One-hundred-and-eighty-three days and fourteen hours without tripping across a dead body and tomorrow I, Reagan Summerside, former bum-magnet, is getting married to the best guy ever,” I gushed to Auntie KiKi. The two of us gazed around the living room of Auntie KiKi’s pristine Victorian now adorned with a bazillion yellow and white mums, twinkling lights, and satin-clad chairs in neat rows. “I’m not sure which is more amazing.”
Auntie KiKi’s smile wobbled then she burst into tears.
“Wait! No.” I rushed over and put my arm around her. “You’re not losing a niece your gaining a nephew-in-law. Me getting married is a good thing, at least this time it is. I’m not marrying bed-hopping Hollis and I am marrying Walker Boone. Boone, Bruce Willis and I are living right next door to you in Cherry House and intend to mooch dinner and doggy treats every chance we get. We’re one big happy family.”
“Oh, honey,” Auntie KiKi sputtered, “I’m afraid you won’t be getting the chance to do any of that mooching. Lord have mercy and saints preserve us, nothing is ever going to be the same around here again.”
Book six in the Consignment Shop Mysteries