“Well, well”—Gloria shakes Noah’s hand first, then Everett’s—“it seems Christmas came early.” She gives a husky laugh, and her bosom does its best to bounce right out of the tight little sparkly number that’s piped with a feather white boa. She’s more of a naughty Mrs. Claus in that vampy little sequin getup, and it makes me wonder if she bought that outfit in the lingerie section rather than a costume shop. “Who in the heck knew Honey Hollow was where all the handsome men were hiding? And that Wiley?” She fans herself at the mention of Noah’s father. “Suze, I have to question your sanity as to why you’d ever let a man like that go.” She leans toward the three of us. “Don’t tell Santa I said so. He just so happens to be my fiancé.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Well, your secret is safe with us.”
Noah nods. “Great party, Mom. The Christmas Angels really pulled off an extravaganza.”
“It’s a Marshmallow World” begins to play overhead, and I can’t help but rock to the cheery music. It happens to be one of my favorite Christmas songs. And it always has the ability to put me in a good mood—despite the presence of the queen of mean.
Mrs. Claus, aka Gloria, flashes a toothy smile to Noah. “Your mama was supposed to be an elf tonight, but she decided she’d rather team up with her ex and dole out liquor at the bar.”
Noah’s father is a part-time bartender. He’s here working the bar, along with my mother, Miranda Lemon, the woman he happens to be taking advantage of at the moment. Wiley Fox, yes, his aptly given moniker, is notorious for robbing widows blind. My mother is his next victim, but she’s too dazzled by his dimples to see straight. I can’t blame her all that much. Noah is basically a knockoff of his father, and those Fox men have the ability to make a heart or two go pitter-patter.
“Not that I blame her.” Gloria winks to Suze. “That Wiley Fox is a looker!” She indulges in another bosom jiggling laugh just as a pretty caramel-haired girl about my age, in her late twenties, steps up.
She clears her throat as she enters our circle. “Excuse me, Gloria, but those friends of mine I wanted you to meet are standing by the mystery auc—” Her lips round out as she looks to Noah and Everett.
It’s not an uncommon occurrence for either of these men to stop an entire herd of women in their tracks, or midsentence. I’ve witnessed Everett cause a car wreck or two from women craning their heads just to get a better look at him. And Noah has caused more than his fair share of kerfuffles as well.
“Well hello, Honey Hollow.” The young girl’s eyes spin wildly like a slot machine in Vegas once it greedily eats your money. Only, instead of dollar signs spinning in her eyes, I see Noah and Everett’s reflection in them.
“Come now,” Gloria snaps. “Keep it in your pants, honey. Don’t you know by now I get first dibs around here?” she teases as they head off toward the auction area where that sheet of black velvet lies over something that appears to be at least six feet tall.
“Gloria Abner is one of my dearest friends,” Suze snips my way. “I haven’t told anyone at the Christmas Angels about your floozy ways—partly because I don’t want to be kicked out of the league for being associated with someone with such loose morals. And I’m embarrassed that my own son has found himself tangled in this situation to begin with. Lottie, I’d appreciate it if you kept your pie hole shut for the remainder of the evening should you come across her again.”
I gasp so hard at the audacity, I nearly inhale my earring.
“Mother,” Noah snaps as he pulls her to the side.
“Don’t let her get to you,” Everett says as he wisely navigates the two of us straight to the kitchen, where we find Carlotta lighting an entire row of jarred candles across the island.
But I’m not focused on that odd sight right now. All I see is red.
“I can’t believe that woman,” I rant as Everett wraps his arms around me. “Did you hear the way she just outright insulted me? I mean, not that she was technically wrong, but it’s all about delivery, and Suze Fox doesn’t have one nice bone in her body.” Another groan works its way up my throat. “And exactly how alarmed should I be that her DNA might be mingling with mine in my belly? Everett, what are we going to do if this baby is Noah’s? Is a newborn a good candidate for psychological counseling? Because if Noah’s genetic material is involved, this kid is going to need it.”
Noah steps in next to Everett, and I wince.
“Sorry you had to hear that, Noah.”
He holds up a hand. “Don’t be. I’m the one that should be apologizing.”
Everett’s chest expands. “It’s okay, Lemon. There’s still a fifty percent chance you have nothing to worry about.”
Carlotta cackles like a madwoman. “All right, you three, step on over and inspect the latest candle sensation for all of your kinky needs.” She holds her hands out at the row of candles flickering in turn. And I can’t help but note an odd sight behind her.
“Carlotta? Why is there a grocery cart full of candles in the kitchen?”
“How else am I supposed to get these into the ballroom? It’s my new schtick.” She broadens her chest with a touch of pride. “Now that it’s the spendiest time of the year, I thought I’d double up on my business ventures. Aside from A Whole Lotta Touchin’—my snazzy in-van massage service—I thought I’d jump into the scented candle game. They’re infused with essential oils, and I’ve got a candle for whatever ails you. Got a sore arm, Judge Baxter? Try Eucalyptus You Right Up. Got a broken heart, Foxy? Try A Hot Night with a Blonde. All the candles have fun and flirty names. And coincidentally, they all have the potential to lead to a fun and flirty good time, too.”
A Whole Lotta Touchin’ is indeed the hot oil massage business Carlotta runs out of her van. And yes, it’s just as skeezy as it sounds.
And I’m the one they hauled to the sheriff’s station last month? Pfft.
I’m about to ask her to put the candles out and help me carry the rest of my desserts out into the ballroom when from the corner of my eye I see something skipping right through an entire row of my eggnog trifles. I turn that way and, horror upon horrors, I spot a tiny brown mouse jumping from one creamy confection to the next and I lose it.
“AAAGGHHHHH!” The scream shrills from me. Instinctually, I swipe up a wooden broom sitting to my right and wield it like a weapon. The tiny little mouse stops dead in its tracks, and I’d swear on all that is holy, it just looked at me with a worrisome expression. In fact, its little front paws are hovering over its mouth as if it were genuinely concerned, and it should be.
Another scream rips from me as I try to lunge for it, but it jumps down the counter and heads straight over to Noah where it runs up his shoulder before bouncing onto his head.
I aim that broom for Noah’s head while screaming as if my hair were on fire. I do my level best to swat it off of Noah’s face and Noah does his best to deflect my every move as he lets a couple of salty expletives fly.
“Lemon,” Everett riots. “Keep it up. He’s still standing.”
“Everett,” Noah barks. “It’s not funny. Get that thing away from her.” He tries to duck, but I continue to do my best to shoo that rodent off of him.
Sure enough, the little furball jumps up on the island, threading its way around the candles, and I bat at it, inadvertently setting the tip of the bristles aflame.
Carlotta is screaming, too—albeit with laughter—while Everett and Noah take a defensive position as they try to coax me into giving up my flaming weapon.
The tiny mouse leaps from the counter and right onto Everett’s chest as I swing the broom his way, leaving a trail of sparks in my wake.
Everett lets a few expletives fly himself as he jumps out of the way.
“What the hell is going on, Lemon?” he shouts, trying to get ahold of the broom, but I lift it out of his grasp.
“MOUUUUUSSSE!” The word streams from my throat as sharp as a razor as I swat and swing just as the mouse jumps my way and lands right—through me—leaving
a plume of red and green miniature stars trailing after it. “Oh my God.” I gasp as the rest of the broom lights up like a flame thrower, and I quickly toss it to my left—inadvertently directly onto a rack of dishtowels, and the entire thing goes up in flames like a Roman candle.
Noah quickly grabs the fire extinguisher and does his best to put it out while Everett pulls me away from the fiery ground zero.
“Lemon”—his chest flexes wildly as he pants my name out—“I didn’t see a mouse.”
Noah comes over with his hair mussed and his suit in disarray. “I didn’t either,” he says as he struggles to catch his breath.
“Well, I did,” Carlotta says with a greasy grin on her face. “And I can testify that thing was one hundred percent dead as a Christmas doornail.”
“A ghost.” I nod.
“That’s right,” Noah says. “And that means one thing.”
Everett glances out to the crowd just past the kitchen. “It means a killer is afoot.”
The snow is falling, the carolers are singing, and it’s beginning to look a lot like murder.
Chapter 2
The Jingle Hop Ball is going full swing as Noah, Everett, and I set the last of the eggnog trifles onto the dessert table.
That little mystic mouse that nearly caused me to burn down the Evergreen Manor has the three of us on tactical alert for the next potential homicide hidden in our midst.
Noah is already on the phone with his partner at the homicide division, Detective Ivy Fairbanks.
“Yes, I have a hunch you’ll be needed.” His voice is rough as he talks into his phone. “Look, Ivy, you need to get down here right away. I’ve already called for extra patrol.” He glances my way. “Yes, Lottie is here.” He offers an uneasy smile my way, and I distinctly hear a female voice from the other end of the line say, “Oh, for Pete’s sake.”
He holds up the phone. “She’s on her way.” Noah sweeps the crowded room with a glance. “I’m going to do a quick inspection of the grounds. Everett, do not leave Lottie’s side. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He points my way. “We’re going to nip this one in the bud. I promise you, this isn’t going to ruin the holidays.” He takes off, and I can feel myself beginning to spiral out of control.
“What is he talking about?” I shake my head at the crowd. The entire room seems to be spinning in dizzying circles as the chipper holiday tune blares overhead. “This is most definitely going to ruin the holidays—especially for the victim, as murder often does.”
Everett pulls me in close, and soon I’m ensconced with the heady scent of his cologne.
“Listen to me, Lemon. Keeping both you and our baby healthy and happy is my number one priority. How about we leave early and let Noah and Ivy take this one?”
“Not to sound rude, but Noah and Ivy haven’t taken one since either of them has set foot in the homicide division.”
It’s true. There has been one murder after the next in Honey Hollow for the last couple of years, and those ghosts that come back from the other side have helped me solve each and every case.
I’m not an official investigator or anything like that, but for whatever reason, my transmundane abilities, further classified as supersensual, enable me to see past the rainbow bridge. When I was younger and I began to see those fantastic phantasms, it used to mean nothing more than a scraped knee for those that the otherworldly beings came around for. But as of late, it always means a murder is afoot.
The ghosts are always either a person or a furry creature that the victim once loved deeply. Sometimes I see the ghost of someone who was once a living, breathing human being, and other times it’s the beloved pet that has long since passed.
I’m guessing that the cute little mouse I inadvertently tried to set aflame falls into the latter category.
And I know I didn’t regard him as oh-so-cute a few minutes ago when I beat both Noah and Everett senseless with a broom, but now that I realize the tiny furball is most likely not a carrier of the bubonic plague—or anything else that could harm my unborn child—I’m more than totally fine with it.
“Hey, I just thought of something,” I say as I look into Everett Baxter’s daring blue eyes. “I was trying to get rid of that mouse because deep down I thought it could somehow harm the baby.” My hand lands protectively over my bourgeoning tummy. “Maybe I will be a good mother, after all.” I’m sure most women don’t debate the idea internally, but let’s be honest, I’m a cadaver magnet who has had a major string of bad luck as of late—not to mention my penchant for sleeping with two men. I’d say the odds of making Mother of the Year are pretty much stacked against me.
“Lemon, you’re already a great mother to Evie.” His brows pinch in the middle, and he only looks that much more caustically handsome. Everett is slow to smile and exudes enough testosterone for ten men. His body is fit enough to play the green on any given Sunday, and God Almighty, does this man ever know what to do with his body, and more importantly with mine underneath the sheets. “I think I know how to get your mind off of all of this.” His lids hood as a devilish gleam dances in his eyes, and he leans in and whispers the naughtiest things I believe I have ever heard in my entire life.
My cheeks burn with heat as my mouth rounds out with both surprise and approval.
“Judge Baxter, you make sure the first thing you put together in our new rental home tomorrow is that bed. We’re going to christen that house in exactly the manner you just described.” Suffice it to say, it’s been a long, dry season for the both of us while staying at Noah’s.
Noah graciously gave us his bedroom, mostly because I might be having his child and also because Everett risked his life to rescue him from a burning building. But by and large, Noah and Everett haven’t gotten along in years. They were once stepbrothers, and during their familial internment, Noah saw fit to steal Everett’s girlfriend. Things only went downhill from there. Now they tolerate one another for my sake.
“Lottie Lemon!” a female voice snips, and I turn to see Naomi Turner speeding this way. Naomi is my best friend Keelie’s twin sister. Naomi has dyed her blonde locks as dark as a raven’s wing and looks like your typical brunette stunner. But she’s just as mean as she is pretty. We’ve never gotten along. And judging by that scowl on her face, things aren’t about to change now either. When Carlotta came into my life a few years ago, I discovered that both Keelie and Naomi were a part of my extended family.
“You’re a jinx!” she shouts loud enough for a handful of people to turn their attention our way. “Aunt Carlotta just told me you nearly burned down my kitchen! This is the very last event you’ll cater at the Evergreen. I suggest you count your unlucky stars that the town hasn’t given you a boot in your patoot yet. Steer clear of the Evergreen and steer clear of me. You keep your bad juju to yourself!”
She stalks off, and I’m about to say something, or find a hole to drop into, when I see Carlotta pushing that grocery cart through the crowd.
“Candles!” she bellows. “Get your red-hot kinky Christmas candles for the low price of twenty-four ninety-nine. Get your shopping done early and with free shipping!”
“Oh, my stars up in heaven,” I moan as my nausea kicks in once again.
Evie jumps over and takes up both my hand and Everett’s.
“Come on, guys,” she says, pulling us toward the back of the room at lightning speed. “It’s our last Christmas together as a family before the little runt makes an appearance, and I want to remember us in this pristine state before it’s nothing but dirty diapers and baby puke.” She shoots Everett a look. “Dad, you’re going to have to wear a bib around the kid or it’s going to ruin those expensive Italian suits of yours. Mom, you don’t have to worry. No one will be able to tell the difference between chocolate cake batter on your shirt or baby poop.” She shrugs. “That’s pretty much why I’ve made the decision to admire the kid from afar.” She quickens her clip. “Look, there’s no one in line to take a picture with Santa. This is going to be
epic. I vote we all sit on his lap.”
“No way,” Everett doesn’t hesitate to protest. “I’m not sitting on any man’s lap. Neither are you, Lemon. Come to think of it, neither are you, Evie.”
Evie clucks her tongue and gives Everett some snappy comeback, but I pretty much miss it because Mrs. Claus seems to be having a rather tense exchange with a tall brunette dressed as an elf just shy of the velvet throne. The poor thing is wearing the requisite green tights, curly shoes, and multi-pronged hat with bells sewn on it. And truth be told, if I were forced to dress like that, I’d be a little ornery, too.
The woman plucks at Mrs. Claus’ wrist, and Mrs. Claus hauls off and slaps her right over the face.
A breath hitches in my throat and my muscles go rigid as I witness the attack. No sooner does the smackdown happen than the testy elf stalks off looking visibly upset, but Mrs. Claus heads over to greet us as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.
The photographer does his best to situate us in the traditional pose, but Everett chooses to stand behind Santa, as do I, while Evie lies lengthways in his lap. Once Evie makes up her mind about something, she’s pretty much unstoppable.
And once we’re efficiently blinded by the blast of the flash, Evie takes off again while Everett steps over to the side to take in the crowd—on the lookout for a killer, no doubt.
Santa gets off his throne and plucks down his beard a notch.
“Geez, Gloria,” he grouses to Mrs. Claus. “I knew you hated me, but I had no idea how much until tonight.”
Eggnog Trifle Trouble Page 2
