Poison Apple Crisp

by Addison Moore

  It’s Pinky! The woman with the chestnut waves is the same woman that shoved Brenda earlier.

  Ha!

  Hey? Maybe that tiny fluffball of trouble was simply here to mitigate an argument? Maybe my powers are growing once again and we’re moving past the homicide stage and on to something far more civil, like a catfight?

  Brenda holds up one of my individual apple crisps.

  “And when you have a chance, please indulge in the terrific desserts. These apple crisps are going to be the end of me. I’ve had ten if I haven’t had thirty.” She starts to laugh before she takes a gasping breath. “And—and if you’d like, you can thank the baker herself.” Her voice grows weak as she gives a little cough. “Lottie Lemon.” She looks my way. “These are just so delicious—” Her voice croaks as she pushes away the papers sitting on the podium in front of her with a violent swipe.

  Brenda grabs ahold of her throat and begins to gag as her face turns a bright shade of red, then purple, and then just as quickly, she’s as blue as a berry.

  Brenda falls to the floor, clutching my apple crisp in her hand just as the room breaks out into gasps and screams.

  The woman in pink kitten heels runs over to her and quickly checks Brenda’s vitals before looking up at the crowd and shaking her head.

  Brenda Phillips won’t have to worry about her wedding cake or any other details regarding her big day.

  Brenda Phillips is dead.

  Chapter 3

  The room breaks out into screams of terror, and with the excellent acoustics in here, it sounds as if we’ve just hit the climax in a murder-centric opera.

  “Lottie.” Noah pulls me in a moment. “Did you see anything suspicious?” He ticks his head. “Maybe you can find that dog you mentioned and see if you can shake some clues out of it?”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  His eyes ride up and down my body.

  “Lottie.” He squeezes his eyes shut a moment. “I need you safe. I need to know that you’re not going to put yourself or the baby in the line of danger.”

  Everett plucks Noah off me with a slice of the arm. “I agree, Lemon. We need to leave this one to the pros.”

  Carlotta pops her head between us. “Where’s the fun in that? Lottie is a pro.”

  “Thank you,” I say with a marked irritation. “Look, I’m not endangering the baby. But I did see some suspicious things tonight, not to mention supernatural things.”

  Noah fiddles with his phone, already calling it in.

  “We’ll talk,” he says as he heads off to manage the scene.

  Everett takes a breath, his eyes lock over mine, and I can sense the exasperation emanating from him.

  “Lemon.”

  “Everett.” I scoff. “You know I’m extra careful when I’m involved in these situations.”

  “Just a few months ago, you were dangling off the ledge of a balcony. I don’t want to think what would have happened if I hadn’t pulled you to safety.”

  My mouth rounds out, because honestly, I don’t want to think about what could have happened either.

  Carlotta smacks me on the arm. “He’s right, Lot. You focus on mothering that sugar booger you got brewing, and I’ll mother Evie.”

  “No,” both Everett and I say in unison.

  Carlotta sputters and gags. “Et tu, Mr. Sexy?”

  “Yes.” Everett gives a wild nod. “Especially me. I make a living out of sound judgment and reason.”

  I gasp. “I don’t like what you’re implying.”

  “Lemon.” Everett moans as he closes his eyes, just the way he’s prone to do when we’re in the throes of a much more heated situation back in my bedroom, or his. For a married couple, we still haven’t bothered to cohabitate.

  “Don’t you worry,” Carlotta is quick to offer up her false assurance. “I know how tough Honey Hollow High can be. I was almost a graduate here myself. These bully-laden grounds are just crawling with mean girls looking to make our little Evie’s existence a living heck. But I’ve got the upper hand on the situation. I know just how to handle them. I’ve got a plan that will put Evie large and in charge of every teen queen in Vermont.”

  I blink over at her. “A part of me wants to ask about this plan, and yet another part of me knows better. Which part should I listen to, Everett? You’re the one that makes a living out of sound judgment and reason.”

  His mouth opens and closes. “That’s not what I meant, Lemon.”

  “Oh, it’s what you meant.” My voice shakes without my permission, and truthfully, I can’t remember a single time where my anger had gotten the better of me. It’s as if this hormonal surge in my body was just begging to go here, and I can’t seem to stop it.

  “Finally!” Carlotta slaps her hands together. “A good old-fashioned date night fight. I can only imagine the make-up lovin’ the man with a gavel can dole out.” She elbows me in the side. “Go on, Lot. Get him good and worked up. You won’t regret it. In fact, once you take a walk on the stormy side, you’ll never share a kind word with this man again. Which reminds me, I need to pick a fight with Harry before the clock strikes twelve and he turns into a polite pushover.” She leans my way. “If you hear screams coming from my bedroom, that’s just me reaping the benefits of my argumentative efforts. My motto has always been a little raucous rumpus leads to a riotous romp.” She nods to Everett. “Keep up the good work. A little more anger and resentment, and you’ll have her eating out of the palm of your hand—or whatever other body part you want to slap some whipped cream on.” She sucks in a quick breath while looking past him. “I see that celestial canine sniffing around the apple crisps. I’ll go see if I can catch her.” She starts to take off, then backtracks. “Good job, Lot, working your dessert into another homicide. Word on the underground street is, the mob is looking to recruit you as a hitman. If you want, I can help you figure out a fee. With my connections to the underworld, I think you should consider a fifty-fifty split.”

  “I’m not considering it.” I belt it out a little too harsh as she takes off. “And hands off of Evie,” I shout.

  The room is suddenly flooded with emergency medical workers, not to mention an entire army of sheriff’s deputies.

  A wave of nausea takes over, and I let out a dull moan while clutching my stomach.

  “Is it the baby?” Everett’s voice is tight with panic.

  “I’m fine. I’m just queasy. Nothing some ice water won’t cure.”

  “I’m on it.” He hooks his daring blue eyes to mine. “I’m not opposed to getting argumentative if it means protecting our baby.” He gives the hint of a wink, and I’m onto the fact he’s not all that sorry our indelicate disagreements might just have a very real sexual side effect—of the beneficial variety, of course.

  I twitch my lips. “I’ll fight you tooth and nail to protect my investigative freedoms. You have to trust that I won’t put myself in danger.” Not on purpose anyway.

  His lids hood a notch as his eyes glaze over. “Why don’t we meet up at my place tonight?”

  “I don’t go out of my way to have someone tell me what to do. I’m staying home.”

  “Fine,” he says it a touch too curt. “I’ll use my key.”

  “Fine,” I say with a touch too much vigor myself. “I’ll be waiting in my bed.”

  His lips curve with devilish delight as he takes off, and I all but fan myself in his wake.

  “Lottie?” a familiar female voice trills from behind, and I’m shocked to see my bestie cradling a blue bundle in her arms.

  “Keelie, what are you doing here with baby Bear?” I coo as I peer over at him and pet the soft blond peach fuzz on his head. He’s so perfect with his big eyes and button nose. Even at two weeks old he looks like the perfect combination of Keelie and that papa Bear of his.

  “Please, I’m going to blink and he’ll be a senior at Honey Hollow High. I’ve got to get used to being at events like this.”

  “There are people here with germs, not to me
ntion the dead body.” I whisper that last part. “Please go home.”

  “I will, but first I have to see if my keys fit that lock. That emerald necklace has my name all over it. Oh, Lottie, the real reason I came is because I’m so excited my best friend is having a baby I just can’t wait to share everything with you.”

  I give a hard sniff as tears come to my eyes.

  “I’m so glad, Keelie. I feel so alone and afraid. I know I have Noah and Everett, but I don’t even know which one is the daddy. I’m a walking version of a tabloid talk show.”

  Keelie sucks in a quick breath. “That’s brilliant, Lottie! You can be on Murry Popovich—the who’s your daddy segment. It’s super dramatic, so don’t be too surprised if Noah pulls out his gun and shoots Everett if he doesn’t like the results. But I’ll be there for you, just like I’ll be there for you through all of this. Oh, and I’ll stop by the bakery with a bag of my maternity clothes. Which reminds me, I’d better load up on dessert before it officially becomes evidence. Lord knows we’ve been down this road before.” She takes off before I can stop her.

  Here Keelie has been out of the house with baby Bear twice in one day, and I know for a fact Lainey is planning on sequestering herself with sweet baby Josie until that child hits her teenage years.

  Bear will be graduating from high school the same year Josie is graduating from her house. I wonder which extreme of motherhood I’ll fall into?

  Before I can trip and fall down the baby-shaped rabbit hole, I spot the woman with the pink kitten heels about to walk past me. “Excuse me,” I say, not quite sure of what will pop out of my mouth next. “That was brave of you to try to help Brenda.” I shrug. “I take it you knew the deceased?”

  She glances to poor Brenda lying on the floor, not thirty feet away, and what seems to be an involuntary frown takes over her face.

  “I knew her.” She shrugs. “We were acquaintances. I used to be a member of the PTA. I guess there’s an empty seat on the board now, isn’t there?”

  “Are you up for running?” My ears can’t believe she said those words, and yet Brenda isn’t even cold yet.

  “No. Believe me, I’m the last to dive into those drama-riddled waters. And word to the wise, I would think twice if I were you. Have you ever heard that saying some girls never leave high school? That accounts for just about every woman in that uptight organization.” She starts to take off, and I thrust my hand her way.

  “Lottie Lemon. I own the bakery on Main Street. My daughter will be starting here this fall as a junior.”

  “Alyssa Thomas.” She offers me a firm shake, and I’m tempted to like her despite the fact she might just be the killer. “My son is a senior this year. And boy, am I ever glad. Nice to meet you.” She takes a few steps before turning around. “Oh, and good job with the apple crisps.” A dark smile curves on her lips. “You really hit it out of the park with that one.” She dives into the crowd and disappears from sight.

  Ha! I bet she used my apple crisp to poison poor Brenda. It wouldn’t be the first time my desserts were featured in some nefarious dealings.

  I’m about to look for Everett when I spot the bald man that was having a rather aggressive looking conversation with Cokie. He’s hovering near the body, angling at poor Brenda as if he were trying to get a better look before he backs away slowly and heads to the dessert table.

  My feet waste no time in hightailing it over to him, and I reach for an apple crisp at the very same time as he does.

  “Jinx,” I say with as much cheer as this situation could call for. I opt to let him have the sweet treat and grab another one instead. “Horrible tragedy, isn’t it?” I glance back to Brenda in the event he thinks I’m talking about my crisps—although they’re not faring all that great right about now either.

  “Oh yeah.” He snaps up three cups of my apple confections. He’s built like a football player, seems to be in his thirties like Noah and Everett, and has a washed look about him with his pale skin, pale gray eyes, and pink lips. “That’s my fiancée.” He shrugs. “I guess I should say was, but I’m not there yet.” He holds up the dessert. “Don’t mind me. I’ve always been one to eat my feelings.” He looks back over at Brenda, and his lips twitch with a crooked smile. “Have a good night,” he says as he walks away, and a part of me wonders if he were saying it to me or tossing it out at Brenda in a vindictive manner.

  A shiver rides through me, and out of the corner of my eye I spot that crimson hardback novel lying next to me, unattended. I pick it up to inspect it.

  “There you are.” My mother runs up and wraps her arms around me. “I’ve already talked to Principal Hickman, and we’re going to move all of the donations for the auction to my garage. I’ll be hosting a redo at the B&B. No use in letting all that potential money slip away when the school can really use it. I have a feeling that poor woman would have wanted it that way.”

  My mother not only owns and runs a B&B, but it just so happens to be happily haunted.

  “I think you’re right. Thank you for stepping up like that.”

  “It’s the least I can do. Oh, and before I forget, I’ve already made a note of the apple crisp,” she says it slow and measured. “I have a tour coming in tomorrow, and I’ll be sure to send them your way. Gird yourself. They’ll be hungry.”

  My mother offers tours of her haunted B&B for eighty bucks a pop, and once she—or more to the point, the ghosts that live there are through scaring and scarring the masses, she piles the poor people on a bus and sends them to my bakery for what she’s dubbed as The Last Thing They Ate Tour.

  Sadly, every single homicide in Honey Hollow, over the span of the last two years, has involved my sweet treats, and even more chilling than that is the fact those morbid so-called tours sell whatever the deadly dessert du jour is right through the roof. That being said, it’s time to kick the production of my apple crisps into high gear.

  Rachelle pops up. “I’m ready to help, Miranda.” She presses her hand to her chest as she looks my way, and I notice the fact her long sleeves are pulled nearly down to her knuckles. Poor thing is probably shivering with fear. “Isn’t this the worst? I hope they figure out whatever happened to her. I’m sure her fiancé wants answers.”

  Mom shakes her head. “I don’t think this was natural. But don’t you worry. Lottie here is a great detective. She’ll have this case buttoned up in no time. She has a knack for hunting down killers.” She gives my cheek a pinch. “Now that I’ve considered it, I think the Ashford Sherriff’s Department should put you on payroll.”

  “Mother.” My head bobs side to side. “You’re embarrassing me.”

  “That’s her job, Lottie.” Rachelle rides her eyes up and down me a moment. “I’ve got a mother, too. It never ends.” She glances back to where poor Brenda lies and shudders. “I guess I’ll see you around school.”

  Both Rachelle and my mother get to the task of clearing off the tables, and you better believe my mother snatched up that gilded birdcage first.

  I give a quick scan of the vicinity and spot Everett and Noah locked in what looks to be an intense conversation, and intermittently they offer stern looks in my direction.

  Odd.

  But it’s the sight just past them that has my blood running cold. It’s Cokie speaking with Brenda’s fiancé, and they seem to be nodding and sharing a private smile. Cokie looks down where Brenda lies splayed out for all to see, and a dull laugh thumps through her as she says something. The man next to her nods and smiles as if agreeing.

  Just what is it that those two find so funny, so very satisfying at a dark hour like this?

  It’s clear they’re up to no good.

  But are they up to murder?

  Chapter 4

  Last night at the fundraiser gone awry, I inadvertently ended up putting that book, Justice Served Cold: The Story of Desmond Meadows, into my tote bag and brought it home with me.

  I suppose it doesn’t matter. I can pass it along to my mother in plenty of tim
e for the new fundraiser. That is, once I’m finished with it. I’ll admit, I picked it up this morning, and it was darn hard to pull myself away from it in time to open the bakery. I would have started it last night, but Everett and I had to finish what we started.

  Apparently, Desmond was having an affair with a woman by the name of Irene Collins. Shortly after he stepped out on his wife, Robin Meadows, he made it official and they filed for divorce. But they were warring over the children—three little boys all under eight. Robin feared for her life. She told anyone who would listen that if anything happened to her, Desmond would be to blame. And sure enough, she went out for a jog one morning after the nanny took the kids to school and was never seen or heard from again.

  A forensics team entered his home with luminol and lit up the living room like a Christmas tree. Blood evidence was everywhere in that house, albeit seemingly invisible to the naked eye. Later, security footage surfaced near a refinery where Desmond worked, and it showed him hauling an oversized duffle bag just out of the frame of the camera. Bloodhounds scoured the area, but no evidence of a body was ever found.

  Robin Meadows is missing, and Desmond Meadows is dead. Robin’s mother now has custody of those three little boys. Sad all the way around.

  It was creepy knowing that Desmond touched the very book that’s in my home now. And what’s even creepier—I found an envelope tucked in the back of it, sealed shut. I didn’t dare open it myself, but you can bet your bottom snooping dollar I’ll be right there when Noah steams it open. It could be a vital clue as to where Desmond hid the body. Or it could be a confession. If I had found it last night, I might have been tempted to open it myself.