Everett blows out a slow breath as if the carnage we’re unintentionally inflicting on poor Noah was too much to bear.
He raps his knuckles against the table as if calling court to order. “You want to talk about the case? Maybe get your mind off things.”
“Yes.” I eagerly welcome the murderous reprieve. “I’ll be looking into Charlie and Shelly next.”
“Charlie Sinclair?” Noah pulls back. “Shelly is obvious, but what makes you want to look into Charlie?”
“She seems close to Larson’s circle of friends. I’m really hoping she’ll give me some dirt on them.” I point over to Everett. “Speaking of which, what’s going on with Ella that you can never speak of it in their midst? That’s one mystery you can end for me right now.”
Everett grimaces. “Ella had an extended stay at a private psychiatric facility.”
“Oh, wow.” My hand presses to my chest at the thought. “I’m sorry to hear it. Do you know her diagnosis?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. But from what I heard, it was anxiety and stress-related. We don’t really talk about it. I’m not that close to Ella, but I ran into her a few years back and made it a point to tell her she could bend my ear anytime she wanted. She quickly declined and did a disappearing act. I felt bad even bringing it up.”
“Sounds like it’s still a raw wound,” I say. “I couldn’t help but notice she has a cold look in her eyes.”
“Speaking of cold.” Noah holds up his phone between us. “I found out some interesting info this morning. It turns out, the detective that was in charge of Isabelle Rosenberg’s case died a few years back, car accident, pile up on Highway 8.”
A pile up on the highway just north of Ashford is not that uncommon, especially this time of year, so both Everett and I offer a nod of acceptance.
“And no one has picked up the case since.” Noah pulls up a picture on his phone and hands it to Everett. “Crime scene photos. Swipe right to see them all.” He looks my way. “They’re pretty gruesome, Lot. You might want to hold back.”
“But you know I won’t,” I say, quickly making my way next to Everett.
“I knew you wouldn’t.” Noah offers a grimace. “I was just talking to my mother this morning, and she says it’s a miracle you aren’t sick. She said she was deathly ill with both my brother and me.”
Everett glances up. “The Fox brothers, making people sick since conception. Sounds about right.”
“Everett.” I give his shoulder a playful bump with my own. “Well, I’m not sick. I feel just fine.” Because I’m not carrying a baby. Lainey, on the other hand, let me know just yesterday that she can hardly stand the scent of paper. First, I didn’t even know paper had a scent and second, she’s the head librarian at the Honey Hollow Library. Sounds like she’s got one big pulpy problem on her hands.
Noah takes a breath. “My mother also mentioned that your mother invited her to some mixer she’s hosting—the Candy Cane Mix and Mingle Jingle in Fallbrook?”
“Ooh, that’s right”—my shoulders bounce—"that’s coming right up. It’s at Royce Bentley’s estate. I’m catering the desserts.”
Everett inches his head back, his gaze shifting from left to right. “I think my mother mentioned something about that when I spoke to her the other night, too.”
A gagging noise evicts from my throat. “With all of our mothers there hoping to get lucky, I’m sorry I took the gig to begin with.”
“I’ll go with you,” Noah offers.
“I’m going for sure,” Everett says. “I want to see these men for myself before my mother finds herself with another bloodsucker looking to drain her bank account. No offense.” He nods to Noah.
“No offense taken.”
And that blood-sucking financial move is exactly what Noah’s father did to Everett’s wealthy mother.
Everett taps the screen, and a picture of a woman lying over a lush tan carpet illuminates it. She’s lying on her stomach, her legs twisted underneath her. The woman’s dark hair is spilled to the side, exposing a pale face, her eyes opened, her lips parted.
“Noah, how did she die?”
“Struck over the temple with a fire poker. The weapon was left at the scene of the crime. No prints. No fibers or hair was found. Scan the next few pictures. See if you notice anything.”
Everett flips through the next few pictures, and something on the carpet to the right of her ear catches my eye.
“There’s blood.” I point to the screen, and Everett expands the picture.
“That’s blood, all right,” Everett muses before flashing the screen to Noah.
“That’s right.” He offers a sober glance to each of us. “The fibers from the carpet are still in evidence, but forensics never examined them.”
I suck in a quick breath. “Noah, have it examined asap. You might find the killer’s blood there, too.”
He offers a heavy nod. “That’s a good point. I’m not only inputting them to one of the best labs in the country, but I thought I’d pull the databases of those DNA sites and see if I can get a match that way, too.”
“You’re a genius.” I can’t help but bite down on my lip as I flirt with him.
Everett sighs as he flips through a few more pictures. “Why is this a cold case? Do I smell a Canelli?”
“Not that I know of. But I’m wondering the exact same thing. The maid said she found the body, a woman by the name of Magdalena Denizen. The strange thing is, there wasn’t an interview on file.”
“That’s Detective 101,” I say.
Everett nods. “Every inch of this screams of a cover-up.”
Noah takes back his phone. “Or a payoff. I think it’s time to find good old Magdalena and see if she can remember anything.”
I shake my head. “For her sake and yours, I hope she didn’t meet up with a pileup on Highway 8 either. This case has jinxed written all over it, too.”
Noah nods slowly, his eyes meeting up with mine. “And that’s exactly why I don’t want you having a thing to do with it.”
“The case of the cursed heiress,” I whisper. “And too bad for Larson, the curse seems to have been passed on to her.”
But I don’t plan on letting Larson’s homicide turn into a cold case. Nope. Quite the opposite. I have a feeling Larson’s smarmy friends know more than they’re letting on, and I’m hoping that tomorrow I can get Charlie to sing like a bird.
Chapter 8
True to his word, Noah is proving to be a proficient stalker—security guard. And, truth be told, I don’t really mind. Last night I rather appreciated the way he catered to me both in and out of the bedroom. Suffice it to say, both Noah and I were hungry for more than just dinner.
And this morning? He woke up early and fried up some eggs and bacon for me.
I almost teased him and said that he was taking a page out of Everett’s playbook, but thankfully my brain woke up and my better judgment kicked in.
The bottom line is, I love Noah. He’s a hot detective with a rock-hard body and a brilliant mind. And if Everett hadn’t thrown his hat into the ring, there wouldn’t be a doubt that Noah and I would be starting that family of ours for real. We would have had a nice, small wedding with our friends and family, too. But my heart had to get confused and complicate the matter.
“Would you like a scone?” I ask the aforementioned hot detective as he pours over old evidence while seated in the café of the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery. He’s been jotting down notes on a legal pad every now again, and I’ve secretly gotten a kick out of watching his forehead furrow as he tries to piece the puzzle together. Isabelle Rosenberg’s cold case is the exact thing Noah needed to kill time—pardon the pun—before he officially gets back to work.
Noah glances up just as Keelie adheres herself to my side. She’s wearing her requisite Santa hat, as am I. It’s so festive and cozy in the bakery and the Honey Pot, I wish we could have Christmas all year long.
Noah lifts a mug full of my mocha peppermint c
offee my way. “How’s it going, Keelie?”
“It’s going great. Lottie and I were just about to—”
I grind the ball of my foot over the top of her sneaker, and my poor bestie lets out a wild yelp.
My shoulders rise and fall as I look to Noah. “We were just about to go over the Kris Kringle details. We play a little game with the employees at the Honey pot every year and we’re including the bakery this time.”
“I thought we were going across the street to the—”
“The Busy Bee Craft shop.” I talk right over her, and Keelie takes in a sharp breath as if she were finally getting the drift. “We’re picking up some more decorations. I think I need some fake snow in here. What do you think?” I shoot her with a crazed look.
Keelie nods. “And some more mistletoe. Lottie is forever looking for an excuse to kiss the cute customers.”
“Funny.” I swat her with a kitchen towel.
Noah belts out a warm laugh as he makes his way over. “Somehow I believe that.”
“You better watch it.” I wave the towel in his direction.
He raises his hands in the air. “Hold your fire. I’m going to take off for a bit. Keelie, please tell me you’ll keep an eye on Lottie for me. I just need to run a few errands.”
“Please”—I wave him off—“there are tons of people in here. I’m going to be fine. Where are you off to?”
“I can’t say. It’s a secret Santa mission.”
“Ooh”—Keelie shimmies her shoulders the way my mother is prone to do—“I hope you’ve been good, Lottie.”
“Well, I haven’t,” I tease, and no sooner do I say the words than I realize that no thanks to my deception, I’m totally right. “I’ve been very, very bad.” I lean across the counter, and Noah bounces a quick kiss to my lips.
“I love you.” He gives a crooked smile before leaning in once again. “I love you both.” He glances down to my barren womb. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
Noah takes off, and I quickly work off my apron.
Keelie ticks her head to the side, looking stymied by something.
“He’s awfully generous to say he loves me, too.”
“He was talking about the baby. The one that’s not there?”
She winces as she works off her own apron. “Sorry about that, Lot. I know you hate this. Where are we going, anyhow?”
“To Swift Cycle.”
Lily volunteers to man the fort, and soon enough Keelie and I are off, across the street and through the snow, to Britney’s glorified gym we go.
The Swift Cycle gym is decorated with long strands of green garland embellished with gold and red holly berries. Each bicycle in the gym is dotted with a cherry red bow, and there’s a huge wreath with twinkle lights woven through it at the front of the room.
Every woman here is wearing the requisite black yoga pants and some sort of a thin spandex jacket to go with it. It’s so early in the morning, most of them are still makeup free, and their hair is up in matching ponytails.
Britney saunters over in her slinky bright red catsuit—a white feathered boa tied at her waist. I’m guessing that if Mrs. Claus was a Swift Cycle aficionado, she’d don just that outfit to bust a spinning move. Britney has her blonde hair up in a ponytail, sans the one blonde lock that is responsible for hiding her left eye—a signature look she’s never strayed from. And there’s a bright red bow tied in the back of her hair to complete the festive look.
“Lunesta.” She nods my way. “What are you doing here?” She appraises Keelie for a moment. “And why did you bring reinforcements?”
Britney is Noah’s blonde bombshell of an ex-wife. The first of two, and how I hate that I’ve inadvertently added myself to that notorious list. She’s got that Jessica Rabbit figure going on, and is just as sultry to boot. She’s currently seeing my brother, Finn, which I think is both weird and kind of nice. The one thing about Britney that I can’t seem to understand is her outright refusal to say my name. She’s called me everything under the sun that starts with an L, and I’m not amused, but I let it ride. The only other person that does that is…
“Cormack?” I inch back as yet another sultry blonde crops up in our midst.
“Laverne!” Cormack squeals as if we were long lost friends. “Did you bring one of those yummy Yule logs with you? I kid you not, I’ve dreamed of that creamy filling for the last week straight. I was actually enjoying my second slice that night of the Jingle Ball when I heard someone cooked Larson’s goose.”
“I don’t have one with me, but you can grab a slice across the street on me once we’re through. I’m glad to hear you enjoyed it.”
A croak emits from her throat. “You hear that?” Cormack projects her voice until it echoes around the room. “Once the class is through, free Yule logs across the street on Lindsay!”
An enthusiastic whoop circles the room just as a spiral of supernatural light twinkles to life to my right, and before you can say On Dasher, I’ve got my very own Rudolph the whiskey guzzling reindeer by my side.
“Did someone say Yule log?” The magnificent beast looks left then right. “We’ve got a suspect in our midst, don’t we, Linda?”
“Good Lord, my name is Lottie,” I say as I look to Britney. “And we’ll be staying for a class if you don’t mind two extra bodies.”
Brit makes a face as she scans our clothing. “Suit yourself. This time it’s on me, but if you want to make a habit out of it, I suggest you pick up some proper workout wear.” She twitches her nose my way. “Noah says you’re with child. I’ve had expecting mothers before. Just make sure you don’t push yourself too hard. Congratulations, by the way. I’ve never seen Noah happier than he is with you. I’m sure Judge Baxter is disappointed with the outcome of this race for your heart—or should I say womb?”
Keelie titters. “Oh, they’re still together. There’s no stopping them. They’ve got chemistry for days. Noah doesn’t mind. They have some sort of arrangement worked out.”
Britney snorts before heading to the front of the class.
“Would you stop with that arrangement spiel of yours? I can rearrange your head, you know.” I’m about to demonstrate when a demure redhead walks right into the gym and hops onto a bike near the back. “That’s her,” I whisper. “The girl I’m hoping to shake a few answers out of. Let’s take the bikes next to her before someone else does.”
We’re halfway there when a couple of brunettes stride over and do just that. And being the best friend anyone can ask for, Keelie quickly pretends to retch until they vacate the area.
Charlie nearly does as well, but I’m quick to pop up in her airspace.
“Hey! I’ve met you before. Everett introduced us.”
Charlie’s doe eyes expand three inches. There’s something fairy-like about her. She’s petite framed but well-defined according to her bare arms. Sinewy like someone who makes it a habit of riding bicycles. Unlike me, doughy like someone who makes a habit of tasting everything she bakes. I can’t help it. There’s nothing like fresh baked goods soon after they come from the oven.
“You’re the baker!” Her face brightens as she places me.
Britney blows a whistle, and everyone hops onto a bicycle at once. And lucky for me, I climb right on next to Charlie.
Rudolph saunters over. “Heavens, what means of torture is this?”
I turn his way a moment. “This is going to be great fun.” Apparently, I’m fluent in lying these days. I have never once considered a workout great fun.
Charlie laughs. “If you say so. I’d much rather be sampling what you’ve got in that bakery. You don’t realize how lucky you are to do something you love.”
The music starts up, something loud and lively, and soon we’re all cycling our hearts out.
I force a laugh over at Charlie. “They say if you do what you love you never work a day in your life!” Although when I’m forced to drag myself out of bed at three in the morning, I don’t love a thing about baking. And conf
ession: lately I’ve been sleeping in until three forty-five. Waking up in Noah’s arms is quite the perk of being faux married to him.
“So, what do you do?” I raise my voice slightly over the whir and hum of the bicycles. The music switches tempos, and Britney blows her whistle and shouts for us to move it, move it—and sure enough, everyone speeds up a notch. Everyone but me, that is.
Rudolph neighs and brays, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he were laughing.
“Oh dear, Lottie.” He shakes his head as if disapproving of the rather violent act my legs are partaking in. “You should take notes from Connie and Cat. Those girls know how to have a good time.”
Gah! Connie and Cat? That means he’s still hanging around at Carlotta’s. Worse yet, that means Connie and Cat are still hanging around at Carlotta’s. I’ll get to that in a minute.
Charlie leans in. “If all goes well, I should be doing exactly this. I’m looking to get into a Swift Cycle franchise myself.”
“I knew I liked you,” I tease. “It’s good honest work.” I also happen to like her, because if I remember correctly, she’s one of the few girls who actually calls Everett, Everett.
“It will be once I’m up and running—or cycling.” She snorts as she laughs, and Britney blows that whistle again, kicking the gym into hurricane mode. “I was going to go into it with a friend, but she’s sort of indisposed.” She winces. “It was Larson,” she practically mouths the words.
Rudolph brays out another laugh. “My Larson? Doing this? Oh dear, I do believe she’s better off dead.”
I make a face at him. That’s a terrible thing to say.
“Larson?” I whisper back. “You don’t say. I’m so sorry about what happened.”
“Why?” She averts her eyes. “You didn’t do it, did you?”
“No.” I glance over to Rudolph, and he rolls his eyes to the ceiling.
“Now ask her if she did it, Lottie. Tit for tat,” he neighs his way through the words.
Yule Log Eulogy Page 8
