Poison Apple Crisp

by Addison Moore

  Rachelle shakes her head with a curious look. “Are you okay? You look stunned for a lack of a better word.”

  I glance back at the crowd that seems to have swallowed my too hot to handle neighbor.

  “I’m fine. I was just a little thrown. Hannah just moved in next door to me. And let’s just say she’s whipped the entire neighborhood into a frenzy with her early morning singles mingle.”

  Rachelle belts out another laugh. “Well, at least you’re apprised of her wicked ways. I’d keep an eye out on her around your husband. She’s already mentioned how delicious he looks. There’s a detective she says she’s got in her sight, though. Maybe he can take her on?”

  Ginger lets out another serious riotous barks. “Lottie Lemon! You must come now.”

  “Maybe,” I say to Rachelle. “But if the detective is smart, he’ll steer clear, too.”

  Rachelle’s pale lips spread into a thin line. “I’ve met him. He seems a bit clueless to me.”

  “Now!” Ginger pleads, and I don’t have a second more to set Rachelle straight about Noah.

  “Excuse me,” I say. “My bladder is calling.”

  “You’d better hurry. There’s a line for the restroom.” She squints to the hall straight ahead. “On second thought, head into the administration building. It’s just a few more steps, but there’s a restroom near the attendance office that I promise you is empty.”

  Ginger leads the charge, thankfully in that direction, and her fluffy cinnamon-colored fur is wafting in her wake like down waves of grain.

  The administration building is just through that dark corridor and to the left. The halls are cooler here, empty and dimly lit. Now that the back-to-school portion of the evening is over, they’re doing their best to herd everyone into the gym in hopes they’ll crack open their checkbooks.

  Ginger barks and trots as fast as she can right past the restroom Rachelle was telling me about. And for the life of me, I’m thankful that for once I don’t have the urge to sit on the nearest toilet.

  Ginger slides to a stop before darting right into the door marked Principal.

  “Great,” I say. Carlotta’s not around to pick the lock, and I’m not exactly a whiz with a bobby pin. Not that I have one to prove that theory. I give the doorknob a jiggle, and it opens right up. Huh. That’s a pleasant surprise.

  “Hello?” I say as I poke my head in just in case Cokie is here primping herself before she does her best to seduce Noah again. For the love of all things holy and right, I wish she’d get back together with Martin for just that reason. But there’s not a soul in the room. Not a living one at least.

  “Thirteen,” I say as I spot the glowing black cat sitting on top of a rather huge pile of books that look as if they’ve been knocked off the shelf. The lights are off, but Thirteen’s aura casts a purple hue around the room and Ginger glows like a pumpkin herself.

  “Oh goodness, Lottie.” Thirteen’s cute little fuzzy head twitches to and fro. “Ginger and I were engaged in a rather heated game of cat and cutie.” He yowls over at her flirtatiously while swiping the air with his paw. “When cat-astrophe struck, and I nearly lost another life in an avalanche of books.”

  Ginger lets out a few spastic barks. “Look, Lottie! Look!”

  “Good grief,” I say at the pile of hardbacks and paperbacks littering the floor. “Well, it looks like a good time was had by all. But I’m afraid I’m not playing the part of the cleanup committee. I wouldn’t worry your pretty little furry heads about it. Let’s let sleeping books lie and hit the dessert table. The two of you should really try the apple crisp. It’s to die for.” I suck in a quick breath. “That sounded pretty terrible, didn’t it?”

  “No, Lottie.” Thirteen jumps off the book he’s perched on. “This is pretty terrible.”

  Sitting on the floor is a hardback with a deep red cover and printed across the front it reads Justice Served Cold: The Story of Desmond Meadows.

  “Oh my goodness,” I say, picking it up.

  Ginger floats to my side. “It’s the signed copy. Thirteen and I have already investigated this thoroughly. We make quite the team, don’t you think?” She bites the air between them.

  I pull the cover back, and sure enough that sloppy signature of Desmond Meadows stares back at me.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper. “How did I not see this here last night? I scoured that bookshelf.” I shake my head in disbelief as I quickly flip the pages, and the book splits down the middle where a series of color photographs eat up the pages. I pull it close to examine them. Desmond Meadows is handsome with a winning smile, but there is a distinct level of evil in his eyes. A woman stands next to him, long red hair, covered in tattoos from the neck down, no smile, just pure unadulterated hatred. The caption below it reads Desmond and his girlfriend Irene Collins outside of her massage parlor. The date of the picture places it exactly three years ago.

  The sound of footsteps echoing in the hall begins to grow, and I slap the book shut.

  “Quick, Lottie”—Thirteen twitches—“put it in your bag.”

  I dunk the book into my tote bag just as the door swings open, and Cokie Hickman gasps as she flicks on the lights.

  “What is going on in here?” Her eyes drift to the mess at my feet, then back to me.

  “I—uh.” Shoot. I’m usually a touch more mentally prepared to meet up with the killer—or in the least a book thief. But right now, my instincts say they’re one in the same and my instincts are rarely ever wrong. “You’re a crime buff.” The words swim from my lips, so I guess we’re starting there.

  “Lottie?” She shakes her head at me, confused. “What are you talking about? Rachelle said you came this way for the restroom. You clearly got lost in the dark. Now come out of there. Did you bump into my books?” That look of abject confusion never leaves her face.

  “No—I mean, yes.” My heart begins to pulsate so hard, I’m afraid I might pass out. “I was looking for the restroom. Rachelle said there wouldn’t be a line, and well, I stepped into the wrong place, I guess.” I glance down to find the box of paperbacks I spotted the other night sits overturned. “I tripped over a box, and I picked one of the books up.” I don’t tell her which one. “It looks as if you’re a real crime buff.”

  A nervous titter comes from her. “I find it very odd you can read in the dark, but I’m no crime buff. That box was donated to the school.”

  Another set of footsteps quickens in this direction. The light clip-clop of what sounds like heels, and in an instant Detective Ivy Fairbanks is in our presence.

  “Cokie Hickman?” She sheds a tight smile to the redhead in our midst before flashing her badge. “Ashford County Sheriff’s Department, Homicide Division. If you don’t mind, I’d like to have a word with you.” She does a quick double take my way. “Oh, for the love of Honey Hollow. How are you everywhere, Lottie? Would you please leave us alone? Noah is out there losing his mind, looking for you. And once you spot him, send him my way.” She glowers over at Cokie. “I might need backup.”

  She doesn’t have to tell me twice. I zoom out of the tiny office so fast I momentarily forget all about the book in my bag. I suppose that’s why Ivy has shown up at the scene. But I’d rather give the book to Noah than head back in there.

  Hey?

  A thought comes to me. Desmond’s girlfriend Irene is a redhead. Cokie is a redhead… Maybe Cokie is Irene?

  I’ll float my theory past Noah once I hand him the book.

  The gymnasium is still brimming with bodies, music is blaring through the speakers now, and for the most part, everyone seems to be having a great time.

  No sign of Noah as far as I can tell, and just as I’m about to pull out my phone and shoot him a text, a body bumps into me from the side.

  “Sorry,” a deep voice says, and I look over in time to see a glass of punch being lifted over my head and I just so happen to recognize the person holding it.

  “Martin,” I say, looking into his friendly eyes. “Nice to s
ee you here.” My heart is still thumping wildly from the exchange with Cokie and Ivy.

  “Nice to see you, too, Lottie.” He sheds an easy grin. “I almost baptized you with my fruit punch. Sorry about that. I can’t believe this crowd. Cokie always did know how to throw a party.”

  “I’ll say.” But is she a murderous host?

  He squints into the crowd. “You wouldn’t happen to know where she is, do you?”

  “Actually...” There’s no way I can send Martin over there. “I’m not entirely sure.” Not quite a lie. Ivy could have hauled her off to who knows where by now. “Hey? Can I ask how long you’ve known Cokie?”

  “Five or six years. She’s been the principal here for the last four.”

  Four? That picture was taken three years ago. I guess that puts a pin in my theory.

  “Well, thank you,” I say. “It’s good to know she has lots of experience.”

  He ticks his head. “She’s good at a lot of things. And I’ve been missing every last one of them.” He pats my arm as he heads past me.

  “Great,” I mutter as I glance down at the auctions set in front of me. One for a signed basketball and one for an e-reader loaded with one hundred dollars’ worth of bestsellers.

  They both have a familiar name bidding on them, but it’s not the name that catches my attention as much as it is that upward tilt that’s crossing the T, and the curlicue at the end of the letter A.

  It’s the same little detail that caught my eye on the ransom note.

  A breath hitches in my throat as it all comes together.

  I think I know who wrote that note, and I think I know who killed Brenda Phillips, too.

  Chapter 18

  The roar of the crowd picks up, and I’m about to pull out my phone once again when I spot her just outside the back door to the gym with a plume of white smoke from a cigarette creating a misshapen halo around her head.

  I step out into the crisp autumn night as a smattering of citrine-colored leaves swirls around my feet.

  “Lottie?” A brief smile twitches on her lips as she quickly extinguishes the cigarette underneath her heel. “My apologies. It’s not good for your baby to be near it. It’s a nasty habit of mine from a whole other lifetime ago.” She gives a sly wink as she bends over to kick the butt out of the way, and a thin black etching is exposed over her neck.

  “Can I see it?” I motion to her neck, and her eyes widen my way. “Your tattoo. I bet you’re covered with them.” I meant for it to come out playful, but it was far more accusatory.

  Thirteen and Ginger materialize in a vat of colorful stars, and I wince from the brightness of their beings juxtaposed against the dark umber night.

  “Pardon?” Rachelle Dalton tips her ear my way as if she couldn’t have heard me correctly.

  “Your tattoos. The ones on your neck and arms. That’s why you wear the turtlenecks, isn’t it?”

  She tips her head back, her eyes hardening over mine.

  “I guess what they say is true.” A silent laugh shakes her. “You’re quite the detective, Lottie, aren’t you?”

  Ginger lets out a sharp bark. “Lottie Lemon, I command you to get back inside that gym and step away from this madwoman. If Emmet and Nolan find out you’re putting the litter in peril, there will be heck to pay. I should know, I once charged out at a Chihuahua for nipping at my mother’s heels while I was carrying my little furballs. Oh, Emmet and Nolan threatened to tether me to the sofa for the rest of my gestation. And don’t think for a minute that Emmet didn’t make good on his promise.” She purrs. “It led to some very heated places that dog was prone to wander.”

  Rachelle gurgles out a dark laugh. “I’ll see you later, Lottie. I think I forgot to let out the dog. My husband will never forgive me if he eats up the furniture. He can get restless, if you know what I mean.”

  I hop in front of her as she presses her way to the parking lot.

  “You—you dyed your hair.” I look up at her blonde locks. “Oh my God, you’re a redhead. Of course, you are. I’ve seen your roots a half a dozen times.”

  “Really, Lottie?” She forces a short-lived laugh. “I think you have better things to do than worry about the color of my hair.”

  “Brenda knew.” I nod as the night of her murder comes back to me with crystal clarity. “That’s why she called you Ginger, isn’t it?”

  Ginger yips up a storm. “What a coincidence. She called me Ginger, too!”

  Rachelle closes her eyes a moment. “I hated that nickname.”

  “Because she was close to exposing you, wasn’t she?”

  Her eyes flash like fire, and Thirteen does his best to pounce onto her but ends up leaping right through her body instead.

  Rachelle bucks as she clutches her chest. “Look, Lottie, I don’t know who you spoke to but—”

  “I didn’t speak to anyone. Besides, the only person who knows your secret is dead. That is why you poisoned her, isn’t it, Irene?”

  A sharp gasp comes from her.

  I take a bold step forward. “You broke into my house, didn’t you? It was you who stole that book from my living room.”

  She shakes her head. “I had to do it, Lottie. I needed something from it.”

  “That envelope. You wrote that ransom note, didn’t you?”

  “Oh my God.” She glances to the woods to our right.

  “That’s right, I know. And so does Detective Noah Fox. That’s what Brenda had on you, isn’t it? She knew you were Desmond Meadows’ girlfriend, and that you came to Honey Hollow and changed your identity in hopes to start a whole new life.”

  “I did start a new life,” she riots. “I have everything I could ever want now. A perfect husband, a son by marriage, a wholesome new beginning. But Brenda had to dig until she uncovered the truth, and then she made my life pure hell from there.”

  “How in the world did she discover it?”

  Rachelle’s chest bucks. “She was a quicker study than you, Lottie. She came over one afternoon, and I found her fishing around in my private things. She found that signed copy. She saw my picture, and she put two and two together long before you ever did.”

  “What about the envelope? How did she miss that?”

  “I don’t know. She shoved that thing in her safe so fast maybe she never opened it again. All I know is that she used what she knew and turned my new life into an even bigger hell than the last.”

  “What happened to Robin Meadows? What did you do with that woman’s body? You owe it to everyone to set the record straight.”

  “I don’t owe anything to anyone.”

  “What about those little boys of hers? Don’t you think they deserve to know what happened to their mother?” My voice hikes a notch as she wraps her arms around herself and closes her eyes.

  “They don’t want to hear the truth, Lottie. It was grisly what he did to her. I wasn’t there. Nobody would believe me. Desmond called me after he dismembered her body. He wouldn’t tell me what we were throwing away, but once I saw the red tinge on the bags, I knew. I knew he was a monster, and I wanted to get away right then and there. And I ran. As for him, he was dead within months.” She shudders. “My fatal error was hauling that stupid book with me all the way to Vermont. I never should have touched it. I should have burned it along with that ridiculous ransom note.” She nods to the woods. “It was Desmond’s idea that we try to siphon some money from Robin’s mother. She’s a wealthy woman. We just needed some cash to live off for a while. He figured he’d never see his kids again. And he regretted everything right away. He really wasn’t a bad person. But we never got that far. We should have destroyed the letter.”

  My hand touches my stomach. “I’m a mother now myself, Irene. And I have no sympathy for the devil.” I think on it a moment. “For you, though, I do. You were desperate to get that book back. I bet you were sorely disappointed when you saw that the envelope was missing.”

  A dark laugh strums from her.

  Thirteen floats by he
r head. “Oh dear, Lottie. Do run. Haven’t we been here a touch too many times? Clearly, she’s losing her mind.”

  Rachelle, Irene, steps my way, forcing me to back up a notch.

  “I didn’t need the book anymore. But the person who the sheriff’s department will arrest for Brenda’s murder—she did need it.”

  A breath hitches in my throat. “You framed Cokie, didn’t you? You donated those crime fiction books. That’s where the box came from in her office. She wasn’t lying.” I glance back at the gym. “They’re in there interrogating her right now. You tipped the detectives off, didn’t you?”

  A smile flickers in the dark. “Now you’re catching on.” She takes a few steps my way, and I match her steps as I move backward. “I’m sorry, Lottie. But I have a nice life in Honey Hollow. I wasn’t going to let Brenda ruin it, and I’m not going to let you ruin it either.”

  Her brooch catches the moonlight, and the green mask of goo over the apple reveals it for what it’s supposed to be—a poisoned apple.

  “You put the cyanide in Brenda’s apple crisp. Where did you get it?” I shake my head. “That’s not an easy substance to come by, I take it.” Not that I would know. It’s nothing I’ve added to my shopping list as of late.

  “I went apple picking the week before. A family trip. My husband and our son. It was a beautiful afternoon. And then I baked an apple pie. I mined the cores for the seeds. Each apple yielded about ten seeds. Did you know it takes ingesting over two hundred seeds to be lethal for a human being? Roughly twenty apples is all it took. I ground them to mulch and sprinkled them over your apple crisp. It was so perfect. It was almost as if we had coordinated our efforts.”

  I shake my head. “You didn’t have to do that. There could have been another way.”

  “There wasn’t.” Her voice is tight. “Just like there isn’t now.”

  “Lottie!” Ginger howls at the moon for no good reason.

  Rachelle lunges for me and wraps her hand over my mouth. I try to push away, but she gives a violent yank and begins to drag me toward the woods that sit behind the parking lot. My hands claw at her arms, but it’s to no avail. She’s got a death grip on me.