I meant to do. My face scrunched as my nerves rose, but I locked eyes with him, letting him see my distress. What I meant was… You gave up everything for me, Chris. I only hope there’s some bright side.

His eyes ran over me as if I really were transparent. A strong urge to fold my arms and step back hit me, but I fought it. He studied me, no doubt searching for signs of fear or deception.

But I wasn’t lying, even when I said, It would pain me if nothing good came out of this for you, especially after all you’ve been through.

Cat-like, he circled me and Great Aunt Laura’s grave, keeping a respectful distance, but prowling, nonetheless. Oh, do tell, Delilah dear. What exactly have I been through?

Your neglectful parents didn’t understand you and pawned you off on hotel employees who hated getting stuck with the weird kid. And finally, fed up with your awkwardness, they sent you away for help, only you didn’t get it. Did you?

I maintained eye contact, but he didn’t answer.

"When a doctor goes wrong, he is the first of all criminals. Doyle wrote that for a Sherlock Holmes story, but he’s right. Isn’t he, Chris?"

He stopped circling, staring at me. The wicked grin fixed on his face scared and intrigued me together.

You didn’t deserve your parents’ neglect or your doctor’s mistreatment.

"Mistreatment? You mean abuse." The words jumped from him—a flash of feeling in his otherwise static demeanor. Chris’ time in a residential treatment facility as a teenager marked his turning point from odd to evil, according to our private investigator. But the details remained a mystery.

Abuse, I said with a nod. Forgive me for failing to have all of the facts.

His head cocked like a question mark. Ah, but you have done your homework. I commend your efforts.

I’m sorry for what you went through. It must’ve been… My voice trailed off in failing to come up with an appropriate adjective. Miserable? Horrible? Devastating?

It was. His almost breathless answer strung all my adjectives together without saying anything. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to tell me, to unload the secrets flaming his dark proclivities. With only the tombstone between us, he leaned closer as if he might whisper them to me. But his sincerity lapsed into a coy smile inches from my own. No matter. They got theirs, didn’t they? Well, except for dear old dad. He proves useful on occasion.

He’s too close. Move away, Sam’s voice ordered inside my left ear but I couldn’t budge even as Chris grew nearer.

Gutting that vile doctor felt so right, Delilah, he whispered. I could almost feel his breath on my cheek. It cemented one of life’s few joys for me. He shushed me. Don’t tell anyone.

Delilah, move, Sam said again.

Chris laughed, side-glancing his surroundings. Oh, wait. Chris Kayne is dead. Tell anyone you want. But first, tell me, what’s the point of this?

Distance yourself, or I’m… I ignored Sam’s voice and forced a smile. Facts over fantasies, right? I must know you to best you. And I will, Chris, because the fact is, you’ve turned me into a fantasy.

He grabbed my wrist, twisting it hard and yanking me against him. The jerking move nearly sent me nosediving for the ground, but he held me steady. Here’s a fact. I could kill you right now or anytime I want. You are at my mercy.

A breathless chuckle escaped as I waved off the agents rushing over and Sam—watching out of sight. He cursed in my ear. Yes, but you are also at mine. Kiss me, cut me, help me, kill me—you are so conflicted, Chris. And I know why.

Enlighten me, darling. His spiteful tone made me cringe.

The doctor, your mother, hookers, druggies, thugs—in your eyes, your targets always deserved the pain you inflicted on them. Ignoring his hurtful grip, I shrugged, even smirked, channeling a casual vibe from deep inside my panic. But I don’t. Sure, you’d find pleasure in killing me, but no justice. And then, what’s left anyway?

His eyes drifted over my face, stopping on my lips. I thought he might kiss me, and my head swam to figure out what I’d do if he tried. Nearly to term with my pregnancy, I wasn’t as quick or agile as usual, and even before, I was no match for him. Still, I leaned closer this time. Killing me means living without me. Could you really do that?

A sharp exhale bridged a wide grin. You read my journal, finally.

Yes. Rudy clued me in on deciphering it. You provided the key, so you must’ve wanted me to.

To see if you could, yes. But let me assure you, even the longest, most devoted obsessions are finite. They’re like chips in a vending machine—one falls, and another takes its place. His grip softened as he strummed his fingers along my skin. I’ll be the death of you… and I’ll easily replace you.

You don’t scare me, Chris. And I don’t believe you, anyway.

Ha, you’re the fantasist, dear. He let me go, stepping away as if to calm the tensions around us. But I am enjoying this, I must say. So, tell me what you want.

You gave up your villainy for me once, so why not go all in? You could do great things in the world if you tried. It’s a second chance, Chris. I want you to take it.

Earning you a second chance, as well.

I’m asking respectfully. If you care for me at all—

Care? How cliché.

"If you value what we are to each other, whatever that is, then, please. Leave my family and me alone."

"What we are to each other, Delilah, is inevitable. He rubbed his bare chin, staring with consideration. But I’ll play your game, for now. I’ll grant a reprieve—time to flesh out the opportunities before us. Consider this your reward for upping your game. You bested my idiot messenger, did your homework, and provided this pleasant respite from my drudgery. His eyes swirled over the landscape, as if memorizing it. It’s nice to be out, and who doesn’t enjoy a surprise trip to the cemetery?"

How long?

Don’t get greedy. What fun would it be to set an appointment?

My hand slid over my belly. That he agreed to anything surprised me, and I wanted to see how far I could get, even with Sam barking in my ear to end it. I need more from you.

I appreciate your feistiness, my love, but that’s not how this works.

"This is our game. We make the rules, I said sternly. I have other requests."

Chris leaned against Great Aunt Laura’s tombstone, aghast but amused. Go on.

"Leave my family out of it. Always. They have nothing to do with us. And when the time comes, we meet on neutral ground. It’s not a fair fight, otherwise."

He tapped his chin with his forefinger. Fine. I’m all for fairness, Delilah. I may be a villain, but I’m not a monster. As long as your family stays out of my way, I won’t set my sights on them. Your baby Neanderthal bores me anyway.

"My entire family, Chris."

Chris groaned. Fine! One-on-one, the way I prefer it, anyway.

Good. One more thing. This work you’re doing for the CIA, I said, catching his eyes in mine, tell me you’ll try. Really try to do your best. Consider it your next great experiment.

His surprised look morphed into a teasing grin as he leaned closer. You can’t make me over, Delilah. I am what I am, and none of it’s good, especially not for you, in the end.

Then humor me with the attempt. It’d be bad sport otherwise.

What makes you think you can trust me, even if I agree?

Whatever promises you’ve made, you’ve kept—at least the ones to me. Cheating would make it an empty victory.

His brown eyes cocked up in disbelief. I wouldn’t say empty, but perhaps slightly less enjoyable. Have it your way. A reprieve. Neutral ground. No family. And I’ll be all I can be with the CIA. You have a deal—

Ah, deals are for card sharks and car salesmen. I want you to promise.

Using his own words against him earned me a hearty laugh. "Aw, you do listen to me. For that, I promise… but only if I can have something in return."

My shoulders went back, bracing myself. What?

When I call, you must come. Just you. He said the words slowly as he circled me, not unlike a snake coiling around its prey.

No, Delilah. Stop this now… Sam barked in my ear while Chris spoke.

Enacting some elaborate farce to ferret you away… it’s so much trouble, Delilah. The pesky collateral damage and police entanglements—what a bother. We’re better than that. Chris smiled slyly. Promise me you’ll come, alone.

My distressed face prompted his false compassion—head tilted, lips pressed, eyes narrowed. He glanced over my shoulder at the tree line, where Sam hid, and then at my belly. I do keep my promises to you. And for you, I’ll spare them.

He inched closer, his compassion melting as something more sinister shadowed him. But refuse me, and everyone’s fair game. I will not hold back my nature, nor will I relent. I will pick them off, one by one, and then—

Okay. Yes. I agree.

His lips curled as his hand extended. I shook it, content with my choice though Sam’s curses stung my ear. Chris pulled me to him again, running his fingers over my wounded arm before twisting it behind my back. I swung with my other hand, but he blocked me and pulled me in by the back of my head. I tried wriggling free, but he was surprisingly strong, locking me in place.

Agents rushed in, but not before he kissed me. Hard. His tongue pushed inside my mouth before he gnawed on my bottom lip, making it bleed. The agents dragged him away from me while Sam raced to my side.

It’s a blood pact, now. Chris licked the blood off his lips. Don’t get too comfortable, Delilah. I won’t stay away for long!

I ignored him as they escorted him to the car. Sam took my face in his hands and eyed my split lip.

Are you okay?

I leaned against Great Aunt Laura’s tombstone for support. Ugly panic rose from the depths where I’d kept it. My racing heartbeat, shaking hands, gasping breath all seized me at once. Still, I managed a nod.

Sam dabbed my wound with a handkerchief. This was a mistake.

He’ll keep his promises.

Will you keep yours? The icy glint in his eyes matched his angry tone. "You said you wanted to see how he’d react to your information—not make a damn pact with him. How could you agree to a deal with that devil? Tell me, right now, you’ll never actually do it."

I doubt he’ll ever ask. I took measured breaths, hoping to stave off my panic and Sam’s anger. I get that it’s hard to understand—he wants to kill me, but he cares about me, too. I’m banking on whatever humanity he has left.

Sam scoffed. I should’ve killed him when I had the chance.

If he doesn’t hold up his end, you’ll get another. For now, we have time. I rubbed my belly and took deep breaths, trying to calm down. But sharp pains raced around my stomach, making me moan. And we need it. Oh, Sam.

I grabbed onto his arm, hunching over as more aches ripped through me.

Delilah, oh shit! What’s—is it—I mean, are you okay? What can I do?

Sam’s nervous jumble made me chuckle. Take a breath, Sam. Everything’s okay. Now get me to the hospital.

One

Oasis

Three years,

Three Mystery Maven books,

And three beach babies later…

I curved the Jeep Grand Cherokee around Atlantic Avenue, taking the scenic route even though we were late. Very late. The ocean glittered under the August sun, reminding me of the lightning bugs we’d caught in the backyard last night. We’d held them in our mason jars and giggled over their delicate displays before releasing them again. Three-year-old Laura had called them lightning butts while her younger brother Kenny belly-laughed and clapped. At eighteen months, Kenny didn’t get his sister’s joke, really, but he laughed at everything.

Say good morning to the ocean, everyone, I said as we passed.

Four-year-old twins Darren and Darla, my second cousins and god-babies, obeyed in sync from the third seat. Laura ogled the sea with scrutiny, contemplating the logic in greeting it. Kenny clapped, bouncing his chunky body in his car seat, stirring his snoozing three-month-old sister Rosie. Sitting beside me in the passenger seat, Willie barked.

Mom, look at that funny plane, Laura said, tapping the glass.

That’s a drone, baby. It’s taking pictures of the beach. The fancy gadget breezed overhead before edging the shoreline.

I wonder what the pelicans think, Laura said, watching it.

Me, too.

As if on schedule, Darren glanced up from his coloring book. When’s Mommy and Ry coming home, Del?

I grinned, turning onto Starfish Drive. Do you remember my answer yesterday?

His serious face scrunched. Three days.

That’s right. So, how many days left now, do you think?

Two.

That’s right, Darren. As much as I loved my god babies, I’d been counting the days, too. While Darren and Darla were primarily self-sufficient, caring for five children differed significantly from three. It’d been over a week since Raina left them in our care. I was ready to return to my usual chaos level.

Sam waited in the paved lot next to Beach Read, leaning against the trunk of his unmarked Dodge Charger. Only hours ago, he’d woken me with kisses and coffee before heading to work. Still, it felt too long since I’d seen him; it was always too long as if the air felt thicker whenever we were apart.

What’re you doing here? He met my delighted smile with a kiss when I exited the car.

Thought you might want help unloading your cargo. You’re late.

I laughed, motioning toward the kids. Do you blame me?

Dad! Kenny cheered from the backseat. Laura smiled. Rosie drifted to sleep again.

Two days left, Sam, Darren reported.

Aw, man! That’s it? We’ll get some serious game-playing done. Hungry Hungry Hippos. Ele-Fun. Tag.

You’re too slow at tag, Darla said, grinning.

Trash talking, huh? Nice! Someone had her Cheerios this morning. Sam’s crystalline eyes narrowed at Darla as she giggled. I’ll take you down later, missy.

Heading toward Beach Read, Darren and Darla waved to their father’s face on the exterior mural. Raina’s collage captured Darryl Chambers’ boyish grin and love of locks, as well as the rest of Beach Read’s history—Great Aunt Laura and her bright red hair, open books with scenes spilling out, Frankenstein Henry, and a silhouette of the Mystery Maven. The busty, pony-tailed silhouette holding a magnifying glass now representing me in the Mystography book series brought the scene together but was my least favorite part. I’d never been busty—at least not before babies—and I certainly never carried a magnifying glass.

The doors chimed as we spilled into the store. Henry’s gray eyes turned owl-like at the kids as he peered over the pages of his book.

Who wakes me from my earthly slumber? His baritone boomed, sending the kids into laughter fits as they dashed in different directions. Kenny wriggled out of Sam’s arms, demanding freedom to join the fun.

Oh, no! We woke Grendel! Hide! Darla ditched her brother and hid behind a bean bag in the children’s section. Darren and Laura ducked under the art tables while Kenny daringly hobbled toward the counter. Kenny’s full-bodied laugh-jiggle almost made Grendel-Henry break character.

Master Beowulf, I presume? Henry towered over him, but Kenny stood his ground, raising his arm to challenge him to a battle.

Sam laughed beside me, locking his fingers with mine as we watched the playful scene. Savoring oasis moments had become a joyful pastime for Sam and me. The word oasis originated with the Egyptians as a fertile place within a desert. For them, oasis meant dwelling place. Sam and I had found our dwelling place—an oasis of love, laughter, and joyful, albeit exhaustive, fun. We soaked up every moment, fearing it might end.

Amused, Sam side-glanced me. How do you get any work done?

Lots of delegating, I said, smirking.

Jenny Richmond, my assistant, rushed over as if cued, relieving me of Rosie and my gear. Good morning, Delilah. Hello, Detective Teague. She beamed at Sam like always. When Jenny went missing nearly four years ago, Sam found her hiding in the park and saved her household from their abusive patriarch, Arlo, scoring us an excellent babysitter and me a personal assistant.

Hey, Jenny. Good to see you, Sam said, half-watching Kenny wobble across the store in pursuit of Grendel-Henry.

You, too. I hope work’s been quiet for you.

Too quiet, actually, Sam said. That’s when we catch the worst cases.

I gave him a funny look. Really? The quiet before the storm applies to police work?

Catching my uneasy look, he flashed his warm smile. "Don’t worry, honey. This is far from quiet."

I chuckled, taking in the Grendel-Henry versus Kenny battle while the rest raced from one hideout to another.

Jenny prompted her iPad. Would you like to hear your schedule, Delilah?

Yes, but first… Sam, while you’re here, can you help me with a stuck drawer in my office?

With three children hanging off Henry, one sleeping, and Darren still hiding, I pulled Sam to the back. Willie, help watch the kids. Willie sat on his paws and barked.

Once in my peaceful office with the door shut, I pushed Sam against it, kissing him.

Stuck drawer, huh? he whispered at my lips.

Can’t I steal a few minutes alone with my… I gave up talking and kissed him again.

Your what, Delilah? Sam smirked. Best friend with benefits? Fiancé? Baby-daddy?

I prefer lover or boy-toy. Careful of the gun holstered on his belt, I slid my hands inside his suit jacket, wrapping them around him while his hand wandered up my thigh. In a quick movement, he hoisted me up and turned me around, backing me against the door while lavishing me with neck kisses.

Come on, Delilah. Marry me already. Please?

Okay. I laughed as his lips slid across my collarbone. Is September 8th soon enough?

No, but I’ll take it.

I’m open to negotiating. Maybe if I get you out of that suit…

I should stop by more often. Sam eased from his jacket a shoulder at a time.

I nodded enthusiastically, grabbing his tie. Yes, you should.

He locked eyes with sudden seriousness. Everything’ll be okay, you know.

I know. I relaxed into his confidence. This beautiful connection that began on a beach when we were teenagers had grown into an extraordinary union, wedding or not. Partner, playmate, soulmate—Sam was my dwelling place.

A deep kiss made us both smile before a longing sigh escaped me. After all we’ve been through, a wedding should be easy. Right?

Piece of cake.

I chuckled at his wedding pun. You make me so happy, Sam. And not just, you know, with my stuck drawers.

He laughed. It’s my pleasure to serve you, whatever your needs.

I tugged him toward me again, and we melted into sweet touches and tender kisses. After three years and kids, one might expect such things to lose their luster. But not for us. We’d become experts at stealing moments, perhaps for all that’d been stolen from us already. Thirteen years to lies that kept us apart. Three months to pursuing Chris Kayne. From near-deaths to misunderstandings, we knew to seize every chance.

A low bang on the door stopped our fun. Willie barked. Kenny called out, Mommy? Daddy?

Our shoulders simultaneously deflated while our smiles grew. He glanced at his watch. Wow, five whole minutes. Might be a new record. Sam gave me a final kiss, running his fingers along my cheek. Let’s put them to bed early tonight.

I sighed. We can try.

Moments later, Kenny’s infectious laugh filled the store as Sam lifted him onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Sam set Kenny down in the kids’ section and plopped into a beanbag, creating an oasis for all of them still running from Grendel-Henry’s attacks.

Jenny bounced to my side. You have several orders to approve today, the schedule to review, a party-planning committee meeting at 11:00, Wines and Spines Book Club this evening, and Clark Duffy called. He said not to freak out. He’ll be here soon.

Sounds serious. What am I supposed to be freaking out about?

Jenny shrugged as Rosie erupted with tears. Her cries lured Sam from his kid-pile. He usually got to her first, thanks to his strict running routine and perhaps sharper maternal instincts, not that I complained. From day one, he’d taken to parenting like a prodigy to chess—knowing the right moves and always ready to play. He scooped her into his arms, nuzzling her against his chest.

The doors chimed. Everyone can relax. I’m here. With donuts. Reggie Taylor spun the donut box like a basketball on his fingertip. Chaos ensued again as the kids rushed him.

Impressed by the brand he’d created for his grandmother MeMaw on social media and his entrepreneurial spirit, I lured Reggie away from Dollar General and delivery driving right after rebuilding Beach Read. Plus, he’s a natural caretaker—a serious bonus for my family business.

Reggie’s critical glance from across the room gave me a funny feeling. You two okay?

Is there a reason we shouldn’t be? I asked.

His lanky shoulders slumped. Aw, snap. You know, my job would be much easier if you two would embrace social media. Then, I wouldn’t have to be the link between you and the rest of the world. Hate being the bad guy, but there’s something you both need to see. He stepped over the kids’ donut frenzy, slipping his phone from his pocket.

Sam and I leaned in to see the headline of a Publishing Today article: The Mystery Maven’s Upcoming New Release & Secret Wedding.

Our mouths dropped as I grabbed the phone for a closer read. How the hell did this happen?

Don’t say hell, Mom, Laura said, mouth full.

I ignored my precocious daughter and read the highlights aloud. Publishing exec and editor Janie Redgrave reports that Delilah Duffy, the real-life heroine of the Mystography series, has finally set a date to wed longtime fiancé Detective Sam Teague in a ceremony that can only be described as, well, mysterious. In true Mystery Maven fashion, the happy couple sent exclusive guests Save-the-Dates with a cryptic message: Wedding