Trisha gasps as she ogles the mountain of pumpkin pies set over the counters. “Naomi! You had better not have overestimated the dessert again. I can’t have the food costs exceeding the budgeted amount. The last thing I want to do is take money from needy families just to pay for another one of your mathematical errors.” She glares at the rest of us. “Dinner is being served to our guests. And the rest of you are missing your meals.” She bites the words out, each its own kernel of rage, and the room drains in an instant.
Everett and I are the last to leave, and I watch as Trisha bullets past us into the ballroom.
“Now there’s an angry woman. I have never seen her not worked up over something.”
Everett takes a breath. “I’ve found people like that have a lot going on below the surface.”
“Yeah, like volcanic activity.”
Everett and I step into the grand ballroom and I’m blown away with all the festive decorations. Each table has a pumpkin centerpiece filled with sunflowers courtesy of my mother’s horticulture club. There are bright orange maple leaves strewn into garland and hung over the walls. Dozens upon dozens of large round tables fill the enormous hall, and every familiar face in Honey Hollow seems to be here tonight, minus Noah, of course.
Even Cormack has ceased her vigil and donned a pretty rose gold dress that shimmers with her every move. She’s seated at a table with Aspen and Kelleth, my newly discovered sisters.
After I found out Mayor Nash was my biological father, I gained three new siblings along with him. Finn, my brother, is seated at the table, too, with his new girlfriend, Britney.
Britney is Noah’s ex-wife, which makes things a bit weird, but Britney and I have grown to be friends in the past few months. She’s a franchisee of the Swift Cycle gyms and has been happily peppering them all over Vermont. She just opened one down the street from the bakery. And once the spin class is over, she has all of her members walk over to my bakery to swiftly replace all the calories they lost. It’s a win-win for both of us.
Everett leans in. “Let’s find a seat.”
I’m about to lead him to the table Meg and Lainey landed at when I spot a strange swirl of light over by the front of the room. I’m about to cry out Noah’s name in hopes it’s him making a ghostly reprisal, but the light becomes brighter as a strange looking sight appears.
“Oh no,” I moan as if I might be sick and quickly take up Everett’s hand.
“What is it, Lemon?”
I give Everett’s hand a squeeze. I’ve always adored the way he insists on calling me by my surname.
But I can’t seem to answer him right now. I’ve been completely rendered speechless.
It is Noah I see, but he’s not alone. He reappears fully in a splendid burst of light and walks over with a magnificent creature by his side. It’s a gorgeous off-white llama with curly fur, a tuft of wild hair just above its forehead, a fray of bucked teeth sticking out, large coffee-colored eyes, and lashes that fan out at least three inches.
Noah smiles as he gently pats the creature’s back. “I’ve got another one for you, Lot. You know what that means, right?”
“Lemon, what do you see?”
“A big, beautiful llama.” I lean in toward its friendly face, hoping it doesn’t have the sudden urge to spit. “What’s your name and who’s going to die?” I ask point-blank. It used to be that whenever I saw one of these ghostly creatures it meant nothing more than a minor injury, but as of late it always means an impending homicide for their previous owner.
The llama lifts its chin my way before dissolving in a spray of glorious light.
“It’s gone,” I whisper. “Noah, you can help us. We need to stop this murder before it ever happens.”
Noah opens his mouth as if to say something, and just like that, his own body dissolves in a spiral of dazzling stars.
“I’m sorry, Lottie.” His voice fades to nothing.
The din of laughter and causal dinner conversation take over once again as I look up at Everett.
“There’s going to be a murder,” I say in a breathless panic.
He gives a solemn nod. “Someone in this room will die tonight. What can we do to stop it?”
“Nothing.”
And that’s the honest truth.
Chapter 2
Melee.
No sooner is the pumpkin pie delivered to each table than the masses begin to mingle. As the music grows louder and the conversations cue up at a rapid pace, pies are quickly being abandoned, and no one is requesting another single slice.
Naomi heads my way, looking completely frazzled. “Do something, Lottie. I can’t have a stitch of pie leftover. My neck is on the line. You heard my boss. She’s out for blood!”
Carlotta trots up and chortles. “Got a problem with someone? Kill ’em! With Lottie around, no one will suspect a thing. Lottie will cover for you, right?” She swats me on the arm. “Just make sure it looks like an accident.” She gives a hard wink and Naomi lets out a shout of exasperation before she takes off into the brewing crowd.
Carlotta, my birth mother, looks exactly like me, with the exception of a peppering of gray hair and wrinkles. Carlotta had me when she was just sixteen, before abandoning me on the floor of the firehouse where a kind man by the name of Joseph Lemon found me swaddled in a blanket. Carlotta left a note asking that I be named, well, Carlotta, and my mother, Miranda Lemon, was kind enough to oblige. But my mother quickly nicknamed me Lottie, and my formal name was never used.
Carlotta’s eyes light up with glee. Never a good sign with this one. The things she finds glee in, other people recoil from in horror.
“Did you see her? Did you see her? About yea high, blonde, has a bodacious body.” She swings her hips from side to side.
“If by her, you mean the haunted llama who comes bearing drama? Then yes, I saw her. Did you happen to notice who she was with?”
“Oh yes, I did. If you ask me, that naughty brat deserves a good pop to her bottom for acting the way she does.”
“Wait—was Cormack anywhere near the specter scene?”
“I meant Lea.” She points hard to the middle of the room and I turn to find the poor llama trotting like a racehorse while little Lea, Azalea—but don’t you dare call her that lest she behead you, and I don’t doubt she could find a way—yanks her around the dance floor. Lea is one of the three ghosts haunting my mother’s bed and breakfast.
Greer Giles, a girl about my age who died last winter, has taken up residence at the B&B along with her two-hundred-year-old boyfriend, Winslow Decker. Winslow is a cutie. And Lea? Well, she’s more of a fright. It turns out, Lea’s entire family was slaughtered on the land that’s under the B&B and she’s been haunting it ever since. Lea is about six, wears a well-worn pinafore and tattered Mary Janes. She likes to wear her long dark hair combed straight over her face, and she wields a hatchet just for the fun of it.
In fact, that’s exactly what she’s doing right now as she does her best to behead the crowd. Boy, am I glad she’s unable to pull off the feat.
As my powers increase, so have the dead’s ability to move things in the material world. If Lea truly could go on a killing spree, I’m pretty sure we’d have a worldwide massacre on our hands.
“Lovely,” I say. “So, did you meet her? The llama? Can she speak? What’s her name?” About a few months ago, I garnered the ability to hear the dead. And now I can hear both dead people and animals alike. It’s been quite a mindbender to say the least.
I spot Mom and Mayor Nash headed this way.
Carlotta leans in. “Her name is Gemma. And she’s a real gem, if you know what I mean.”
“Did she say who she belonged to? A clue maybe as to who might bite the big one?”
She tilts her head, her demeanor suddenly far too serious. “I don’t suppose this would be a bad time to tell you about the pet llama you loved so much as a toddler, would it?”
“Oh you.” I’m quick to wave her off. “You have no idea what
I loved as a toddler. You were twelve entire states away.”
“It doesn’t mean I didn’t wish a llama on you.”
“I’m about to wish a llama on you.”
Mom sashays up with a telling little grin. Her freshly dyed blonde curls spring over her shoulders with every step, and her fuchsia pink lips are twisted in a mischievous bow. My mother looks at least twenty years younger than her stated age, and she has a youthful vigor to match.
And just as she’s almost upon us, a gray-haired ghoul pops up right next to her.
A tiny scream evicts from me as I press my hand to my chest.
“Lottie.” Mom makes a face. “What’s got you so jangled?”
“What’s he doing here?” I covertly point to the aforementioned ghoul. Okay, so he’s not really a ghoul. He just acts like one.
Topper Blakley is a man my mother made the mistake of entertaining until she found out he liked to entertain more than one woman at a time in his coital chambers. I helped kick him to the curb the night of that big swinger soirée he duped my mother into hosting.
She makes a face. “Relax, Lottie. Topper and I are just causal dating, as you kids like to call it.” She’s hopping to the music, laughing through every other word. If I didn’t know better, I’d bet my mother hit the pumpkin spiced cocktails a little too hard.
Topper leans in, his gaze still set in the crowd. “Casual dating,” he parrots as if he has no idea what the words mean, and I don’t doubt he’s clueless. Topper isn’t exactly up to speed with monogamy either.
“Great.” I don’t bother hiding the sarcasm in my voice because Lord knows I can count on the audaciously loud music to drown it out for me.
“Oh”—Mom shakes as if we were experiencing a momentary electrocution—“before I forget, I’m going to be hosting Thanksgiving for everyone at the B&B this year. I want us all to come together as one big happy family.”
“That sounds perfect.” We had it at my place last year, but without Noah fully present I don’t think I could pull it off.
Mayor Nash pops up on my left and blows a party horn in my face as if it were New Year’s Eve, and I jump and stop breathing all at once.
“Lottie, Dottie!” he shouts with a giant grin on his face. “Are you ladies having a good time? The entire town has come out. I have a feeling we’re going to exceed our fundraising goals. And if we do, I vow to make this an annual event!” Mayor Nash, aka my biological father, shares my caramel waves and olive skin. Our noses might be near identical, but it’s hard to tell. The man never stops moving.
Naomi waves wildly at me. She looks particularly stabby, and if I’m not careful, a very real stabbing might occur—mine.
“That’s wonderful,” I shout. “I’d better go. It looks as if I’m needed in the kitchen.”
I glance back into the crowd in search of Naomi once again, but it looks as if she’s been absorbed in the sea of bodies. Instead, I come upon her boss, Trisha.
The tall redhead waves me over to the small crowd she’s standing with, and I do my best not to openly cringe. I’m not sure how I’d react if she berated me in front of all these people. But, no matter how moody she might be, I would still like to have a working relationship with the Evergreen Manor. In other words, I’m more than willing to grin and bear it.
She pulls me in and slings her arm over my shoulders. “Everyone, this is the fabulous baker who made those pies we’ve all been raving about.”
The four faces all poised my way, three women and a man, offer up a myriad of accolades.
“Thank you. It’s my sweet grandmother Nell’s recipe. She was the owner of the Honey Pot Diner. So if you ever want to stop by, they’ll be serving my pumpkin pies right through Christmas. And, of course, my shop, the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery, is right next door and we serve them up, too.” And when Nell passed away, she not only left me half of Honey Hollow, including the Honey Pot Diner, but she bequeathed to me her sweet cat Waffles, a brother to my own cat Pancake. They’re both gorgeous fluffy Himalayans with silver-blue eyes.
The older woman has her frayed gray hair slicked into a chignon. She looks wide-eyed and very interested, and I recognize that hungry gleam. She’s calculating exactly how many pies she’ll need.
“Do you take orders?” she’s quick to inquire.
“I sure do. But put it in quickly if you plan to. It can get tricky the closer we get to Thanksgiving.”
“Sure thing.” She looks to the younger girl next to her. She’s about my age with dark copper hair piled on top of her head. Her skin is a rich shade of almond and the string of pearls around her neck glow ethereal. She has on a fitted cherry red dress with long brown boots that hit over the knee, and I can’t help but admire them. “We’ll do that next week. That way, we won’t have to worry about burning the pies like we did last year.”
The young woman rolls her eyes. “The holidays will thankfully never be the same.”
Trisha chortles. “Lottie, this is my friend Gerrie and her niece Annette. Gerrie and I volunteer together down at the shelter in Leeds— where I’m in charge of the volunteers, of course. Gerrie couldn’t handle the position.”
Gerrie’s eyes grow wild as she looks my way. “This woman is a troublemaker.” Her voice shakes as if she were viscerally angry with her.
I try my best to laugh it off. “I’m sure she does it to keep you on your toes.”
The younger girl, the bronze model, glowers at Trisha a moment before stepping over and whispering something into her ear before yanking her aunt into the crowd.
Trisha straightens. She looks visibly shaken, batting her lashes as if fighting a burst of emotions herself.
I glance at the man and the woman left in our circle before leaning toward Trisha.
“Are you okay?” I can’t help but ask. That wasn’t just awkward to witness, I can tell whatever Annette just whispered to her stung.
Trisha waves it off. “Never mind them.” She points to the older man who’s quite good looking—a full head of short silver hair, a matching peppering of stubble over his well-tanned cheeks, and light eyes that have a sparkle of mischief to them. “Lottie, I’d like for you to meet my main squeeze.”
Her main squeeze? He looks markedly younger than her, but I say more power to her. He’s older still, but you can tell he’s aging well, much like the way I suspect Everett will. And Noah, too. But at this point, I’ll take Noah aging badly just so long as he gets to do it.
He grunts my way, “Don’t you worry about this old girl. Trisha Maples is made of steel.” He extends a hand my way. “Leo Workman. I’m Trisha’s steady Eddie.”
The young girl next to him with long dark hair and pale glowing skin waves over to me. “And I’m Jade. I’m her assistant.” She glances off into the crowd a moment.
“It’s nice to meet you both,” I say before reverting my attention to Trisha. “I’ll go make sure there’s plenty more pie for those who want it.” I nod to the three of them before taking off.
No sooner do I hit the exit than I hear little Lea shrieking with joy, and I turn in time to see her galloping poor Gemma up to the makeshift stage.
I’m about to head to the kitchen again when I spot Leo Workman dragging Trisha off in haste and she doesn’t look too sorry about it. I bet he’s got more Everett in him than I gave him credit for. A body crashes into mine and we bounce off of one another like rubber balls. It’s Jade, the assistant I just met.
“So sorry,” she says, patting the air between us. Her eyes are a tangle of crimson tracks, and I wonder how I could have missed that a moment ago. “Excuse me.” She takes off running down the hall and out the back exit.
“So strange,” I say as I push my way past the crowd in an effort to help Naomi hide those pies.
She over ordered. Of course, she did.
Trisha is right. I tried to warn Naomi, but she assured me she needed every pie she asked for. And I did deliver—much to both our chagrin at the moment.
“Excuse me.�
� A woman with long red hair, glowing pale skin, and bee-stung lips that I would die for knocks her shoulder to mine. “Can anyone go in there?” She’s eyeing the bar just inside the venue.
“Oh sure. Dinner is over. I’m sure they won’t mind if you pop in.” I muster an affable smile. She’s probably a guest of the manor. I would never say no to a customer. “Have a great time.”
“I will.” Her eyes slit to nothing. She brushes past me, nearly taking my shoulder out with her.
“Geez.” I glare in her direction, only to watch as she sneaks her way right to the bar and snatches an entire bottle off the counter before disappearing into the crowd. “Oh, that was low.” I groan as I make my way to the kitchen to find Naomi scowling. “Well, I’ve just lost my faith in humanity.”
Naomi glowers at me—her go-to look. “Well, I’ve just lost my job.”
“Oh, please tell me you’re kidding,” I say, stacking the enormous surplus of pies upon one another so they’ll be easier to carry.
“I’m kidding, but I won’t be for long. I’ll help you throw these away.”
“Are you insane? I’m not throwing these pies away. This is perfectly good food. I’m driving them down to the shelter in Leeds—courtesy of the Evergreen Manor, of course, since you did pay for them.”
She scoffs. “Trisha is right. I’m not a numbers girl.”
“So what? Next time give me the expected head count, and I promise you won’t have too much or too little of anything.”
Naomi starts tossing pies into a heap as haphazardly as she can, and I’m quick to ward her off.
“Hold your fire! Look, just do me a favor and go find Everett. He won’t mind helping, and I can really use his muscles.”
Pumpkin Pie Parting Page 2
