“Yes, and?”
“And?”
“Read the label on the box. This is a Nerf gun. Do you remember what I told you about Nerf guns?”
A smile crept across his face as realization dawned in his beady black eyes. “Roger that,” he said, loading a foam dart into the gun with far more skill than he’d handled the semi-automatic at the cabin.
Biting his tongue and squinting one eye, he aimed and—
“Ahh! I am wounded!” Octo-Cat cried as he fell from his spot on the table.
I gave Pringle a high five. I couldn’t wait to tell Cujo about this when I saw him on our next run.
Although it hadn’t quite gone as planned, I’d never forget our first paying case. Not in a million years.
What’s Next?
It's kittens for Octo-Cat when an orphaned litter shows up at our doorstep. And although the needy litter may be cute, the deadly mystery they bring with them is anything but.
Charles has been hinting at a big surprise he’s planned for our first Valentine’s Day together, but the arrival of the kittens quickly changes everything. Now he’s helping me figure out who put the babies on my porch and why their paws are covered in blood.
Meanwhile Octo-Cat is left to play babysitter to the unruly brood while we investigate, and he’s none too happy about it.
Right, so all we have to do is keep the kittens safe, solve their mystery, find forever homes for them, and try to find a way to salvage Valentine’s Day. That shouldn’t be too impossible…
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What’s After That?
Just as I was beginning to think we’d never find the last missing member of our long-lost family, a seagull named Bravo shows up with both a promise and a threat.
He claims he’s been watching me for a long time—even before I gained my strange ability to talk to animals. He also says that if I help settle a dispute between warring flocks, then he’ll personally take me to see the one person I’ve been all but dying to meet.
My help is non-optional. In fact, Bravo has also already secured a mercenary army of woodpeckers to completely destroy my house should I fail this attempt at avian mediation.
No matter what happens next, the information this seagull’s hiding could change my life forever. Am I ready for that?
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Sneak Peek: A New Series!
Hello and welcome to Colonial Candles! My name is Mags McAllister, and I’m part of the eighth generation of McAllisters to have settled in beautiful Larkhaven, Georgia.
That’s right. My family put down roots bright and early in our nation’s history, and we’re still here until this very day.
We weren’t always candle makers, though. My aunt Linda was the one who started the shop back in 1984, and we’ve been a mainstay on Historic Row ever since.
Most days, I’ll be the first face you see when you come in to our humble little store. I also lead demonstrations on traditional candle-making techniques and teach the occasional class, too. My real passion lies in the more modern side of candle craftsmanship, though…
Not sure what that means? Well, I’m talking about viral videos of the oddly satisfying variety. I dip, drip, carve, and shape, then upload to YouTube, where I have a bit of a cult following. Believe it or not, I somehow earn more from monetizing videos of my work than selling the actual candles!
Aunt Linda thinks my videos somehow tarnish the purity of our old-fashioned techniques, but frankly I think it’s a thing of beauty, combining the past and present like I do.
It helps me stay connected to the world outside of Larkhaven. You see, I’m the only McAllister of my generation. At least I thought I was until very recently when an Angie Russo from Maine contacted us and said she was a long-lost family member. Imagine my joy at learning I was no longer the youngest by more than thirty years.
That joy turned into ecstatic fervor when I met my cousin and found her to be one of the most invigorating people I’d ever spent any amount of time with. Now we text back and forth a few times each day, mostly sharing silly anecdotes and cute pet pics. Makes me feel a bit less isolated and reminds me that I’m only thirty years old instead of someone worthy of the senior discount.
Mind you, that doesn’t stop AARP from sending me recruitment letters at least once per month, though. You’d think a girl could enjoy a nice sweater set and antique broach without being taken for her mother’s sister. Jeez!
Anyway, so that’s me, Mags McAllister—lots of boring and just a little bit of interesting all rolled into one. Are you here to buy some candles?
I watched in amused silence as a woman in khaki shorts and a Disney World T-shirt mumbled a quick excuse and then hightailed it from my store. Aunt Linda wouldn’t be pleased that I’d scared another one off. After all, she’d told me time and again that I needed to stop my introduction after saying “Hello and welcome to Colonial Candles!”
“They don’t want to hear your life story, Maggie girl,” Aunt Linda often said, punctuating the words with a sigh, an eye-roll, or even a well-placed flick. And she kind of had a point. Most people didn’t want to hear it, but eventually someone would and I didn’t want to miss the opportunity of telling them all about me.
Besides, most people still bought candles even after I caught them up on my own personal history. The store had become a landmark for tourists, thanks to a few well-placed reviews and that all-powerful word of mouth. Larkhaven itself didn’t attract too many tourists as any kind of end destination, but—boy—did we get a lot of folks on their way down to Florida.
Our humble little town is situated in the Peach Plains region of Georgia, about an hour from the state line. It’s the perfect place to stop for those who want one more break to grab a meal or stretch their legs before carrying on to Mickey’s kingdom or to pay a visit to Grandma and Gramps at their retirement village.
Historic Row is particularly popular because it makes parents feel like they’re doing something educational and responsible before spending the rest of their week chasing after fairytale princesses, high-budget carnival rides, and sugared treats.
It’s odd being a pass-through town. For reasons unknown to me, most people can’t stand to spend more than an hour or two in the vicinity, but somehow we ended up building our lives here and staying for eight generations.
I’d have liked to share all of this with Miss Mickey Shirt, too, but she had already disappeared back into the wide world, closing the heavy wooden door to my family’s shop loudly behind her.
A few minutes after she’d gone, however, I heard a scraping and a scuffling outside that suggested she just might have changed her mind. After all, our candles were a sight to behold.
The noise on the other side of the door grew louder, but still the woman didn’t reenter the shop. What was she doing out there?
Unable to tamp down my curiosity, I traced my way to the front of the store and flung open that door with a gigantic grin splashed across my face. “Welcome back to—”
My greeting ended abruptly when I found myself staring at an empty street. Confused, I glanced up and down and around until I finally found the source of all that noise I’d been hearing.
“Well, hello. Are you here to buy some candles?” I asked the all-white cat sitting on my doormat in the form of a loaf.