“Larson Rosenberg?” Hook stands, looking pleasantly dazed, and soon enough the blonde is latched to his waist in the exact same manner that Cressida seems to be climbing Mount Baxter.
Meg growls, “Let’s jump ’em on three, Lot. Don’t be afraid to crash a chair over their bleached heads if need be. We don’t have any refs watching, so everything goes.”
Cormack is quick to pluck her friends loose lest they perish. I think she’s been around long enough to know that Meg doesn’t make empty threats.
Cressida looks like such a dainty girl, about my age, perhaps a smidge older, filling in the age gap between Everett and me. Her eyes have that translucent appeal to them, and she has a pert little upturned nose.
“How rude of me.” She over enunciates every word as she looks to the rest of us. “Essex was my first true love, and I’d like to think I was the same for him.”
Cormack waves her off. “Go ahead, Essex. I’m a taken woman. You can tell the truth. Which one of us did you really give your heart to?”
Everett’s lips curl at the thought. “You both bruised me good, but I saved my heart to give to this woman right here.” He picks up my hand and kisses the back of it.
Cressida sucks in a hard breath as if she just discovered a bloody finger in her drink.
“Her?” It comes out accusatory and judgmental and not one bit kind whatsoever. “Essex! You’ve gone and gotten yourself a house frau.” She inspects me from head to foot as if she might be sick.
Everett’s chest bounces with a laugh, and I playfully, not so playfully, smack him on the arm.
“I’m Lottie Lemon, Everett’s fiancée.” I shrug because it’s true at times like these.
“Oh.” Cressida manages to break that monosyllable word into four distinct pieces. “That’s something we can work with.” She gives Everett a hard wink. “I’ve been engaged a time or twenty-two myself.”
The girl next to her looks just as obnoxiously beautiful, and there’s an air of money around her only the truly wealthy seem to acquire.
“Larson Rosenberg. I dated Hook way back when.” She growls out every word while looking right at him. And just as I would have suspected, Meg is growling right back. “Essex went to school with us for a time.” She takes a moment to grimace at him. “I hope you’ve wiped that unfortunate episode that led up to graduation right out of your dirty mind.” She gives a husky laugh. “But we shan’t talk about that tonight.”
No, we shan’t, I want to say. And for God’s sake, I wish everyone would stop calling my boyfriend Essex. Well—he is a boy who’s a friend—oh hell, he’s my boyfriend. I’ve got two. It’s not the biggest crime, and certainly not the worst.
The music shifts to something moodier, and Meg barks at the girls to take a seat. “This is her song, Lot. I’ve worked on this routine with her for so long I can do it in my sleep.”
Hook leans over. “Is that what those kicks are about in the middle of the night?”
“No,” Meg grunts. “That’s me telling you to stay on your side of the bed.”
The lights dim a notch and a sprinkling of stars appears on stage, slowly filling out into a supernatural form, and for a moment I’m hopeful it’s Noah. I wouldn’t mind at all if he wanted to dance with a glorified stripper. I just need to speak to him again in the very worst way.
But it’s not Noah. It’s Gemma, filling out in her celestial glory. Gemma shines like the sun as she sways back and forth to the rhythm of the music. And I take up Everett’s hand in the event she inevitably has something to say.
“Lottie Lemon!” She laughs as she hits one edge of the stage before staggering to the other side. “I think I’ve found my calling. You know they used to play music in the corral now and again, and I’d really get my groove on. I don’t know why humans don’t seem to understand that animals enjoy a good beat to boogie to ourselves. In fact, we might get along better if we cut a hayfield together a time or two.”
Everett leans in. “This is the first time I’d love to see what you see, Lemon.”
“Oh, it’s a sight,” I say with a laugh in my throat. “Gemma really knows what she’s doing.”
Meg leans back. “It’s Moxy. That’s Chanelle’s stage name, not Gemma.”
And sure enough, Chanelle, aka Moxy, bursts onto the stage with her red hair whipping back and forth and a pair of three-inch long lashes adhered to her eyes—each one covered in glitter. She’s donned a simple black dress with a neckline that plunges down to her belly button and does a rather intimate looking dance with a chair that a stagehand just hoisted up there for her. Chanelle gives the room a lustful look as she sways and kicks and ends up doing the splits both ways before bouncing back up to her feet.
“Wow!” Cormack shouts and whistles with approval, as do Cressida and Larson.
Cormack runs up and tosses an entire fistful of dollars into the air, and we watch as they flutter down to the stage as delicate as butterflies.
Do you know what’s not so delicate?
An entire herd of upscale strippers trampling the stage and diving for Cormack’s green as if it were a free-for-all. They sweep the stage clean like a band of three-year-olds at the base of a headless piñata.
Meg whacks me on the arm. “What’d you think?”
“Whoa.” Everett pulls me in protectively. “Watch your left hook, would you? Lottie is in a delicate state.”
All eyes look my way as I give Everett’s hand a death threat of a squeeze.
He leans in and whispers, “Sorry. I couldn’t help it.”
“He’s right,” I say. “I felt a cold coming on this morning. I think I just need some rest. In fact, I’m having Margo open up the bakery for me tomorrow so I can sleep in.”
Hook nods as if it were understandable, but Meg is busy giving both Everett and me the stink eye.
Cressida takes up Everett’s free hand. “So tell me, Essex.” She runs her finger seductively along the inside of his wrist. “What’s a girl have to do around here to get a tour of your chambers?” A husky growl brews in her throat and gives away her true intentions.
“Same.” Larson sharpens her eyes over at Hook. She’s petite and blonde, and looks about as sturdy as blown glass. Basically, she’s everything Meg isn’t. “I just got my real estate license.” She gives Hook a barely-there wink. “Know of any good real estate offices that might be hiring agents?”
Hook’s jaw unhinges. “What a coincidence. I happen to have a few openings right now at my Ashford office.”
Meg spikes the heel of her stiletto through the top of his shoe and Hook groans as if she shot him.
“He means Fallbrook,” my sister is quick to correct. “You could have the eastern part of the state. Hook and I have the west.”
Larson makes a face at my sister, and now I’m fearing for her pretty blonde hair. Meg has always been a notorious hair-puller. Both Lainey and I can attest to that.
Hook looks like he’s about to burst from holding back the pain my sister just inflicted.
I hope he considers that a fair warning.
“Swing by the Fallbrook office sometime.” He shoots Meg the side-eye and my sister’s shoulders sag.
“No, he’s right,” Meg says with a twinge of defeat. “It’s the Ashford office that’s hiring. Go ahead and stop by, you little strumpet. But just know that Hook is one hot property that’s no longer on the market. I’ve staked my claim and you best not be knocking around on my front door. I let my fists fly first and then ask questions.”
Goodness. If that doesn’t scare her off, nothing will.
I look to Cressida whose fingers are now crawling up and down Everett’s sleeve.
“What she said,” I growl at the tall twerp. “But double for me. I answer the door with both arms swinging.”
Before Cressida can object, or agree if she’s wise, Chanelle comes bouncing and screaming this way and she and Meg get lost in some sorority girl-like reunion.
Meg turns our way. “Everyone, this is my best student in
the whole wide world, Moxy Lady!” She holds her hands out at her as if she were presenting a prize, and Chanelle does a little spin with the honor.
Meg hitches her head for me to follow them as they head off to an alcove a few feet away.
“Mox, this is my sister, Lottie. She doesn’t believe that I actually teach artists such as yourself for a living. She thinks I’m secretly working an espresso machine at the latte place down the street.”
Chanelle is quick to brush it off with a laugh, exposing two perfect rows of teeth. She looks vaguely familiar, and yet I can’t seem to place her.
“Well, I can assure you, Meg here isn’t just another dance instructor. She’s the cream of the crop.” She’s quick to sing my sister’s praises. “Las Vegas lost out on this one and all of Vermont is reaping the benefits.”
“That was quite an impressive routine,” I say.
Speaking of which, Gemma stops midway through a rather bottom thumping move and glides on over as if she were too tired to clip-clop any longer.
“Oh, it’s not Chanelle, is it?” Gemma looks more than disappointed to see her. “I remember when she was just a wee babe, Trisha used to bring her around. However, Trisha did love the bottle back then. I’m afraid she wasn’t the best mother to the poor girl.”
Bottle? I look to Chanelle with new eyes.
Bottle!
“That’s where I remember you from,” I say out loud and cover my mouth with my hand as an apology for the outburst. “You were at the Evergreen for the charity event.”
Her eyes grow wide. “Meg, would you mind getting me some ice water? I can feel a leg cramp coming on.”
“No problem.” Meg does a disappearing act, and Chanelle’s demeanor changes on a dime.
Chanelle walks me deeper into the alcove, and the garish sound of the music dampens quickly.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather no one know that I was at the Evergreen. My mother was actually murdered that night, and the last thing I want is that nosy detective trying to pin the horror on me.”
Ivy is rather nosy, but only because it’s her job.
“I won’t say a word.” Little does she know I’m far nosier than Ivy could ever hope to be. “I’m so sorry about your mother. Did you happen to see her that night before she was killed?”
She shakes her head. “It wasn’t even her that I was there to see. My boyfriend was roaming the grounds, and I wanted to surprise him. My mother and I hadn’t spoken in quite some time. She wasn’t a good person for me to be around. In fact, she’s the reason I ended up inside of a bottle for so many years.”
“That’s terrible. That must make things worse.”
“Not really.” She shrugs. “In a way I was prepared for it. My psychologist had me slowly cutting her out of my life. He called her a toxic person and he was right.”
“And what does your boyfriend think of this?”
She flashes her left hand and a large diamond ring sparkles in the dim light.
Gemma gasps. “She’s stolen him, Lottie. She’s gone and taken the ring that Leo was about to give Trisha. But he wasn’t going to give it to her, now was he? I think we’ve got our killer, Lottie. Arrest both of them.”
I crimp a smile to the not-so subtle spook. She could be onto something.
“That’s a gorgeous ring,” I say to Chanelle. “I guess it’s your fiancé then, right?”
“That’s right. Oddly enough, he proposed the night my mother died. I guess that’s the way the universe wanted it.” She shrugs it off as if it were so.
The very same night?
“Do you have any idea who would want to see your mother dead?”
“Not a single clue.” Her eyes flit to the stage as if maybe she did—as if maybe she were the biggest clue of them all. “But I’m not exactly chasing whoever did this either.”
“Did you know anyone who was close to your mother? Gerrie Havershem?”
“Gerrie?” She inches back. “That’s the hag from the shelter, right?”
I give an eager nod. Gerrie is next on my list.
“I don’t know. But I do know her niece, Nettie. She’s the pretty brunette who was tagging along with her aunt that night. I happened to catch up with her, and that’s when I saw my mom. I saw my mother in a heated argument after I hit the bar. And instead of intervening, I sat it out and caught up with Nettie. And believe me, Nettie is all bark and no bite. There’s no way she’d be angry enough at anyone to pull the trigger, let alone some woman nearly twice her age.”
“Maybe your mother did something to enrage her aunt and she wanted to get back at her?”
“I wouldn’t doubt that my mother enraged anyone. Enraging people was pretty much her forte.”
“And what about your mother’s boyfriend? The mystery writer? Leo?” I wince as I say his name, but I plan on pretending that I don’t know her new fiancé and the mystery writer her mother was dating are one and the same.
“Leo?” She gives a few contrived blinks as she looks around. “I’m not entirely sure who you’re talking about.”
Fine. Have it your way.
“How about your mother’s assistant? Jade Pope? I hear she lost her position with the Evergreen and is reading naughty stories at the Red Room Playhouse.”
Chanelle bucks with a laugh. “That serves her right. Okay, not really.” She pats the tears from her eyes with her pinkies. “Jade is a good girl. I knew both Jade and Annette growing up. Jade is more than familiar with death and dying. She took her parents’ death pretty hard, but her brother helped her push through it. That boy was her rock. I suppose they’re clinging hard to one another still. No matter what, Jade has Robby to help her out.”
“Oh, I think I heard that her brother recently passed away.”
Gemma brays, “You’re good, Lottie. But I’m betting she’s better at manipulation than you’ll ever be.”
Chanelle groans as if she were mourning him on the spot. “Not Robby! I bet Annette is devastated, too. She was pretty close to the two of them for a while. I’m surprised she didn’t mention it. But then the deputies busted up the party that night, so she may not have had the chance.”
“It does sound tragic.”
Meg comes back with a couple of drinks.
“It was nice meeting you, Chanelle,” I say. “Again, I’m sorry about your mother.”
“Don’t be.” She takes a quick swig from the drink Meg just shoved her way. “I guess it was her time. Onward and forward.” She lifts her drink as if proposing a toast and a mean shiver rides up my spine.
Gemma brays hard right in Chanelle’s face and the girl makes a face.
“Why does it suddenly smell like a barn in here?”
I head back to the table and peel Cressida off Everett.
Cressida makes a face at me. “You’re no fun.” She scowls my way before turning back to Everett. “At least I got a chance to wish you a happy birthday in person.” She dots a kiss to his cheek and I’m horrified, but it has nothing to do with that tiny smooch.
“Everett Essex Baxter.” I pull him my way and look straight into those cobalt eyes. “How dare you forget to mention the fact it’s your birthday. It’s perfectly criminal, and I feel like a monster.” Come to think of it, Everett did tell me months ago that his birthday was in November, but he didn’t say when and I sort of forgot to pry further. “I’m the lousiest girlfriend on the planet.”
A husky laugh rumbles through his chest. “Don’t feel bad. I forgot myself.” He wraps his arms around me tight.
“No, you didn’t. You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“Okay, so my mother and sister might have reminded me this morning, and the cake they had for me at work sealed the deal. But fret not. It was nowhere near the league of your confections. Not only do I have eyes for just one woman, but her cakes are the only ones for me as well.”
I offer up a wry smile. “I’m throwing you a party. A big, obnoxious party with a cake big enough for me to jump out of.”
He shakes his head emphatically. “I’m afraid I can’t attend. I’ll be too busy seated in front of your fireplace rubbing your feet.”
“It sounds like I won’t be attending either.”
Everett shakes his head. “Tonight was more than enough.”
“Good thing for you, tonight isn’t over by a long shot.”
Everett and I head back to Honey Hollow, and I make him stop by the bakery and pick a cake out of the display case. I quickly pipe on a secret message that I don’t dare let him see until we’re back at my place.
Everett pulls the lid back on the pink box that houses his double chocolate chiffon cake and looks at the words I’ve written for him.
“Happy birthday, Mr. Sexy. I love you,” he growls the words out just as, well, sexy as can be. “Lemon”—he pulls me in and looks lovingly into my eyes—“that’s about the nicest thing anyone has done for me. Thank you for that.”
“Everett”—my eyes fill with tears—“you have been so kind to me. And the generosity you’ve shown me over the last few weeks has blown me away. I can never repay you. Happy birthday. I have a tiny gift for you.” I shrug up at him.
His brows depress. “No gifts.”
I nod in a fit of rebellion as I hike up on my tiptoes and I offer up a single chaste kiss to his lips. I hold there for a few good seconds and feel the tension in him as if he were about to devour me. I pull back and we both take a deep breath.
His lips twitch with the hint of smile. “You give great gifts, Lemon.” He hitches his head toward the hall. “Now let’s make all my birthday wishes come true and have cake in bed.”
And we do just that.
It does feel nice like this with Everett.
And I feel guilty as heck about it, too.
It’s time to tell Noah about the baby. And if Noah won’t come to me, I’ll have to go to the hospital and whisper it into his ear and hope that he can hear me.
If only he’d whisper to me who killed Trisha Maples.
But then Leo and Chanelle look mighty guilty.
The shoe that was left in the parking lot the night of the murder—the one that was mysteriously retrieved, comes back to me.
I’m betting Chanelle Maples happens to own a pair just like them.
Pumpkin Pie Parting Page 14
