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1
MELLY
It isn’t often that a woman has to make bail for her eighty-year-old grandmother after she’s arrested for poisoning the fellow members of her church social club. Grannie Rose was tough and serious, but one of the most caring people I knew. There was no way she’d poison her friends. She stuck to her values no matter what and would never lie or break the law. I should know. She’d raised me from the time I was twelve, doing all she could to instill in me her strict moral code and deep respect for doing what was right.
Yet, here I was, bringing her home from the county jail. At least they didn’t fingerprint her while she was there.
Pulling into the driveway of her modest ranch home, I brought my car to a halt and shut off the engine.
“I’m grateful your seats have heaters,” she said, tucking her shawl around her throat. “It was rather cold in that cell. I’ll be lodging a formal complaint with the mayor. You can help me with that.”
“Of course.”
“My shawl wasnotenough. I should’ve thought to wear a coat, but it’s May, for heaven’s sake. Who needs a coat in Cape Cod in May?”
When she called me, I thought it was a joke, one of those pranks where someone pays to have a person arrested to benefit a charity. But, nope, my Grannie Rose had been arrested for poisoning six of her fellow social club members. One of them was still in the hospital, and the DA was thinking about pressing charges.
She hadn’t done it. Nothing would convince me she had.
“Who do you think is out to get you?” I asked.
“I’m not sure.” Grannie Rose blinked my way. “It could be just about anyone.”
“Who was there when you made your punch?” Her secret punch was as renowned in this small town of Mystic Harbor as her knitting. Her handcrafted mittens sold within seconds at local craft fairs each fall, and she’d won the Good Citizen Award for her mitten donations three years in a row.
“I was alone when I made it.” She frowned. “You know how it is. I don’t share my recipe with anyone.” She patted my arm. “Except my beloved granddaughter, Melly, naturally.”
I’d insisted on the nickname when I moved in with my grandmother after my mother died. My dad had taken off not long after I was born, and he’d died before Mom. Melly fit. New life, new name. From that moment on, I’d left Melinda behind and became an entirely new person, or so I’d thought when I was twelve.
Grannie, of course, had no problem calling me Melly. She hated her real name of Rosebud, and who wouldn’t?
I got out of the car and went around to her side, removing her walker from the back seat before opening her door.
After she fell at the church function hall and broke her hip a few months ago, I’d moved into the small apartment on top of her gambrel garage. I wanted to be here to help her after she came home from rehab. In exchange for driving, housework, and preparing most of her meals, she gave me a great deal on the building she owned on Main Street for Creature Cones, the ice cream shop I’d opened two months ago.
I helped her get out of the car and stand, supporting her until her hands tightly gripped her walker. I shut the door and followed as she rounded the hood of my car and started up the walk toward her back kitchen door.
“Tell me what happened. You made the punch,” I prompted. “There had to be others around because I know you’d never poison anyone.”
“Thank you,” she gushed, grinning up at me.
At five-feet-tall, she was as petite as a pixie. At five-eleven, I was as tall as a . . . well, a Valkyrie, I suppose. I loved my height and often wore boots with heels to add to it. I just needed a sword and a fur outfit to complete my Valkyrie image.
“I appreciate your support,” she said as she reached the top of the ramp leading to her side entrance. I unlocked the door, and we entered the kitchen. “Detective Carter was quite insistent that I’d done the crime, and I would need to do the time.”
“You’re not going to jail,” I growled.
“I agree.” She moved across the kitchen and settled in a chair at the small table. “What’s the game plan, dear?”
“As soon as you’re settled, I’m calling Monsters, PI.”
2
ELRIK
“I’m assigning this new case to you,” my orc boss and owner of Monsters, PI, Katar Dolkin, said. He’d just entered my office and taken the seat across from my desk.
In his past job, Katar did extensive undercover work. But while recently solving a case involving an ancient orc manuscript stolen from the local library, he’d fallen in love with the librarian, Bailey. Rather than return to the orc kingdom, he’d opted to remain in town, marry her, and set up a new business. He’d hired me, and I’d started working at Monsters, PI, a few weeks ago.
