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Poison Bubbles: Christian Cozy Mystery (The Nosy Neighbor series) (Volume 6)

By Cynthia Hickey

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1
I hoped I would never have to shoot another person. “Why is my Glock in my suitcase?”
Mom peered through my open bedroom door. “Safety. You, Stormi Nelson, of all people, know you should never go anywhere without a gun or Tazor.” She ducked back out.
I seriously doubted anyone at Mountain Springs Resort wanted to kill me. Still, Mom had a point. After our last horrifying ordeal of my niece, Cherokee, being abducted and almost sold as a sex slave, then being shot at and having to shoot someone, I knew things could escalate from good to bad in the blink of an eye. I sighed and slid my laptop in its padded bag. All I wanted to do from here on out was write my romantic mysteries.
“Oh, look!” My sister, Angela, entered the room and waved a pamphlet in my face. “Wear something nice. They have a semi-formal party every Saturday night.”
I shook my head and rolled my little black dress into a corner of the suitcase. My sister thought of herself as a fashion icon, but really, I’d place her more in the “lady of the evening” category. Still, the resort trip was, hopefully, a healing time for us. I bit my tongue and continued packing.
“Hey, beautiful.” My fiancé, Matt, stepped behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist before nuzzling my neck. “I’m going to miss you.”
I turned and slipped my arms around his neck. “Come with us.”
“I can’t. I’m leaving for an undercover job in Little Rock.”
“Then, you’ll only be half an hour from us. Try to visit.
He chuckled. “I’ll try, but two weeks at a swanky resort isn’t exactly a hardship for you.”
I gave what I hoped was a sexy pout. “It will be without you.”
He planted a quick kiss on my lips. “I’ll call as often as I can.” He tapped my nose. “Try and stay out of trouble.”
“No promises.” Seriously, how much trouble could I get into at a resort where every hour contained a planned activity? I probably wouldn’t write a single word.
He kissed me again. “Relax and have fun.” With a wink, he strolled out the door.
A quick glance at the clock warned our departure time was approaching. Who was I kidding? I’d never left the house once on time since my family moved in. We’d be at least a half hour late.
We were an hour late. I leaned against the van I’d rented, not trusting Mom’s old thing to get us anywhere safely, and stared across the street to where Rusty tried to mow his yard on crutches. After taking a bullet for my mother, the simple man would always hold a special place in my heart. Still, enough time had passed, he shouldn’t need the crutches.
“You can put your crutches in the closet now, Rusty.”
He nodded and rushed into the house.
“I still don’t know why I can’t go with you.” My nephew, Dakota, wheeled his mother’s suitcase to me. “Wayne works all the time. I’ll be alone and bored.”
“He said he would take off part of the time and you two would have loads of fun.” Other than Matt, Detective Wayne Jones was the next best person to watch over my sweet nephew.
“Thank you for inviting me,” Maryann, my best friend, literary assistant, and soon to be sister-in-law, dragged a suitcase behind her. “This is going to be fun.”
“You deserve it as much as the rest of us.” After all, when Matt’s cover was blown and he was scheduled for execution by his abductors, it ripped her apart as much as it did me. This mini-vacation was desperately needed by all of us.
I reached through the van window and pressed the horn. “For crying out loud, we’ll be driving in the dark!”
Suitcases started flying out the front door. My nephew rushed to gather them and shove them into the back of the van.
“We’re running out of room,” he said, pushing his back against one.
“Tell me those aren’t mostly your mother’s.” I glared at my sister taking mincing steps in way too high of heels toward us.
“They are,” he said.
“Take the two smallest ones out. She can carry them in her lap.” I crossed my arms. “It’s two weeks, Angela. They have free laundry. You need ten outfits, max.”
“And accessories, shoes, makeup,” she counted off on her fingers. “Not everyone is happy going all natural like you.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I closed the back of the van as the others piled inside, then slid behind the steering wheel. We waved and blew kisses at Dakota as we backed out of the drive.
He stomped away, not returning our gestures. Poor boy. He’d been as worried as the rest of us when everything turned bad a month ago. But, I had been outvoted in letting him come along.
An hour later, we pulled into the resort as the sun kissed the top of the Ozark mountains. We were met by two very handsome young men who set to work loading the mound of luggage onto a wheeled cart. A blond woman in a suit and sensible heels waited on the veranda.
She smiled. “Welcome to Mountain Springs where you’re treated like royalty. My name is Cheri Mason. Please, allow me to show you to your rooms.”
I was bushed and my nerves stretched to the breaking point by the drive. Non-stop chatter was never my thing.
She led us to a cottage at the rear of the resort. “There are two bedrooms, each containing two queen-size beds. We’ve spared no expense to give you a luxurious experience during your stay here. In both bathrooms, you’ll enjoy a rain style shower head and a tub big enough for two. There is an assortment of lotions and bubble baths for your pleasure. We have free Wifi and a five star restaurant. Enjoy.” She flung open the French doors and stepped back.
“I get the bath first,” I raced in and stopped, staring around me in awe. Everything was white except the dark wood floor, polished to a high sheen. Sheer curtains fluttered at the open window. The chilly breeze let us know we had entered autumn.
“There is champagne, non-alcoholic cider, fruits and cheeses in the fridge,” our chirpy hostess said. “If you need anything else, give us a call. Someone will be right over.” She closed the doors and left us alone.
“Wow.” I was bound to spill something on something. White was not my friend. It was beautiful, though. I could already feel the tension easing from my neck and shoulders.
I wheeled my one large suitcase into the room I would share with Maryann and left it next to one of the beds. Ten minutes later, a glass of sparkling cider in one hand and a scented candle in the other, I stepped into the bathroom, smiling with glee at the sight of the massive claw footed tub.
I ran the water, poured in something smelling of flowers and musk, then lowered myself into water barely out of the range of too hot. “Ah.” I sighed, settled back, and closed my eyes.
When the water cooled, I added more hot. This was the life. Maybe, I’d make it an annual pilgrimage.
“How much longer!” Angela pounded on the door.
“Use your own.”
“Mom has been in there forever.”
“Not my problem. Go away. I’m relaxing.” I closed my eyes and sank under the bubbles. Unfortunately, I could still hear her, although she sounded like a fish garbling.
She pounded some more, then silence. I popped over the bubbles and opened my eyes, then raised the rest of the way. The water was cooling quickly from the open window. I lifted my hand and studied my prune-like fingers. It was time to let Maryann in.
I stepped out onto a plush white towel and reached for my robe.
A scream shattered the peaceful night, ripping through my window like an icy claw.
I shoved my arms into the armholes and tied the sash in a knot around my waist as I burst from the restroom, through the bedroom, and into the living room. “What was that?”
The other three stood in a tight circle like warriors, backs together, watching for danger.
“It sounded like a woman.”
“Someone is being killed.”
“Tortured!”
Everyone spoke at once, except for my niece. Her dark eyes were wide, her skin pale as she stared at the front door.
A knock at the door had us all spinning and shrieking like girls at a slumber party after watching slash and gore movies. I waved them to be quiet and retrieved my gun from my suitcase before slowly opening the door.
Cheri stood, the ever-present smile in place. “Just a cougar, ladies. Nothing to be scared about. You’ll hear them every night, most likely. My apologies for not telling you earlier. Have a good evening.”
At least I’d had my bath before the craziness started. “I’m going to put on my pajamas. Maryann, the tub is all yours.” Dropping my Glock back into my purse, I headed for the bedroom.
I donned a pair of red and white polka-dot cotton shorts and a red tank top, then dug in my suitcase for the latest mystery I’d purchased. I wrote them, and read them, with a voracious appetite.
“Don’t you get enough of murder and death?” Angela lay sprawled across an easy chair and filed her nails. “Read something sexy. Oh, wait…that word isn’t in your vocabulary.”
I decided not to comment. Matt didn’t seem to have a problem with me and his was the only opinion that mattered. I rolled my eyes and took up half the sofa. “I’m here to relax and enjoy myself. Where’s Cherokee?”
“I let her take my turn in the tub.”
“That was nice of you.”
“She was shook up after the cougar scream.”
That had definitely gotten the blood flowing. I opened the book and started to read, getting engrossed in a murder mystery that had nothing to do with me. How sweet it was.
Soon, all five of us were sitting quietly, involved in our own methods of relaxation. Tomorrow, we’d have massages and three course meals. Maybe a walk through the garden after breakfast. Pretty much whatever we wanted. The resort offered everything from yoga to makeovers, including a designer dress shop. Maybe I would update my wardrobe. I smiled, knowing I didn’t have to do anything but veg out if that was what appealed to me.
I glanced at Cherokee, relieved to see the color had returned to her face. After her kidnapping, she’d cut her waist length mane of raven black hair to shoulder length. If her plan was to look less pretty, it didn’t work. Instead, the shorter cut emphasized her high cheekbones, courtesy of her Indian father who decided life on the reservation was better than raising a child. I vowed right then and there to make sure my niece returned home with no more ill effects of her ordeal. At least what was in my power to remove.
I turned my attention back to the story printed on paper.
“Help!”
I bolted to my feet and yanked open the front door.
“Gun!” Mom shoved my purse in my hands.
A woman, clad in a flimsy white nightgown, raced toward the main building. “He’s dead! Oh, my, god, he’s dead.”

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