Poison Apple Crisp

by Addison Moore

  Both Noah and Everett insist they were attempting to give the women the boot, but a sharp pain in my foot steals their thunder as I howl at the top of my lungs.

  “Foot cramp!” I scream so loud I’m sure all of Leeds is aware of my phalangeal predicament.

  Everett scoops me off my feet while Noah magically produces a bottle of water, and I do my best to chug it.

  The three of us head back to Honey Hollow and end up in my living room—me with my feet propped up while both Noah and Everett each take a foot and massage it. Both Pancake and Waffles are in my arms, and I’m happy snuggling with them while my feet are getting the best spa treatment known to man—or more to the point, woman.

  Noah already called Margo from the Honey Pot to open the bakery for me in the morning, and Everett has threatened to order thousands of dollars’ worth of prescription shoes to remedy the problem.

  “Lemon.” Everett warms my foot with his hands. “While you were speaking with Alyssa, Noah and I were talking about the future.”

  “My future?” I ask, almost amused.

  “Our future.” His lips curve a notch. “As in you and me living together as a family. I’m thinking I should buy the house next door.”

  “You already own the house next door.” I shake my head. “I don’t get it.”

  “The rental on the other side of you,” he says. “My house is large, but it could be bigger. I’m thinking of knocking that place down and starting from scratch. You could design it just the way you like. And we’ll tack on extra rooms, big ones. We’ll make it ours.”

  Noah nods. “You don’t want to lease forever. And Everett’s stairwell is a death trap.”

  I blink back. “That’s an interesting line of thought, but that house isn’t for sale, is it?”

  “It’s for sale or lease,” Everett points out.

  My mouth falls open. “But Carlotta just put in an application to lease it.”

  Noah shrugs. “She could theoretically stay here.”

  Before I can comprehend any of it, the door bursts open and in walks Carlotta with Evie.

  Evie shrieks. “Eww! Why are the two of you touching her feet?” She staggers over. “Mom? Should I be filming this?”

  “What?” I shriek at the thought. “No!”

  Carlotta nods her way. “Get the camera rolling, kid. We can use this to blackmail all three of ’em later.” A husky laugh runs through her. “I knew there was more to this happy trio than meets the eye. I bet if we didn’t bust in when we did, they’d be massaging much more interesting places.”

  “Stop,” I say. It’s times like this I wish I had trained Pancake and Waffles to attack. “I had a foot cramp and they’re helping me out. We were just talking about the empty house next door.” I look to Carlotta. “Did you ever get your application in?”

  “Nope.” Carlotta sits down next to me and takes off her sneakers and socks before thumping her feet on the coffee table between Noah and Everett. Carlotta’s feet look like the underbelly of a fish and smell like vinegar. “It turns out, it’s already been leased.”

  Evie nods. “The moving truck just left two hours ago. I guess we’ll be meeting our new neighbors soon.”

  Everett shrugs it off. “Don’t worry, Lemon. We’ll think of something.”

  “I’ve got an idea.” Carlotta lands a foot on Noah’s thigh. “Come on, Foxy. Let’s see whatcha got.”

  Noah and Everett end my impromptu foot rub rather abruptly, and Evie speeds out of the house right along with them.

  “Why are my eyes watering?” she wails all the way home. “Tell Carlotta she needs a foot transplant!”

  Noah says goodnight as he heads down the porch before pausing.

  “Lottie? Did Alyssa happen to mention anything about that book that was stolen from you?”

  “No,” I say, surprised that he even brought it up. “Why?”

  “Because we received an anonymous tip today that she might be the one that took it.”

  Everett leans his head to the side. “Interesting—especially considering what she told Lemon. Her story somewhat mirrors that of Desmond Meadows’.”

  “Yeah,” I say, thinking about it. “I guess it does.”

  Everett nods over to Noah. “So what was in the envelope?”

  “Forensics just dusted it for prints. I’ll be cleared to open it in the lab soon. You never know what we could find—clothing fibers, hair, a confession.”

  “I guess I’ll see you soon,” I say. “There’s no way I’m going to miss that.”

  He nods. “I figured so.”

  Everett and I head back into the house, and he wraps his arms around me as our eyes meet.

  “Lemon.” His brows pinch in the middle. “You’re not backing down from this case.”

  I shake my head. “I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “Then I’d better help Noah solve it. The quicker the better.” His cheek flickers on one side as his lids hood dangerously low. “Do you know what’s not better quicker?”

  “Sexy time with Essex?” Carlotta shouts from the sofa, and I groan.

  The house next door has already been leased, and it’s becoming abundantly clear I am never getting rid of Carlotta before or after the baby comes.

  But I am catching a killer.

  And with Noah and Everett putting a little muscle behind it, we might just hammer this one into the ground in record time.

  But if the killer finds out I’m looking for them, I might be the one who meets with a hammer, or a lethal dose of cyanide.

  Chapter 11

  Since I don’t have to open the bakery this morning, the plan was to blissfully sleep in until my body decided it was time to wake up, but the universe had other plans.

  “Let’s go! Let’s go! One and two and three and four! Shake your booty to the floor!”

  A hard groan comes from me, and I pat the spot on the bed next to me and smack Everett in the stomach without meaning to.

  “Whoa.” He catches my hand and kisses it before freezing solid. “What’s that noise?”

  “I don’t know.” I moan. “Let’s go find out and kill it with fire.”

  I throw on my robe, and Everett hops into his sweats as we stagger out of the house like a couple of zombies, only to find about thirty women crammed onto the lawn of the house next door—all of them wearing yoga pants and tank tops and their hair knotted up at the top of their heads. The woman leading the charge in front is a tall, fit brunette with almond-shaped eyes. And unlike her underlings, she’s wearing short shorts and a T-shirt that cuts off at the midriff. It’s clear that she’s immune to autumn’s early morning chill.

  Carlotta and Evie stagger their way over, and Everett and I head down to the sidewalk just as Noah and his golden retriever, Toby, appear.

  “It’s not even six in the morning.” Evie grunts. “What’s wrong with these people?”

  Everett glowers at the bodies kicking and punching their way to physical fitness.

  “It looks like a club of some sort,” he says. “I think I’ll go over and let them know there’s a noise ordinance.”

  Noah shakes his head. “Let me. I’ll flash my badge, make it look official. That way if they’re going to get upset with anyone, it’ll be the sheriff’s department.”

  We head over just as the brunette in the short shorts leads the group into deep knee squats.

  “Looks painful,” Carlotta notes as she pops up next to me. “Aren’t you glad you’re knocked up, Lot? Now that you’re going to be a mama, you don’t have to worry about squeezing yourself into those painted-on booty pants.”

  “I still fit in my booty pants,” I tell her.

  “Not for long,” she counters. “Just think of all these women parading around daily in front of your men, Lot. Squatting and sweating up a storm, getting their beach bodies on while you turn into a beach ball.”

  I shoot her a look in lieu of a response. “I’m not turning into a beach ball.”

  Flashes of Lainey’
s distended belly and Keelie’s at the nine-month mark flit through my mind. Keelie really did look like a house.

  “Oh my God, I’m turning into a beach ball.”

  Noah jogs over to the woman in charge while flashing his badge, and half the women swoon with delight.

  “Great,” Carlotta bleats. “No sooner do you turn Foxy loose than a cult of attractive women move in right across the street from him. They don’t call him a lucky fox for nothing.”

  “Nobody calls him a lucky fox,” I say.

  “They will now.”

  Everett and I head toward Noah, and the women on the lawn all flock around Everett as if a naked rock star just showed up in their midst. Honestly? He’s pretty darn close, but better.

  “What’s happening?” one of them shouts, and by the pitch of her voice it sounds as if she might just pass out.

  The brunette with short shorts bops over.

  “Can I help you?” She looks from Noah to Everett while running her tongue over her upper lip.

  Funny how she doesn’t seem to see me.

  Noah puts his badge away. “Detective Noah Fox.”

  The crowd swoons once again.

  “Detective?” Short Shorts suddenly looks interested. “And who are you?” She folds her arms across her chest as she nods to Everett.

  “Judge Everett Baxter.”

  A series of screams break out, accompanied by some rather lewd pants.

  Again, it’s to be expected.

  Carlotta snickers. “And there goes Sexy.”

  I stride my way over to the nosy brunette. “What exactly is going on here?”

  Short Shorts blinks her baby blues my way. “Are you here for the class?”

  “No,” I say as if the thought offended me. “I live next door. What’s all this noise about? Is this some sort of diabolical aerobics class?”

  “It’s the Booty-ful Butt Lift. Shake your booty session one.” She lifts a shoulder flirtatiously toward Noah and Everett. “I’m Too Hot to Handle Hannah, and it would be my pleasure to be your personal instructor.”

  Noah lifts his hands as if it were a stickup. “That won’t be necessary. I just wanted to let you know about the noise ordinance. It’s hushed voices until nine.”

  A husky giggle bounces through her, and, in turn, it makes other parts of her bounce.

  “And if we’re not quiet? What are you going to do? Arrest me?” She bats her impossibly long lashes at Everett. “Are you going to sentence me to hard time in your private chambers?”

  “Hey, watch it, sister.” That’s my line. I put my arm out protectively over both Noah and Everett. “I’m the only one who gets to get flirty with these two. Keep your hot hands and your hot booty to yourself, got it?”

  A round of oohs circulates through the yoga-loving peanut gallery as if a fight were about to break out. Come to think of it, I did nearly have a good old-fashioned hair puller last night. I’m thinking I could go two-for-two.

  Hot Hannah sweeps her gaze over me. “And who are you?”

  “Lottie Lemon. I own the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery downtown.” I glance out at the crowd. “And if any of you want to load up on carbs after this, just head down to the bakery and ask for the Hot Hannah Special,” I shout. “Buy one dozen donuts get six free!” I’m feeling especially vindictive, and strangely enough, it seems to be sharpening my business acumen.

  She gives a quick blink. “Well, I’m Hannah Beckham, your new neighbor. I just leased this property for a year, and I was assured by the owner I could conduct my sunrise stretch classes here.”

  Carlotta elbows her way next to me. “I thought you said this was the Booty-ful Butt Lift class? I was looking forward to getting myself some buns of steel.”

  Traitor.

  Hot Hannah nods. “You’re welcome to join in on the fun. We’ll meet right here every day at six a.m. for as long as the weather permits.”

  Carlotta leans in. “But what will we do when Mother Nature turns on us?”

  “Don’t worry.” Hannah winks at Noah. “We take it inside. I’ve got plenty of room for all of us to get physical.” She licks her lips as she looks to Everett. “You would be shocked at how limber I can be.”

  She claps her hands, and the crowd disperses with the exception of the few women who are petting Toby. Not only is Noah’s badge a chick magnet, but so is his dog.

  And is that… a woman asking Everett for his number?

  “Oh dear Lord,” I mutter. “This new neighbor is a nightmare.”

  Carlotta wraps an arm around me. “Don’t worry, Lot Lot. I have a feeling this is just the universe’s way of testing the relationships you have with your men. It happens to all couples, or in your case, throuples.”

  “Oh good. And here I thought it was just a harem of horny women looking to score with my ex and my husband. Glad it’s nothing more than a pop quiz by the powers that be. As if the who’s-your-daddy talk show fodder my life has turned into wasn’t enough.”

  Noah and Everett do their best to fend off the estrogen-laden masses while Toby eats up all of the attention he can.

  Something tells me Country Cottage Road will never be the same again.

  And neither will Noah, Everett, and I.

  Two words: fried pickles.

  The bakery is busy as a bee in a hive all morning and well into the afternoon. And between helping with the customers, I’m frying up batch after delicious batch of dubiously delicious beer-battered fried pickles. I can’t help but marvel at how easy it was to duplicate and, dare I say, improve upon the recipe from the Brew Ha Ha. Of course, I used non-alcoholic beer, not just because of the baby, but because I don’t want Carlotta or God forbid Evie siphoning off my inventory.

  Lily is petrified by the fried delight at hand, and the customers don’t seem to want to sample my dill wares either, but that doesn’t stop me from noshing on a few myself. I’m shocked at how well they pair with my cream pies, the napoleons, and the éclairs, too. Imagine biting into an éclair, only to find a fried pickle smothered among the Bavarian cream? A pickled delight within a delight! Although when I presented the idea to Meg, she ran all the way back to the Honey Pot Diner.

  Once the rush dies down, and my shelves are nearly empty, Keelie strides in with a car seat in one hand and a trash bag in the other.

  “Oh my goodness.” I rush over before she drops that little nugget onto the floor. “Let me take that from you.” I try my best to take the car seat, but she refuses to let go.

  “No way, Lottie Lemon. You’re expecting. Baby Bear is too heavy for you. Take the trash bag instead.”

  I do as I’m told, and she sets the infant carrier onto a table with a thud.

  “I can’t believe he slept through all that,” I coo as I take in his adorable little face. He’s tiny, yet looks decidedly like a sturdy little boy with his chubby cheeks and stern expression. “My God, he looks as soft and scrumptious as a peach. What’s in the bag?” I ask, landing it on a chair next to me.

  “Your new wardrobe. I’m not exactly in a hurry to expand my belly anytime soon, so I thought I’d send it all your way.”

  “Thank you,” I say, pulling a powder blue dress out of the bag just as Carlotta and Evie stride into the bakery.

  “What’s the tablecloth for?” Evie asks as she blows an air kiss to the baby.

  Carlotta whoops out a laugh. “That’s your mama’s new date night delight. First comes the tablecloth, and next come the curtains.”

  Keelie laughs. “You’re a hoot, Aunt Carlotta. Lottie, you’re really lucky you get to live with her. I bet it’s a laugh a minute.”

  I don’t even smile for that one.

  Keelie pats her backside. “Well, I’m tired of wearing tablecloths and curtains. Oh, hey, I just heard there’s some ritzy new class in town that promises to transform the junk in my trunk into twin granite globes. I need to find out when and where.”

  “Six a.m. right next door to Lot Lot’s.” Carlotta grins my way. “I’ve already si
gned up and got my yogurt pants ready to go.”

  Evie shakes her head my way. “I tried to tell her they have nothing to do with yogurt.” She gives the obligatory eye roll. “I’m off to load up on carbs. Cheer practice has left me drained of stamina and the will to ever scream at either one of my boyfriends again, even if it was meant to encourage them.” She takes off for the register, and I step in close to Keelie.

  “You can’t join that butt lift class. It’s not right. It’s obscene,” I tell her. “And it’s happening right under my nose.”

  Meg comes over from the Honey Pot just in time for me to spill all the bootyful details about the shared trauma Noah, Everett, and I experienced this morning.

  “Too Hot to Handle Hannah?” Meg tilts her ear my way as if she didn’t hear me correctly.

  “That right,” I say. “I bet it’s her stage name.”

  Meg shakes her head. “That’s no dancer, Lottie. Hannah Beckham is one of the most sought-after workout instructors in all of Vermont. Her tagline is let’s put some thump in your rump. She’s a gluteus maximus specialist.”

  “Specialist?” I ask. “Don’t tell me they hand out degrees for this stuff.”

  Meg shrugs. “She’s a PhD. It was an honorary degree.”

  “Honorary?” Carlotta gasps. “That’s the most important degree of them all.”

  Keelie grabs ahold of her bottom with both hands. “I can’t wait to turn this marshmallow into a bootyful rock hard display of gluteus maximus perfection. Carlotta, help me get signed up as soon as I can.”

  “Just show up tomorrow,” Carlotta is quick to offer Hannah another devotee.

  “I’m in.” Meg raises a hand. “I’ve been meaning to track her down. Last I heard she was offering classes in Hollyhock.”

  “The two of you can’t do that,” I say. “You’ll be encouraging a public nuisance.”

  Keelie offers a forlorn smile my way. “Don’t worry, Lottie. You’ll be at the bakery whipping up sweet treats for those people who don’t care about getting their rear into gear.”

  “Or any thump in their rump.” Carlotta nods. “And I’ll keep an eye on Foxy and Sexy for you.” Her fingers touch her lips. “Come to think of it, I’ll have to keep an eye out on Harry, too. That man can winnow out a flock of women faster than an early bird can snatch up a worm.”