I trot us over toward the receptionist’s desk and hold out a hot pink box of my melt in your mouth pistachio cookies. I baked up a storm for six hours straight, and these aromatic lovelies were among the lucky on the list.
“We’re from The Centennial Sun here to do a humanitarian piece on Daphne Hollister?” I open the box and hold it within striking range, and she quickly swoops up two cookies after falling under their heavenly scented spell.
“Down the hall to the left. She’s just finished with a client, and she’s due in court in twenty minutes.”
“Good to know,” I say as Keelie and I are halfway down the hall, making our way to the opened door to our left. “There she is!” I give Keelie’s shoulder a squeeze once I spot that sour-faced litigator. “Follow my lead.”
We head on over, and I give the door a friendly knock, garnering her attention. Her hair is pulled back into that demonically tight bun, her lips and eyes slightly tugging toward the back, and it looks as if that sour expression just might be due to the fact she is very angry with gravity. Her lipstick is a garish traffic cone orange, but she’s wearing a gorgeous nude-colored skintight dress, long sleeves, high neck. It’s oddly slutty and demure all at the same time. I wonder if that fashion-based oxymoron is a subconscious foreshadowing of some sort.
“Lottie Lemon.” Her lips crimp with the idea of a smile. “You’re the woman who provided my mother’s birthday cake.”
So much for working for The Centennial Sun. A part of me thought that in her grieving haze there might be a chance she forgot all about me.
Keelie gives my arm a quick squeeze. “Oh, hon,” she whispers. “Follow my lead.” She clears her throat as we make our way into the tiny office. “We’re just trying to drum up some business for the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery, going town to town offering delicious free samples.” She takes the box from me and slaps it onto the desk.
Daphne’s eyes widen as if she might signal for security at any moment.
“I had no idea you worked here,” I say brightly—and boldly, might I add, considering it’s a bald-faced lie. “My friend Everett works here, too.”
Her eyes expand ten times wider than before. “Judge Baxter? Is that why he was at the B&B? Are you seeing him?”
“Oh no, not seeing him. I mean, I see him, see him, but not in that way.”
“Whew!” She glides her hand over her forehead dramatically and gives a little laugh. “I’ve had my sights set on him for months. Nothing like a hearty slice of beefcake after a long, hard day’s work.”
“Oh, so you’re single?” What does this have to do with the fact she might be the killer? Am I implying that detached women are more prone to off their bickering mothers? My own mother comes to mind. While I was still flying solo, she drove me to the brink of insanity. Come to think of it, I might be onto something here.
She purses her lips and looks past us. “I guess, technically, you can say that. I have something going on that keeps my nights busy,” she purrs as she comes just shy of a wink.
That sounded dark. Why do I get the feeling all Hollister roads somehow funnel back to Leeds?
I clear my throat. “I’m really sorry about your mother. Hey, she didn’t happen to have a bear as a pet once upon a time, did she?”
“She sure did.” She waves it off with a roll of her eyes. “I bet she chewed your ear off about it, too. Her grandfather was the owner of a circus company that ran through these parts. When they were on a break, my mother went over and busied herself with all the animals. She swore up and down that one of the black bears took to her. More like wanted to eat her as his next meal. My mother always overestimated what others thought of her. And if you ask me—it started with the damn bear.”
In true Daphne fashion, that was both interesting and harsh.
I shrug over at her. “Any news on how she died?”
Daphne shifts her gaze to the wall and takes a deep breath. “They don’t know.” She blinks a wry smile my way. “Probably something boring—your run-of-the-mill bodily malfunction.”
Huh. I’m pretty sure the coroner would have notified her about the poisoning. But, then again, the killer might not be so quick to spread the news.
“She sure talked about you and your siblings all the time.” Sort of true in a roundabout way.
“We sure talked about her quite a bit.” She gives the paperwork at the foot of the desk the side-eye. “But she’s gone now, and bygones are bygones.”
“Oh?” Keelie blinks her eyes innocently at me. “Did you have a falling-out with your mother before she passed away?”
“Heavens no. You couldn’t argue with my mother and win, so why bother. And, believe me, I tried. That’s how I found myself in an argumentative profession. My mother appreciated her children in theory, but God forbid any one of us needed anything from her. As soon as we turned eighteen, she cut us all off. Can you imagine? Sending your children to expensive boarding schools, filling their closets with nothing but designer clothing, then cutting off all monetary support once they hit a legal age? It’s as if she was counting down the hours to giving us each the boot. My poor sister was last and took it the hardest. From the day she was shown the door, she froze up emotionally. She still thinks and acts as if she’s eighteen. And my brother?” She averts her eyes. “Don’t get me started on that mess. He got lucky once in Vegas, and he’s turned that one good experience into a lifetime of regrets. Rumor has it, his wife Stephanie left him.”
In fact, I have it on good authority she did.
“It all sounds so terrible,” I say it low, embarrassed I’ve wrangled so much delicate information from her. “I had no idea Eve had issues with money.”
Daphne huffs, “Issues is an understatement. Once she’s buried, I think my siblings and I might just dance a little jig over her grave.” She plucks a cookie from the box and indulges with a moan. “The reading of the will can’t get here soon enough.”
“I hope it works out for you. Hey? Can I ask if your dad was funny about finances, too?”
She shakes her head as she swallows in haste. “He was the polar opposite. He lavished; she trickled. The fact my siblings and I had to put ourselves through college, take up loans that were entirely unnecessary, and the kicker—she revoked the trust funds our father set up for us—it was all cause for a very strained relationship.”
Keelie covers her mouth as if coming to a stark realization. “I bet you could have just killed her.”
Instinctually, I want to stomp on Keelie’s toes, but I opt to kick my shoe to hers instead.
Daphne looks bored by the idea of offing her own mother. “If my mother was murdered, they’ll never catch the killer. She had a way of making enemies everywhere she went. That whole I-want-to-be-a-recluse-and-step-away-from-the-socialite-scene? Malarkey. She was so nasty they ostracized her. Finding her killer will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. But I wouldn’t care if they never caught the perpetrator. The things I had to resort to get to where I am today…” She lets her words trail off. “I might even shake the killer’s hand.”
And on that jolly note, Keelie and I bid our murderous friend adieu, hightail it right out of the room and into a brick wall of a chest, dark suit, dimpled grin, lime green eyes that make my insides disintegrate on cue.
“Noah!”
He nods to me before looking to my bestie. “Keelie. Fancy meeting you girls here.” His affect falls flat because we both know I’ve just been caught red-handed. “How about we take a walk? I hear there’s a nice judge here who might just allow us to convene in his chambers.”
Keelie’s mouth falls open as she leans in hard and whispers, “That boy is trying to squeeze in some courthouse lovin’ with you!” She straightens as she looks to Noah. “I think I’m going to stop by the ladies’ room. Text me when you’re through, Lot. But take your time. No need to rush on account of me.” She takes off with a wave of her fingers, and it’s just Noah and me sans my hot pink box of pistachio goodness.
<
br /> “Would you believe me if I told you I was making a cookie delivery?”
“No.” He takes up my hand, and we head right for a set of double doors that read private entry. Noah steps in and flashes his badge at the secretary, causing her to let out a little yelp and hold up her hands as if he had just pointed his weapon at her. “We’ll be in Judge Baxter’s chambers. Don’t let anyone in until further notice.” Noah leads us in through another dark chocolate door and, sure enough, there’s a hunter green room with a bevy of tall plants, a sprawling mahogany desk, and a generously large black leather chair. Noah takes us around to the other side of the enormous desk, and it feels dangerous, highly invasive.
“We’re going to get busted!”
A short-lived laugh strums from him. “Whatever for, Lottie Lemon? I’m simply questioning a civilian who seems to be integrating herself into an active homicide investigation.” He pulls me into the leather chair with him, and I end up on his lap.
My entire body trembles with delight. “Detective, are you getting frisky with me?”
His lids hood so low he’s looking right through his lashes at me. “Frisking people is what I do for a living, honey.” His brows give a seductive bounce as his warm hands ride up the back of my sweater. “I’m just doing my job.” His mouth covers mine, and soon we’re unzipping and unbuckling, removing and ripping. Noah and I lose ourselves in one another, drinking down the maddening wine this forbidden frenzy is inducing in us. We’re all arms and legs, happily tangled up in one another just as the door bursts open, and I plunge my face into Noah’s unbuttoned shirt before peeking an eye out that way.
Judge Essex Everett Baxter looks downright regale in his long black robe. A set of files in his hand go slack at the sight of us before he steps farther into the room and slams the door shut behind him.
Shockingly, Everett doesn’t snarl or scream, or riot for us to get out. Instead, his lips curl upward as if this pleased him on some twisted level.
His eyes flit my way. “You told him, didn’t you?”
“What?” I shoot him that don’t you dare say another word about last night or I’ll kill you look. “That’s right—” My heart detonates painfully in my chest as I steal a moment to make sure I’m covered in all the right places. “I spoke with Daphne. She said—”
Noah lifts a finger. “That she’d shake the killer’s hand if she could. I heard every word. You’re really good at wrangling information from a suspect, you know that? If that bakery thing doesn’t work out, I’m willing to bet you can earn a dollar as a homicide detective.” He leans in and nibbles on my lower lip.
“Why thank you. That’s quite a compliment coming from—”
Everett cuts me off. “The man whose lap you’re seated on, Cupcake.” He takes a careful step forward and inspects the scene before turning his head. “I’ll be out in the hall. Fox, you’re going to pay for defiling my chair with your bare ass.”
I bite down over my lip as he leaves the room. “Well, isn’t he a party pooper? I guess we’d better get dressed.”
“Dressed?” He gets that glazed look in his eyes again. “I think we’d better finish what we started, Cupcake.” His dimples dig in as his eyes fill with wicked intent. Noah looks drugged, too dazed to ever get off this chair without getting to the good part. “He’s all but agreed to patrol the door for us.”
Noah and I pick right back up where we left off. My hands spread wide over his rock-hard chest, and this time what’s left of my clothes indeed go flying. Noah and his wicked intent win out as we open up a new avenue in the investigation, a very naughty, very erotic, exploratory realm that ensures neither Everett, Noah, nor I will ever look at Judge Baxter’s private chambers the same again.
Chapter 8
They say that baking is an art, and that with time and patience, and perhaps plenty of hours spent at the mixer, you can hone your chops—or cookies as it were. But when baking on a mass scale, it makes even the most seasoned baker want to throw both the art and the cookies out the window. It can be a little unnerving, but it happens to be where my passion is honed best, against the clock and under pressure.
“Six dozen amaretto biscuits, four dozen anise cookies, and five spiced rum cakes.” Lily wipes her brow after counting all the boxes. “The entire bakery smells as if a spice rack exploded.”
“It does, but in a very good way. And on an up note, I think my sinuses have cleared.”
Lily’s laugh is cut short and she gives someone in the café the stink eye, so I follow her gaze only to find the woman in the red coat back with her oversized baby blue scarf and are those…
“Is she wearing sunglasses?” Those are not just any ocular sun protectors. She’s dawned a pair of oversized Jackie O’s that look as if they eat up half her face.
“She’s been creeping around here all week.” Lily growls at the woman. “I bet she’s casing the place before she robs it.”
“Hmm. I doubt it. But it is suspicious.”
“We should call the sheriff to come out.”
“Good thinking. And I’ll make sure it’s Noah. But not today. Aren’t you coming to Eve Hollister’s funeral?”
“Nope. I hardly knew the woman. I’ll stay back and man the fort. If you see Essex, send him my way. He hasn’t been returning my calls. Do you realize I stopped by his place earlier this week and he wasn’t home? Might I add, it was very late.”
My face heats ten degrees. “I bet he spent the night with another woman.” As in me.
Her mouth opens wide as she sucks in a quick breath. “That two-timer! Nobody gets away with doing that to me.” There’s a flash of anger in her eyes that I’m not familiar with.
“You know with Essex, one day you’re hot—”
“And one day you’re out.” She slumps forward with her elbows onto the counter.
“I was going to say not, but that works, too. Help me load these goodies into the van.”
I make the trek to Honey Hollow Covenant Church in no time at all. I was sort of forced to sit out Honey Hollow’s last big funeral, that of Tanner Redwood, because I happened to be found hovering over his body while holding the murder weapon. But there’s no way I’m missing out on Eve’s big send-off. She was truly a friend to both my mother and me.
One by one, I schlep the sweet treats into the conjoined hall where the gathering after the funeral will be held. And just as I’m about to head into the church, I spot a familiar looking judge striding up in his long wool coat, his black suit, black svelte tie, that I’m still peeved at you look on his vexingly handsome face.
“Lemon.” He smacks his lips with disdain at the mere mention of my name.
“How nice of you to come. Funerals aren’t exactly the most exciting social scene. But I for one am glad you’re here.”
“I ran into Daphne. She extended the invitation and insisted I come. Do you realize she tried to pass off one of your cookies as her own? Not only do I doubt she bakes, but I saw the box in her office with the Cutie Pie stamp over it.”
“Keeping it classy. She has the hots for you by the way. But you already know that because all the women have the hots for you.”
“That would be a fair summation.” Everett glares my way. “You do realize I had to have my favorite leather chair destroyed.”
“Destroyed? That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
“What’s dramatic is finding my fiancée undressed in my chambers and in another man’s arms.”
“Who happens to be my boyfriend, so it was totally acceptable in a roundabout way. And to think you thought I told him about our visit to Fallbrook!” I hiss it out like a threat. “The last time you hinted at something, things ended spectacularly in a very bad way. Let’s not make history repeat itself.”
“Hear, hear. Do you want to know the real reason I showed up this afternoon?”
“Because you like rum cake?”
His lips twitch. “Because I have a very real feeling that this funeral is about to go
sideways.”
“I’d ask how you knew, but you have met Eve’s children. I’m guessing you’re right.”
“Care to share a seat next to me?” He holds out his arm.
“You bet.” I thread my own arm through his, and we walk down the aisle of Honey Hollow Covenant Church.
* * *
The tiny little parish is brimming with bodies—all but one are alive, thankfully. The entire cast of Hollisters is in the front row, each one with a stoic expression, suspiciously dry eyes. This is nothing more than a formality to them. I’m surprised they bothered to show up at all. I bet there was some stipulation that has to do with the will. Don’t show up for the big send-off and you miss the financial boat entirely.
I spot a face I’ve been trying to track down for weeks and nudge Everett in the ribs. “Nell Sawyer is here! Once the funeral is done, I plan on trapping her in a corner and making her tell me everything she knows about our shared ability to see the dead.”
“It’s not so special today, Lemon. It looks as if we will all get to see the dead.” Everett’s brows pinch as he nods to the front where Eve seems to float in her casket as if she were an angel indeed. Mom says they’re shoving poor Eve into the incinerator asap once the service is over, and if it wasn’t for Mom pulling a few strings herself, Eve would have been a no-show at her own funeral. But Mom was emphatic that Eve would have wanted it this way, and I’m sure she would have, too.
Every bench is filled to max capacity, but Everett manages to squeeze us in a couple of seats right up front on the far right. Nobody in their right mind wants to sit in the front row at a funeral, especially not one with an open casket. There she is, Eve Hollister lying in state with her rose-colored coffin opened wide for all to see. She looks as if she’s sleeping peacefully. Her makeup is on point like never before, and whoever styled her has given her hair a modern spin by straightening that perm of hers. She’s wearing her best blue dress that I’ve seen her wear many, many times before, and she has a blue broach pinning her signature white shawl across her shoulders. She looks so very much like her everyday self, I half-expect her to sit right up and say hello to us all.
Seven-Layer Slayer: MURDER IN THE MIX 5 Page 7
