Poison Apple Crisp

by Addison Moore

  “Everett, he’s a she, and I think the person who is about to bite the big one tonight is a woman, too.”

  Everett blows out a breath as he scans the crowd. “I just saw Noah walk in. I think he should be here for this. Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be back.”

  He dives into the crowd, and I try my best to see where that little precious Pom drifted, but no such luck.

  As it turns out, I was born with the supernatural quirk to see the dead. I’m what my Grandma Nell referred to as transmundane, further classified as supersensual, meaning I can see right through to the other side—or at least as far as those ghosts who want to show themselves to me. But for the most part, my supersensual skills are a secret I keep to myself. Only a handful of people in Honey Hollow know about my gift, and that short list is comprised of Carlotta—the one who gave me the gift to begin with, and who can also partake in the supernatural spectacle—as well as both Noah and Everett.

  Mostly I see ghosts that have come back to help solve the homicide of someone who once held them near and dear. In this case, the woman who once owned that sweet pooch had better watch her back. The Grim Reaper is here, and he’s about to claim his victim, or should I say the killer’s victim.

  But nevertheless, I can see and hear the dead. It wasn’t always that I could hear the dead. For a long time I could simply just see them. But as my powers grew, so did the abilities of the ghosts that visited me. Now they can talk, move things in the material world, and the very latest skill they’ve garnered is the ability to eat their fill of anything they desire. Don’t ask me where it goes. All I know is that it disappears into thin air, and in the end, the ghost in question is more than satiated.

  Hey? I bet that pompom of a cutie is eating to her little mouth’s content at the dessert bar right this minute.

  Brenda Phillips ordered enough individual apple crisps to feed all of Vermont. She said she wanted an apple dessert in keeping with the fall theme, and then she mentioned apple crisp was her favorite dessert. So, without a doubt, I was more than happy to oblige.

  I’m about to speed in that direction when Brenda herself waves me down.

  “Lottie?” She stalks on over at a quickened pace, while her short dark hair bobs up and down on her head like a wig. She’s donned a heavy navy blazer paired with no-nonsense trousers and looks every bit polished for tonight’s big event. And on her heels is the ash blonde that was with her at the bakery earlier, Rachelle Dalton. Brenda holds up one of my apple crisps in her hand and waves it my way. “These apple crisps are the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” She belts out a laugh, and I’m suddenly relieved.

  I don’t know why I thought there was trouble brewing when I saw her headed my way at top speed.

  She moans through a bite. “I just want to give you the heads-up. I’m getting married next month, and I’m so impressed with the cakes and cookies you’ve brought, I think I just found the perfect baker to create my wedding cake.”

  Rachelle rolls her eyes. Not in the oh-boy-here-we-go-again way that I do sometimes—like when my mother talks about Noah’s father as if she was serious about the guy. No offense to Noah, but his father is a piece of work who’s made a living from bilking widows out of their retirement—namely Everett’s mother. That’s how Noah and Everett came to be stepbrothers for a short time in high school. Long story short, Noah stole Everett’s girlfriend, and they’ve never really recovered. Wiley and Eliza didn’t fare so well either.

  But Rachelle rolled her eyes to the side, and her jaw squared out as if she were furious about the topic at hand. Furious about a wedding?

  “A wedding! Congratulations,” I say, still gauging Rachelle’s peculiar reaction. The blonde is wearing a dark chocolate corduroy dress with a turquoise turtleneck underneath, and once again I’m admiring her cute fashion sense. “I’d be honored to bake your wedding cake,” I say to Brenda. “Feel free to stop by the bakery some time and we’ll go over design options, flavors—all in keeping within your budget, of course. I’m not one of those bakers who charges a mint for a wedding cake.” Although they don’t necessarily come cheap either, but I leave that little fiscal tidbit out of it for now. No need to get the bride’s bouquet in a bunch so soon.

  Brenda’s lips twitch side to side. “Actually, I was thinking that since I’ve given you all this free advertising, you’d return the favor and reduce the price of the cake to nothing. I’ll make sure the school utilizes your services for the homecoming dance, winter formal, prom, and graduation.” She nods as if this were a coup I couldn’t resist. It is, but I’m not about to let her in on that either. “We’ll talk.” She gives my hand a pat before turning to Rachelle. “Well, don’t just stand there. Those keys aren’t going to sell themselves. Hike the price from ten to twenty dollars apiece. Use your brain for once, would you? There’s an emerald necklace in that cage, for Pete’s sake. And don’t think you’re getting away with not giving me that foot massage later. You are the pro, remember?” She takes off. “Come, Rachelle!”

  My lips part as I glance to the poor blonde with a sympathetic look.

  “Are you okay?” I wince as I ask. “I certainly wouldn’t want anyone talking to me like that.”

  Rachelle’s chest bucks with a dry laugh. “I’m more than fine. And she won’t be speaking to me like that much longer.” One of her brows fishhooks into her forehead as she looks in the direction Brenda took off in before she does the same.

  That sounded cryptic.

  Before she’s out of sight, I glance down at her shoes and note they’re short brown boots—not a gold buckle or pink pump in sight—so there’s that.

  “Lottie!” I turn to find my mother and Carlotta running this way, each with a champagne flute in their hand brimming with the bubbly.

  “Would you look at this?” My mother hikes it in my face, and I inch back. “Oh, you have to take part in the glitz in a glass event.”

  Carlotta gives a frenetic nod. “That’s right, Lot Lot. You buy a glass of champagne for just fifty bucks, and it comes with this little mesh bag attached.”

  “And there’s a ring in it!” my mother trills as if she’s never seen the circular piece of jewelry before.

  “Fifty dollars?” I say, trying to swipe the glass from my mother, but she’s quick to move it out of my reach.

  “No more liquor for you, young lady.”

  I make a face. “I was never a drinker to begin with. And didn’t you just tell me to take part in the giveaway?”

  “For the ring,” she clarifies. “One lucky winner is going to get a real diamond ring in their mesh bag. Carlotta and I have already inspected ours, and they both look like they could be the real deal.”

  Carlotta nods. “We won’t know for sure until nine o’clock when they announce which ring was the real bling. But you get a snazzy piece of crystal out of the deal, too.” She holds her flute up to the light. “Hey? Maybe you could slap a nipple on it and use it as a baby bottle? If you’re toting Mr. Sexy’s kid in your belly, you’ll be required to shove a silver spoon in its mouth the second it’s born.” Mr. Sexy is a nickname that the baristas that work nearby Everett’s courthouse gave him—for obvious reasons. “You’ll have to go first class with the kid all the way.” She looks to my mother. “Do they make diamond nipples?”

  Good Lord.

  It’s going to be a long nine months—more like seven or six and a half. But I’m not exactly privy to that timeline just yet because my very first appointment isn’t even booked. But it’s on my to-do list.

  Mom gives a long blink. “Don’t you worry, Lottie. I’ll make sure your baby has nothing but the best, even if it is Noah’s.”

  “Mother, what’s that supposed to mean?”

  Carlotta chuckles. “It means Foxy comes from a common stock. Plus, you have those unfortunate genes the kid has to work with. Suze is nothing but a sourpuss on heels, and Wiley is a swindler whose only saving grace is his dimples.”

  She’s not wrong.

  “Oh
, you.” Mom knocks back her drink. “But isn’t this fundraiser fabulous? Both Noah and Everett have signed up for the trivia challenge. Winner gets dinner at a snazzy restaurant. I’m sure it’ll be a standoff between Noah and Everett once all of those other competitors are eliminated. And then you’ll find out which one really has the brains.” She winks my way.

  Carlotta grunts. “Don’t be fooled, Lot. They’re not playing to see which one has the bigger brain. More like who has the bigger—”

  Wiley calls for my mother from the makeshift bar just in the nick of time.

  “I’m needed,” Mom coos. “We’re making appletinis and calling them school daze.” She giggles as if she’s tested one too many of those appletinis. That or the champagne just went straight to her head.

  She takes off just as Everett and Noah make their way over.

  “Lottie.” Noah pulls me in for a quick embrace. “Let me know if you see the—you know, dog.” He takes a step back and nods. “How are you feeling? Do you want to get off your feet?”

  “I’m fine. I’ve never felt better.” Not necessarily true. I’ve been a bit queasy all day, not to mention that I almost lost my cookies when a whiff of garlic wafted my way from the shop across from mine. Mangias is the guilty establishment in question. It’s an Italian eatery I’ve grown to love over the years, but the thought of stepping into the place makes me want to run for the nearest bush. If just the thought of garlic turns me green inside and out, I’m in a world of trouble. “I promise, neither of you needs to dote over me.”

  Noah takes up my hand. “Lottie, I won’t stop doting over you until the baby comes. And when the baby does arrive? I’ll be doting over the both of you.”

  A hard gasp emits from behind, and I turn to find two wiry blonde socialites that I was hoping I’d never have to contend with again, Cormack Featherby and Cressida Bentley. Cormack is the girl that killed the friendship between Everett and Noah in high school. Essentially, Noah swiped her from Everett, and Everett has been slow to bury the hatchet. And Cressida is the featherhead’s bestie, and she just so happens to be Evie’s biological mother. Although she’s not much of a mother. She’s been nothing short of torturously cruel to the poor girl.

  I make a face at the two of them. Cormack is tall, with model-cut features and celadon green eyes. And Cressida has translucent looking eyes and a pixie-like upturned nose. They were both due to go to the pokey for doing horrible things to me, but they got off without a bruise to show for it, no thanks to their rich daddies, and perhaps even richer legal teams.

  Cormack staggers forward, champagne flute in hand.

  “Tell me it’s not true, Noah.” Cormack clutches her chest. “Tell me you didn’t sire a baby with this two-timing little tartlet.”

  Cormack has been more than a little obsessed with Noah this past year.

  Cressida giggles before he can answer. “I guess that tosses Essex back into the dating pool.” She winks his way.

  “You’ve got a lot of nerve flirting with my husband,” I seethe. “You stole all those precious years he could have spent with Evie because of your selfish need to hold her back like a poker hand.”

  Cormack sighs with relief. “Oh, thank goodness. That must mean my boss man is off the baby hook.” She runs her fingers through Noah’s hair. “Don’t you worry, honey bunch. We can start practicing for a little shrimp of our own later on tonight.”

  Noah flinches. “Lottie’s baby might be mine,” he says that last half of the sentence as if he were painfully conceding to the fact that it might be Everett’s. And I have no doubt the fact is very much painful to Noah. He’s still in love with me. And if I’m being honest, I still very much love him, too. It turns out, there’s no internal switch to make it stop.

  Both Cormack and Cressida gasp and gag at the thought of my daddy predicament.

  Carlotta pulls out her phone, and before you know it, the flash is going off like a spam.

  “Don’t worry, Lot.” Carlotta waves her phone my way. “I’ve got that dumb look on their faces trapped in here so you can remember it for time immemorial.”

  “Give that back!” Cormack tries to swipe the phone from her, but Carlotta holds it high as she turns to run.

  “Too late, Toots! I just sent it to the cloud! And soon enough, it’s going to start raining humiliation by way of social media.” She takes off with both Cormack and Cressida hot on her heels.

  A woman zips forward and quickly fills their void—a redhead who just so happens to have eyes for my men. I’m sensing a theme here.

  “Principal Hickman,” I say, partially amused.

  She waves me off. “Call me Cokie.” She leans in toward Noah. “Unless, of course, we’re on school grounds or in bed.” She guffaws as if it were hilarious, but don’t think for a minute I didn’t let that proposition—on school grounds no less—go unnoticed.

  Brenda strides up with Rachelle trailing behind her.

  “Cokie?” Brenda calls out. “Shouldn’t we start this party before the fat wallets get bored and start heading out the door? Good thing you have me around to tell you how to keep ahold of someone before they leave for greener pastures.” Brenda’s tone is curt, and if I’m not mistaken, I’m sensing a bit of tension. I glance down to observe her footwear and—bingo!

  I elbow Everett in the ribs and nod that way. No sooner does he look down than his shoulders pull back. He tips his head my way, and a smile flirts with his lips.

  Gold Buckles has been clearly identified as none other than Bossy Brenda. Not a shocker.

  Cokie tips her head back, her eyes slit to nothing. “I know how to keep the interest of the crowd. What I can’t control is someone waltzing in and snatching them from me.” She’s wearing a pair of black wedges, so at least we know Brenda and Cokie weren’t the ones almost coming to blows earlier.

  Brenda averts her gaze. “Well then, if they can be stolen, were they ever yours to begin with?”

  Noah tips his head. “Has there been a theft?” He’s teasing in an effort to add some levity to the strained situation.

  “No theft,” Brenda is quick to answer. She pulls her arm forward and holds a book our way—a hardback with a crimson dust jacket—but she’s holding it upside down so I can’t read the title. “I’ve got our top value prize for the evening.” She flips it over. “A signed copy of Justice Served Cold: The Story of Desmond Meadows.”

  Both Cokie and Rachelle gasp as if they know the value of the book, and oddly, I think Noah and Everett just straightened as if they do, too.

  Noah leans in. “Desmond Meadows? Can I see that?”

  “Sure thing.” Brenda hands it to him.

  Noah inspects the inside of the book. “Brenda, this isn’t signed by the author who penned the novel. This is signed by Desmond himself. Where did you get this?” he asks before returning it to her.

  “An anonymous donor.” A smile inches on her lips. “And that signature—isn’t it creepy? Desmond Meadows was still alive after it was published. It was one of his personal copies he was gifting to a friend. Let’s just say, I’m hoping this book lands in the right hands.”

  Everett gives a wistful tick of the head. “There are a lot of crime buffs that would pay big money for that.” He looks to me. “If you’re not familiar with Desmond Meadows, he’s the guy that was accused of killing his wife and disposing of her. The body was never found, and he went missing for some time before they found him facedown in a river. It was ugly.”

  Noah nods. “And they were just about to take him to trial. They have footage of him disposing of garbage bags near his home. His girlfriend is still out there and wanted. She was spotted helping haul the trash bags to the dumpster.”

  “Wow, that’s dark,” I say.

  Brenda shrugs as if she was indifferent. “Speaking of dark, we need to get this party moving so we can all head home and get to bed. I’ve got a fiancé to entertain, if you know what I mean.” She chortles as she looks to Rachelle. “How about one more round of dess
ert before I do the official welcome?”

  They take off and I note Cokie glaring in their direction. “I’m feeling a bit hungry for dessert myself.”

  The crowd grows rowdier by the second as Everett, Noah, and I peruse the silent auction. I hardly mentioned that I had my eye on a set of cast iron skillets, and Noah was quick to bid on them. And then Everett promptly outbid him.

  This happened three more times, and if Everett’s bids can hold their own, I might be the happy new owner of not only that set of cast iron skillets, but a pair of shearling boots, a stack of gorgeous iridescent journals with matching fancy pens, and a basket full of every coffee, pumpkin spice tea, and dessert you can think of. Personally, I’m hoping to at least make off with that last one.

  Soon the lights flicker and all attention is given to the podium, where Cokie welcomes us to another year of learning and fun. After a few minutes, she gives the limelight to Brenda Phillips who takes the podium next. Brenda fidgets with the microphone, adjusting its height, and a horrible squeal goes off, forcing me to turn my head, and when I do, I spot Cokie and a fairly decent looking bald man having what looks to be a hostile, yet oddly hushed exchange. He points over to the podium, and Cokie pulls his arm down quickly before nodding rather aggressively.

  He glances around before straightening the jacket of his suit by way of a tug of his lapels before calmly striding over to the podium and giving Brenda his full attention. He’s landed no less than two feet from Rachelle Dalton, and now the two of them look as if they’re both giving Brenda the stink eye.

  Strange.

  But then, I suppose his behavior, much like hers, has something to do with behind-the-scenes school politics. Something tells me the parents here are capable of just as much drama as the kids, if not more.

  “Welcome everyone, again.” Brenda’s voice booms across the room at deafening decibels. “I want to thank you all for coming out myself. Please don’t hesitate to part with a little of your hard-earned money this evening. All proceeds go straight to the general fund, which will be used to purchase brand new computers for the library study hall, for the seniors’ trip to Washington, D.C., and the renovation of the very floor you’re standing on. We plan on having an entire overhaul completed on the gym before basketball season starts up.” A weak applause breaks out, and I note Rachelle leaning toward a woman with chestnut-brown waves. She has a broad forehead, a dusting of freckles, and a rather irate look on her face. She looks charged as she nods to Rachelle about something, and soon they’re both shaking their heads in disgust. I happen to glance down, and what I see freezes me solid.