Pumpkin Spice Sacrifice

by Addison Moore

  “Funny you should say that.” A tall brunette with stick straight hair, complete with bangs that are a tad bit too short, and pouty lips that look as if she’s spent the last thirty years sucking on a lemon huffs at the thought. She’s pale with far too much kohl liner ringed around her eyes, and her lipstick is dragon’s blood red. Everything about her gives off a Goth effect. “He’s holding someone else’s hand right now. It looks like you might not want to share, but he sure does.”

  The crowd breaks out into a violent burst of laughter, and Collette’s flesh burns a deep shade of crimson that rivals her dress and her hair.

  Poor Collette. It really must be bad if even I’m feeling sorry for her.

  “Well, he is mine.” She openly glares at Everett as if there will be hell to pay. And now I’m fearing for the good judge and his lack of good judgment for dragging me out here to witness the event. “May I have a word with you?” Collette hisses.

  Before Everett can answer, she whisks him out the main doors to the ballroom, and the rest of the group turns to themselves and mingles.

  The sickly-sweet scent of gardenia comes at me from behind. “What are you doing here?”

  I turn to find none other than Naomi glowering at me as if I were ruining her night. Naomi used to have an insane crush on my high school boyfriend, Otis Bear Fisher, and she hasn’t cared for me since.

  “You know why I’m here. I brought the dessert.”

  “I mean here, here.” She pulls me by the wrist and leads me to the door. “Catering staff belongs in the kitchen unless otherwise instructed. You’re not to mix with the guests. These are very important people.”

  “I’m here with Everett,” I say just to watch her squirm and squirm she does. Naomi, just like every other ovary-endowed woman in the Western Hemisphere, has one serious lustful hankering for Everett. “As his date.”

  She squirms twice as hard. “Wait a minute. Rumor has it, you tricked some poor goof into thinking he’s your boyfriend—and I happen to know it’s not Judge Baxter,” she hisses out that last part like the threat it is.

  Voices rise from the hall to my left, and I spot Collette tossing her arms in the air, red-faced and angry.

  “Never you mind who my boyfriend is,” I say, trying to push past this dark and twisted version of my bestie.

  Naomi shoots a dark look toward the shouting. “Never you mind about Collette. She’s just as annoying as you are. I hate her, too.”

  “Well, she may not be my favorite person either, but I’m not liking the sound of this argument.” I take off before Naomi has a chance to protest.

  “You can’t have two men, Lottie! That’s one over the limit. Keep your Fox and give the sexy man with a gavel to me,” she calls out as I speed to the oversized doors, and the shouting grows louder.

  A small crowd lingers at the edge of the cavernous hall where Everett and Collette seem to be going at it full steam.

  “Everett!” I snatch him by the sleeve and drag him all the way to the kitchen. “It’s time to serve the dessert.”

  And we do just that. Soon enough, the entire banquet room holds the scents of pumpkin spice, nutmeg, cloves, and a whole lot of cinnamon as the blooming crowd indulges in the pumpkin cheesecake, the pumpkin pie, pumpkin pinwheels, pumpkin rolls, pumpkin brownies, pumpkin sugar cookies, and let’s not forget the pumpkin lattes in the fun pumpkin-shaped mugs.

  I spot Collette speaking to the brunette that so freely humiliated her just a little while ago. Collette is a heck of a lot nicer than I am. That woman would have quickly become persona non-grata to me.

  Collette tosses her hands, exasperated as their conversation grows more animated, and a crowd drifts between us.

  “I’m getting the feeling Collette has a hard time holding onto friends.”

  “And you’re going to lose one if you don’t tell me the truth.”

  I turn to Everett and gasp. “Are you threatening me?” That spook behind him grows toweringly large for no good reason, and I swallow down a scream, petrified at the sight. My God, where is the waiter with a tray full of champagne when you need him?

  “Yes. I mean no.” He glances over his shoulder. “What are you looking at, for Pete’s sake? Lemon—do you or don’t you see a dead pet in my presence?”

  My mouth opens and closes. I’ve never been a good liar... And then it hits me. I don’t have to.

  “No.” I give a little shrug as Collette’s boss charges past us, and we follow him with our eyes as he stalks off toward the exit. “He looks fit to be tied.”

  Everett cranes his neck through the crowd as he looks in that direction. “That woman Collette was speaking to is Jules King. She was up for the same award that will supposedly go to Collette tonight. I was briefed on all the inter-office drama last week.”

  “But why would that make him so angry?”

  “I doubt it has anything to do with that woman. Collette has a way of giving every individual a reason to blow their top all on their own. In truth, I’m surprised his wife isn’t stalking after her.” He glances toward a demure brunette with shoulder-length hair, orange lips—and something about her reminds me a little of my mother. “It’s a well-known fact Collette is seeing her husband.”

  My mouth falls open, and without thinking, my feet lead me in Collette-the-Homewrecker’s direction as if I were about to give her a piece of my mind myself.

  The sound of shouting ensues again, this time in a three-way match and, sure enough, there they are.

  Jules King, the irate co-worker, gets in Collette’s face and roars something out before heading off in the direction of the restrooms, leaving Collette and Mr. Rutherford going at it like seasoned pros.

  Everett gently pulls me back into the ballroom.

  “Ever hear the expression let sleeping dogs lie?”

  “They’re not sleeping.”

  “Then let howling cats roar.” He nods toward the pumpkin pie. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.”

  Soon enough, the ceremony officially gets underway, and Collette’s boss, Mr. Rutherford, is on stage handing out fancy diamond-shaped awards as if they were Halloween candy. It begs the question, if everyone wins an award tonight, does it really mean all that much? Although, I must admit, it’d make a snazzy paperweight. I’m willing to bet that at least one person in the room would be willing to trade one of those sparklers for a whole pumpkin cheesecake, and I just so happen to have my bartering tool in the kitchen.

  I’m sandwiched between Collette and Everett at the table and feel strangely as if Everett has morphed into a child during an ugly custody battle. To hear Collette threaten me, you’d think I were stopping her from seeing him on weekends and holidays.

  “You’re his ex,” I whisper over to her in between her bouts of insanity. “The very definition begs to ask why he was kind enough to be here to begin with.”

  She grits a pressured laugh through clenched teeth. “If you’d scoot over a seat the way I asked, then we wouldn’t be having an issue, Lottie Lemon,” she says it all in a streamlined sentence without moving her lips. Collette is proving to be quite the ventriloquist. “But you never do as you’re told, do you? I bet that boyfriend of yours has asked a dozen times for you not to see other men, and now look where you are? On a date with another man! My man to be exact.” She reaches across from me and fondles Everett’s hand. I can’t help but avert my eyes. It was Everett who insisted I seat myself between them, and now I know why. She’s a predator.

  Mr. Rutherford calls Collette’s name from the podium, and she quickly downs the rest of her pumpkin spice latte. She’s boldly polished off a pumpkin spice cheesecake and a slice of my soon-to-be-famous pumpkin pie at Everett’s suggestion. It’s clear she’d eat a pound of mud to please Everett. Not that I’m comparing my delectable delights to the earthy mixture. But still. Collette is that dangerously eager to please.

  A young man with dark hair and squared glasses applauds for her like mad. “Would you like me to escort you u
p there?” His voice rises in a peculiar manner as if the offer to trip her on the way up was an option. I’m quickly getting the idea Collette has no real friends. He stands and extends a hand toward her.

  “No, Josh, you may never touch me.” Her gaze drifts right back to Everett. “Excuse me, my love.” She gives his hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll be back with enough crystal to furnish that new house of yours.” She glares over at the Goth brunette across from us. “Jules, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to accept the fruit of my labor.”

  Both Jules King and the demure brunette, aka Mrs. Rutherford, exchange a glance.

  Hey? Maybe Collette invited Everett here to debunk any theories about her having an affair with her boss? In that case, Collette is right. My presence really didn’t add anything to the situation.

  Jules King leans in and leers at me. “That woman has my position and my award.” She openly glares at me as if I were somehow an extension of Collette.

  Jenna Hatfield, the blonde with the uncooperative wrap dress, leans my way. “Once Collette Jenner sets her mind to something, or someone”—she gives a covert glance Mrs. Rutherford’s way—“it or they are more or less hers.” She glances down at her untouched pumpkin pie as if she took this personally.

  We turn to the stage where the spotlight makes Collette’s chandelier earrings sparkle like mad, blinding the room with a spectral glow. Speaking of specters…

  Oh my word. What is Everett’s not-so friendly ghost doing looming behind Collette like some towering spook set out to frighten the entire room?

  Collette leans in toward the mic, and her décolletage dips dramatically as those girls of hers threaten to make an appearance. My God, it’s like she’s actually harboring flesh-covered cantaloupes in there. I’ve never seen a pair so round and perky, not to mention the fact they look like they weigh ten pounds each easy. It must be a real killer.

  “I’d like to thank everyone who came out to see me accept this award this evening.” She extends a hand toward our table, and three of the woman growl audibly. It’s clear Collette is on better terms with the table than the women seated at it. “And a special thank you to the one man I simply cannot live without.” She shoots a quick glance to her left at Mr. Rutherford, and her mouth opens wide but not a sound comes out. Her hand reaches for her throat as her affect morphs from prideful to frightful. A choking sound emits from her throat as she settles her mouth right over the mic as if she were about to swallow it.

  “Poison,” she says it lower than a whisper, but that haunting word reverberates around the room like a haunting echo.

  Just like that—Collette falls to the floor in a heap, passed out cold. And judging by that blue hue that’s quickly taking over her complexion, she won’t be waking up anytime soon.

  It looks to me as if Collette Jenner just dropped dead.

  Chapter 3

  “Poison?” The word circles the room on a demonic loop as Josh, the young man from our table—who was specifically instructed not to touch her, is currently administrating resuscitative efforts, mouth-to-mouth.

  His ear moves over her heart, and a moment pulses by before he rises to his knees and announces, “She’s dead!”

  The room breaks out into gasps and screams as dessert plates and mugs alike are violently pushed to the center of the table as if they were serpents.

  Once, when I was twelve, I baked a lala berry pie for my mother’s birthday party, and just as everyone indulged in their first delicious bite, a bevy of tiny worms made their presence known from inside the seemingly innocent berries. Up until now, that was my most cringe-worthy baking experience—but something tells me I may have inadvertently usurped myself.

  Everett jumps on stage, along with Mr. Rutherford and just about every other man in the room as if their collective testosterone-laden efforts were needed to bring this damsel back from deathly distress.

  Time seems to stand still and speed up all at once, and before we know it, the room is flooded with sheriff’s deputies.

  Naomi gives my arm a violent shove. “You killed her!”

  A breath gets locked in my throat as the house lights go on and remove the fantasy-like aura from the room.

  “No.” The word pumps from me breathy and void of the proper conviction as every face in the vicinity turns my way.

  Mr. Rutherford’s wife takes ahold of the oversized mug Collette was last sipping from and sniffs it. “There’s murder in this cup!”

  “No!” I stand, taking a staggering step back. “Put that down,” I hiss. “This is an active homicide investigation.”

  A dark murmur strums behind me as an all too familiar cologne permeates my senses. “You got that right.”

  Noah pops up beside me. “I’d like to ask everyone to head to the north lobby where deputies are waiting to get your information. Please do not panic. You are not in any kind of trouble. This is purely routine on behalf of the department. And we ask that you please file out in an orderly manner.”

  The entire room appears to evacuate at once, and instead of joining the herd, I wrap my arms around Noah. He’s all decked out in a well-fitted suit, and I’m finding that stern expression of his vexingly sexy. I’m pretty certain that a bout of wild lust for my newly minted boyfriend is entirely unacceptable during a murder investigation in which the goods from my bakery are being implicated. But I can’t help it. It’s like some safety mechanism going off in my brain so I don’t leap completely off sanity’s edge.

  A redheaded stunner stops short of where we’re standing. “Detective Fox, you are here as a professional. Might I remind you this is not a booty call.” She stalks off toward the stage while shouting orders at the medics.

  “A what?” I laugh as I loosen my hold on him. The last thing I want to do is get him thrown off the force before he’s even begun. “Nobody says booty call anymore.” I snarl over at Detective Fairbanks. I’m betting she’s just jealous she’s not the one getting booty from Noah. I don’t need a road map to know where her affections lie. I saw the way she looked at him all last month while they worked on Hunter’s murder investigation together. Suffice it to say, I was not impressed.

  “She’s right.” Noah’s plucks a small notebook from his pocket. “Let’s have it, Lot. What are your thoughts?”

  “You want my thoughts?” I’m suddenly flattered and blushing—two things I might add, that are also most likely inappropriate to be feeling while there’s a corpse less than twenty feet away.

  “Yes.” He bobs his head as if it were a given, those deep emerald eyes pinned hard over mine. “You have a keen sense of observation. And from what I gather, you were seated at the same table.”

  I quickly relay the events of the night, one by one—Collette’s possessiveness over Everett, Everett’s theory about her bringing him here to make someone jealous, the argument they had, her argument with Mr. Rutherford, the humiliation she endured, the best friend, the co-worker who insisted Collette took her job, and, of course, poor Josh, who Collette rejected, only to have him be the only one willing to administer oxygen when she needed it most.

  “Okay, that’s good.” Noah hardly has a chance to look up when Ivy Fairbanks shoves her lips to his ear. He nods while giving me a sideways glance. “I see.” She takes off again, and he’s left sniffing the air as if girding himself for what comes next. “Just so you know, the sheriff’s department is issuing a search warrant for both the bakery and your home.” He blows out a heavy breath. “I’ll have to take you down to Ashford for questioning, get your fingerprints on file, that sort of thing.”

  “Good grief.”

  Everett pops up, and I squint over at him as if assessing if he’s the real deal or that ghost that’s been haunting the vicinity. And how strange is it that Collette was the one that bit the big one?

  I suck in a sharp breath. “Everett, did you eat the pie? My God, you could have poison coursing through your bloodstream right this minute!”

  Noah balks, “Lottie, are you implicating y
ourself?”

  “No.” My hands wave wildly in his face. “I’m not, I swear. It’s just that Collette’s last word was poison and she was clutching her throat, so I just assumed that someone laced her food or drink and maybe somebody else’s.” Those last few words trail off as that handsome specter comes over with a blooming grin. “What do you want?” I hiss at him without meaning to.

  Noah glances over his shoulder at the podium before looking to me. “Lottie, what were you doing here at the table?”

  Naomi pops up over my shoulder, and I jump. “I can answer that. She was on a date.” She manufactures a wicked smirk at Everett. “And boy was Collette pissed to see it.” She takes off after stirring the pot adequately to her liking. It’s well past Halloween, but Naomi still wears her proverbial witch’s hat loud and proud.

  Noah’s mouth opens as he looks from Everett to me. “You were his date?” He winces as if trying to process it all.

  “I can explain.”

  Everett steps in close, and that suspicious look in his eyes doesn’t bode well for me. “Who were you talking to just a moment ago?”

  “I can explain that, too.”

  Noah hitches a thumb to the podium. “I’d better see what’s going on up there.” He takes off, and a cloud of grief weighs heavy on me.

  Everett’s chest expands a mile wide. “What’s going on? Did you see one of those things—those creatures from the great beyond?” Everett looks both angry and remorseful that he needed to verbalize such a ludicrous thing. “Collette is dead, Lemon. Please, tell me right now if you somehow were able to predict this.”

  “No, I wasn’t.” That ghost of his glowers over at me as if he were angry to be here. “It’s not my fault. Maybe Collette didn’t have pets?” I whisper in hopes not a living soul in the room hears this asinine conversation.

  Everett straightens. “You saw a person?”

  “How did you know?”