Carlotta holds up a finger. “I just sampled a dish from each and every booth at the fair.”
“Carlotta.” I grimace her way. “It wasn’t a race. The fair is open until eight. You’ll have plenty of time to make ten or twelve rounds.”
“Not me.” She shoots a snide look to the booth next to mine, which happens to belong to the Honey Pot Diner. “Your sister finagled me into working a shift for the Honey Pot. I’ll be passing out plates loaded with turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes and gravy until the cows come home.”
“Oh, that sounds delicious,” I say, giving the Honey Pot Diner’s booth a look of longing. My sister, Meg, and my best friend, Keelie, are working the bustling booth side by side as the masses do their best to snatch up a treat worthy of a Thanksgiving feast.
That man in the red tank top pops up again, and I can’t help but note his biceps are so big it looks as if someone blew them up like a couple of balloons. He swipes a plate from the Honey Pot Diner and casually walks away once again without paying. I’m sensing a theme of blatant thievery here. I make a face before turning my attention back to Carlotta.
“A shift at the Honey Pot booth won’t hurt. At least it’s honest work.” I know for a fact Carlotta has been in need of a little spending cash.
“I’m not interested in honest work. Besides, I’ve got a plan, and it doesn’t involve slinging mash or hocking cookies.”
Everett lifts a brow. “Is it legal?”
“Legal shmeagle.” Carlotta lifts a finger and opens her mouth, but before she can clue us in on any of her questionably unlawful aspirations, my mother lands in front of me with her blonde hair blowing wildly and her blue eyes wide with glee.
“Reckless After Dark!” she shouts.
Everett bounces his brows my way. “Now that sounds as if it might have a few legal ramifications.”
A tiny moan comes from me. Everett knows I have a serious weakness when it comes to his knowledge of all things legal. As much as I’ve been craving food during this pregnancy, I’ve been craving Everett. And believe me when I say, he’s just as delicious to take a bite out of.
“What’s going on, Mom?” I ask as Miranda Lemon, the sweet woman who adopted me after Carlotta here saw fit to abandon me on the floor of the Honey Hollow Fire Department as an infant. My adoptive father, a fireman by the name of Joseph Lemon, was the one that found me and the rest is Lemon family history. He’s since passed away, and my mother went on to raise her three girls on her own. And once we flew the coop, she purchased a bed and breakfast right here in town, which she presently owns and operates. She’s also a shiny new novelist who just this past summer put out her first book, Reckless Fear, and this past month she put out her latest release, Reckless Mattresses. And I have a feeling this reckless conversation has a lot to do with her foray into steamy literature.
Mom pecks her head my way. “I need to come up with a title for my new book. It won’t be out until some time next year, but the title is so important, Lottie. It’s just as important as naming a child.”
Carlotta snaps up a piece of pecan pie. “How about Reckless Ménage? You can use Lot and her men as research.”
“Ooh.” Mom wiggles her shoulders while helping herself to a piece of pie as well. “Are the three of you still doing that thing?”
“What?” Everett looks my way with a mild sense of alarm. “No, Miranda, I can assure you, we have never done that thing.”
“Sure you have,” Carlotta says just as Noah comes back with a couple slices of cheesy goodness for me from Mangias, and he hands a slice of pepperoni to Everett as well.
Noah shoots him a wry smile. “Don’t ever say I’ve never done anything for you. Maybe if you get something in your stomach, you won’t be so cranky.”
Carlotta nods to my mother. “I caught Lot, Foxy, and Mr. Sexy all heading into the same bedroom last night.”
“That’s not what happened.” I wince because it’s sort of exactly what happened. After the fire I thought I’d spend the night at my mother’s B&B, but Everly, Evie, the daughter Everett and I share—his sixteen-year-old biological daughter—announced she was terrified of sleeping in a glorified haunted house, so both she and Carlotta, who also happened to live with me up until last week, decided they’d spend the night at Noah’s. “I simply went over to have dinner at Noah’s, and, well, Evie and I got to talking next to the fireplace. I was snuggling with Pancake and Waffles”—my sweet Himalayans cats—“and before I knew it, I was falling asleep. Everett came over at about ten and Noah offered to let us spend the night. And, Everett can’t sleep on the couch, the spare bedrooms were taken by Carlotta and Evie, and Noah wouldn’t dream of letting me sleep on the couch, so the two of them were helping me into his bedroom. Everett was going to stay with me—have I mentioned the bad back? And then Noah said, ‘Not in my bed,’ and then I laid down and passed out and I have no idea who slept where.”
A low guttural laugh emits from Carlotta. “There’s your next book title, Miranda. Tawdry Tales After Dark. Just follow Lot Lot around for a week and you should have a trilogy that promises to be fifty shades of delicious ready to go by Christmas.”
The two of them share a laugh just as a redhead with a glowing pale complexion and big brown eyes steps up.
Mom gasps. “Well, there you are! I was just about to tell my daughter you were looking for her.” Mom gives a wink my way. “Lottie, this is Autumn Frasier, a journalist from Better Homes and Calories. She’s a guest of mine at the B&B, and she’s doing a spotlight on the restaurants here at the street fair. Just this morning I was telling her about the fact you have the most tempting bakery in all of North America.”
“That might be going a bit too far.” I nod to the woman. “Lottie Lemon. Nice to meet you.”
“Autumn.” She offers me a friendly handshake. “Everything looks so delicious here. Where should I start?”
I’m about to point to a fried pickle when Lily knocks my arm away with her elbow.
“Have a piece of pecan pie.” Lily hands the woman a slice before she can agree to it. “Like all of Lottie’s desserts, it’s to die for.” Lily rolls her eyes at the thought before getting back to the crowd gathered before us. My desserts sort of are to die for, but that’s an entirely different matter.
Before I can ask Autumn a single question about her article or that questionably named magazine she works for, a loud whistle goes off at one of the booths across the way. I can’t help but make a face at the booth in question. It just so happens to belong to my next-door neighbor, Hannah Beckman—or better known as Too Hot to Handle Hannah. She’s infamous for the workout routines she conducts on the front lawn of her rental house that just so happen to take place at six in the morning. And considering that Noah, Everett, and I have been subjected to throngs of half-dressed women every morning for the last few months, I guess you could say I’m less than thrilled with her.
The large, hot pink banner above her booth reads Experience the Booty-ful Beckham Butt Lift today! The sign makes total sense, considering the fact she touts herself as a gluteus maximus specialist.
Hannah steps in front of her booth along with a blonde woman with bangs fringing her forehead. Both women appear to be somewhere in their mid-to-late twenties, and they both happen to be clapping up a storm as they garner the attention of the crowd. Not that they needed to clap to do it. They’ve both donned short shorts and bright yellow blouses that tie off under their ample bosoms. There’s so much skin and sass, it’s a spectacle that’s hard to look away from.
“Two, four, six, eight”—they shout in unison—“who do we appreciate? Fitness!” They yelp and jump, and while doing so, all sorts of girl parts wiggle and jiggle. And judging by the raucous applause, spearheaded by the male population, the crowd most certainly approves. I cut a quick glance to both Noah and Everett, but neither of them is clapping, and wisely so.
Hannah cups her hands around her mouth. “Come and get your Shake Your Booty Shakes while they’re f
resh! Three different flavors to choose from! Put some thump in your rump and shake your way to a better booty today!”
And just like that, the masses migrate her way.
Autumn averts her eyes.
“You’re not a fan, I take it?” I ask. I’m not a fan either, but I won’t be making that proclamation to a journalist, of all people. Besides, now that I’m staying with Noah, I’m technically still Hot Hannah’s neighbor.
“Oh, I’m a fan.” Autumn shrugs. “I’m a friend, too. I’d better go over and say hello. Once you’re free, come by and I’ll introduce you to Hannah and Maizy. They’re pretty incredible when you get to know them.” She takes off, and that man in the red tank top comes by once again and swipes another slice of my pecan pie before waltzing off toward Hot Hannah’s booth as well.
“Hey,” I shout after him, but he doesn’t bother to turn around. “Everett, Noah, that guy in the red tank top keeps stealing my pies. I demand you arrest him, Noah. And Everett, once he shows up in your courtroom, give him fifty years to life.”
Lily snickers. “Nope, you’re not moody at all, Lottie.”
I choose to ignore her as I make my way around the booth to Noah and Everett.
“Quick, before he gets away.” I try to shove them in that direction, but they’re not budging.
“Lot?” Noah moves his head from side to side as if trying to get a good look at the guy. “I don’t see him.”
“What do you mean, you don’t see him? Everyone else is bundled in wool coats and jackets. He’s the only one running around practically naked—right there in the red tank top and grungy looking gray sweats. He’s tall, got muscles for days, and he’s scarfing down my pie as if it’s the most delicious thing he’s ever eaten.” Because it probably is.
“Lemon.” Everett’s chest expands as wide as a wall. “I can’t see him either. Do you know what that means?”
I gasp as every muscle in my pregnant body freezes. “That means murder.”
Chapter 2
An icy wind picks up, causing what leaves are left in the maple trees to rain down over Main Street like confetti. It seems as if all of Vermont has come out for the Taste of Honey Hollow Street Fair, and good thing, too. My bakery has already taken enough orders for Thanksgiving pies to keep me busy until next November.
We’re in the thick of fall, and every citrine-colored leaf is blowing through this part of town as if they, too, wanted a taste of all we have to offer. I’ve already scarfed down my fair share of cookies and pies at my own booth. I polished off those slices of pizza from Mangias that Noah gave me as if I were a human food vacuum, and I still have plenty of room for one of those Thanksgiving feast plates they’re selling at the Honey Pot Diner.
Across the street, Too Hot to Handle Hannah’s Shake Your Booty booth is teeming with people, and I can’t help but glower at it.
“All right, boys, I’m going in.”
“Lemon.” Everett blocks my view of the bootylicious booth in question. “Do you see the—you know, ghost? You said it’s a man in a red shirt?”
I nod. “One of those muscle shirts. He’s super beefy, too.” I crane my neck past Everett. “But there’s no sign of him at the moment. And I highly doubt he’s sucking down one of those shakes she’s hocking. I bet it tastes like chalk.”
Noah steps in. “All right, I just called to increase the foot patrol. We’ll have this place crawling with sheriff’s deputies before we know it.” His chest is palpitating in and out and his eyes are darting around the crowd as if he couldn’t take in the scene fast enough. “I’m going to case every inch of this place for anything that looks suspicious.” He glances to Everett. “Don’t you dare let her out of your sight. Do not screw this up, buddy. She’s carrying my child.”
Everett’s chest widens. “Are you telling me not to screw this up? How about you actually intercept a homicide before it happens for once? Every time Lemon has one of these ghostly sightings, you managed to get lost until the deed is done. And after that? She has to put on her thinking cap and drill down the suspects until she lands the killer at your feet. So how about this, Noah. How about you don’t screw this up for once? Because there is a very good possibility my wife is carrying my child.”
About ten different people turn our way and I pull a tight smile.
“Well, I’m a hundred percent sure I’m carrying my child,” I tell the two of them. “Noah, do what you have to do. Everett and I will do a little ghost hunting.” I thread my arm through my handsome husband’s. “Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, off to find a ghost we go.”
We make a beeline for the Bootyful Booty booth and muscle our way to the front where I spot Autumn and Hot Hannah in what looks to be some sort of a standoff.
“Hannah?” I do my best to manufacture a bright smile since my natural inclination is to frown at the woman. I can’t help it. I’ve seen more of her rock-solid rump in the past few months than I have mine, and, sadly, so have Noah and Everett. “Congratulations on all the success.”
Hannah Beckham’s dark hair is swept back into its requisite wisp of a ponytail. Her skin glows a deep olive color and her eyes are clear and alert. She’s pretty in an obvious way, and that mischievous aura about her only adds to her intrigue.
“Thanks, Lottie.” She winks over at Everett. “Judge Baxter, so nice to see you here today.” She hands him a clear plastic cup filled with pink goo. “You’re a hero for storming back into that burning building to look for Noah. This one’s on me.”
“Thank you.” He takes a sip and moans. “Wow, this is delicious.”
I can’t help but scowl up at him, and his lips flex my way with a silent apology.
“Yes,” I say, wrapping an arm around him tightly. “My husband is quite the hero.” And you can bet your last bootylicious dollar I put the emphasis on the words my husband.
Hannah shakes her head in disbelief. “What are the two of you going to do now that your homes have burned down to the ground?”
Autumn gasps. “Are you serious?”
Hannah gives a quick nod. “We’re neighbors over on Country Cottage Road, and on Halloween night both of their homes went up in flames. And they both burned down to rubble in hours. It was amazing to witness.” She gives a nervous glance our way. “I mean, horrific, of course. I heard it was a lightning strike to the electrical wires that caused the blaze. A lightning strike. What are the odds of that happening?”
Pretty high when you throw in that whole horrible Hearst curse nightmare I was embroiled in these past few weeks. And as much as I want to say that I don’t believe in curses, I’ve got a mountain of ash that could contest it.
Autumn presses a hand to her chest. “I’m so sorry, Lottie. I’ll tell you what. In addition to the article I’m writing on the street fair, I’ll do one that spotlights your business in particular. It’s the least I can do to help you.”
“Really? I’m blown away. Thank you. I appreciate that.”
“Judge Baxter?” Hannah reaches over and runs her finger over Everett’s arm, and my eyes bulge twice their size at the sight. There’s going to be a homicide, all right, and I’m going to play the part of the killer. “If you need a place to stay, I have several empty bedrooms. It’s just me, all alone in that great big house.” She twirls her ponytail with her fingers. “I get so lonely after dark. I could really use some company.”
Autumn gags and chokes as if she were affronted for me.
She looks my way. “Aren’t the two of you married?”
Before I can answer, Hannah’s blonde counterpart bops over in her equally revealing short short everything. She’s the one that rocked her rump for the crowd along with Hannah a few minutes ago. And I’ve seen her busting her booty at the booth all morning, too.
Hannah pulls her in. “Judge Baxter, I’d love for you to meet my business partner, Maizy Burton.”
Why do I suddenly feel like the invisible woman?
“Hi, Maizy.” I give a little wave her way despite the lack of a proper
introduction. “I’m Judge Baxter’s wife, Lottie Lemon.” Not that it seems to matter much to Hannah. “I run the bakery across the street.”
Maizy gives a hard moan. “I’ve been dying to sink my teeth into one of your sweet treats. Every time someone walks by with one of your delicious desserts, I have to stop and drool. And pecan pie happens to be my favorite. You can bet I’ll be picking up a slice as soon as things die down.” She looks to her partner in bootylicious crime. “And don’t worry, Hannah. I’ll get one for you, too.” She laughs. “Hannah is a notorious mooch.” She shoots Hannah a sharp look that says so much more than her words ever could.
“Don’t I know it.” Autumn raises the smoothie in her hand as if toasting her friend, and we all share a little laugh, only Hannah doesn’t seem to find a thing funny about it. Her eyes remain pinned over Autumn’s with an intensity two friends don’t typically share, at least not while they’re getting along.
Autumn takes a breath. “Well, there’s food to be eaten. I’d better get going.” She looks my way. “I’ll be in touch.” She takes off, and the tension seems to ease a bit.
Maizy gives Hannah a sharp look. “You couldn’t be nice to her for three solid seconds? Do you know what exposure like that could do for a business like ours?”
Everett and I take a step away, and I steal a sip of his pink smoothie.
“My stars up in heaven, it tastes like paradise in a cup!” I wrinkle my nose at the sexy god before me. “I mean, it’d be better if it had a pickle in it.”
His chest rumbles with a silent laugh as he pulls me in. “I’ll make sure you get a pickle soon enough.”
“Oh hon, don’t shortchange yourself. You’ve got a cucumber on your hands. One of those vulgar ones that’s far too big for their britches.”
His lips expand a notch with the underpinnings of a dangerous, albeit short-lived, smile.
“Where are we staying tonight?” he asks.
“We could sleep at the B&B?”
“We could, but there won’t be much sleeping.”
Pecan Pie Predicament Page 2
