Murder in the Mix Box Set

by Addison Moore

Judge Kremer takes a breath as he spins the whiskey in his hand. “He had pictures. Said he would send them to my wife if I didn’t back down. And then he got the appointment.” He scoffs as he shakes his head. “Get the girl, get the promotion. Both of which should have been mine. Greer was someone I could have had a life with.”

  “Aw!” Greer coos as if he just produced a puppy from under the table. “Tell him I would have loved a life as the judge’s wife.”

  “Geez,” I whisper under my breath. “She probably would have loved a life as your wife, but then you already had one.” I’m quick to point out to her. “So, that’s why you killed the guy?” I can’t help it. Some serious debilitating exhaustion is taking place.

  “Killed him?” He inches back as if affronted. “Is that what you think I did? I don’t need that kind of trouble in my life. I’m a lover, not a fighter. Yes, I was ticked, but Greer died and that shook me. I thought of exposing Sterling’s misdeeds and getting myself that cushy position. I even confronted him about it. Asked him to step down, but he wouldn’t have it. I figured his past would catch up to him one day and I’d have a chance at it once again.”

  “And do you?”

  He sheds a greasy grin. “You guessed it. Got the call this morning.”

  “Congratulations, man.” Everett slaps him five from across the table. How I pray he’s playing a game of good cop, bad cop with him. There’s no way Everett would be so cold. “So you’ll be relocating to Burlington soon.”

  “That I will. I’ve got thirty days and, believe me, I’m glad to do it. With the impending divorce, I need a fresh start. And who knows? I might meet a nice girl like Greer yet.” A laugh thumps out of him. “But let’s be honest. There wasn’t a single nice thing about that girl. She was one hundred percent naughty, if you know what I mean.” He downs his drink while Greer bubbles with a laugh.

  “I sure was! One hundred percent!” She bounces in her seat while trying to high five either Everett or me, and neither of us obliges.

  Judge Kremer stands and puts on his coat. “I’ll catch you soon,” he says to Everett before looking my way. “Nice to meet you—I think.” He takes off, and it’s just Everett and me, and our far too friendly ghost.

  I waste no time in scowling at Greer. “Why didn’t you tell me you slept with Judge Kremer?”

  “Because you never asked!” she snips right back. “Besides, I had no idea he was on the suspect list.”

  Everett gives a hard blink. “Okay, do Maureen Taylor, Cindy Mitchell, or Birdie mean anything to you—something that might help solve this case?”

  Greer taps a blood red nail over her cheek. “Nothing other than the fact you bored me with their presence.”

  “What about his wife? Jillian Shumaker?”

  “Not a thing.” Greer absentmindedly runs her finger over the dark stain on her chest. “Did you ever look into the guy she was having an affair with?”

  Everett and I exchange a glance.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Sterling didn’t mention it, but he did say he caught them together. That’s when his wife knew her days were numbered.”

  “Well then.” I straighten “It looks as if not only did Judge Kremer have a clear motive for murder, but so did Jillian Shumaker—and maybe, just maybe, her boyfriend volunteered to do it.”

  Chapter 15

  Everett and I hightailed it right back to Honey Hollow, fully ready to drop into bed, and not together. Everett looked as if he ran a lap around the planet he was so exhausted. We said a brief goodnight as he reminded me of our St. Patty’s Day date tomorrow night. The Honey Pot Diner has always made a huge event out of St. Patrick’s Day because it just so happens to be that Nell Sawyer who once owned the Honey Pot—my own grandmother—was Irish.

  I wait until the lights in Everett’s bedroom go out before I dash across the street. In the mother of all ironies, I now feel like I’m cheating on Everett by speaking with Noah.

  His porch light is off, and I’m thankful for that as I give a quick knock. Less than a minute later, Noah glances out the orange slice of a window up top and the door swings open.

  Toby is the first to greet me, and I can’t help but give him a hug. “You are just so adorable.”

  “Thank you.” Noah chuckles. “And to think I didn’t have any hope you’d ever say another kind thing to me.”

  “I wasn’t speaking to you.”

  “A man can dream.”

  I give a wary look around. The embers from a fire have just died out. It looks as if a romantic time was had by all.

  “Is your wife home?” Words I never thought I’d say to Noah.

  “Soon-to-be ex-wife. And no. She doesn’t live here. She doesn’t stay here. She’s at the B&B if you need to speak with her.” He blinks a wry smile.

  “I’m here to speak with you,” I smart as I step on in and he closes the door behind me.

  “How was Connecticut?” Noah flicks on the light, his voice low as if it were a secret we shared that he didn’t want to remind me about.

  My eyes meet with his, and his pain is palpable.

  “It went well. I had a meeting with a friend. Everett came with me.”

  “So, no romantic getaway?” His brows bounce as he leads us to the sofa. “Would you mind if I started a fire?”

  “No, please don’t.” That fireplace was witness to much coital action between the two of us. God knows I’m weak and tired. If I’m not careful, I might end up on his mattress, and I’m all through with being the other woman, thank you very much. “I’m not staying long. I just wanted to see what you had on Shumaker’s wife.”

  Noah nods as he pulls his phone forward. “She’s been seeing someone.” He plays with the screen before flashing it my way and I’m met with the picture of a man, clean cut, nice suit, older. “Jeremiah Curry. A criminal defense attorney in Ashford. It was an emotional affair, no sex. Yet.”

  My heart thumps wildly in my chest. “Do you think he did it?”

  “He was in China during the time of the murder. We have documentation. Cleanest alibi yet.”

  “So, maybe they hired a hit man?”

  His dimples depress, and he thinks it through. “A hit man would have used a gun. Knives are messy.”

  “Yes, an act of passion perhaps… Maybe Kremer did it. He was having an affair with Greer Giles, the same girl that Shumaker was sleeping with—one of them at least. Not to mention the fact Kremer is bitter that Shumaker got the position. Although, fate has turned that card for him. He’s leaving at the end of the month to fill the position.”

  Noah narrows his luminescent green eyes over me. “You gleaned all this and you run a bakery? You do realize I do this full-time.”

  “Very funny. But flattery will get you nowhere.”

  A small moan escapes him. “How I wish it would. I miss you, Lot. Do you know how much self-restraint it’s taking for me not to scoop you into my arms?”

  “I wouldn’t do it. Your gun is sitting right behind me. I’m pretty sure I can reach it before you can. I happen to have lightning quick reflexes.”

  “I know all about your reflexes, and I do miss them. What’s happening with you and Everett?”

  “I don’t think I owe you a detailed accounting of my love life. Besides, I want to talk about Jillian. Hey, maybe I can go over to her house tomorrow and offer her a muffin basket or something? She’s the only person I haven’t questioned.”

  “No, Lot”—he moans and closes his eyes a moment—“you don’t want to do that.”

  “Why not? It’s St. Patrick’s Day. I’ll make up some story about the bakery gifting baskets to the grieving. I don’t know. But I just won’t feel settled unless I speak to her. I know! I’ll invite her to the Honey Pot tomorrow night. It is a social event. She might like that.”

  “You’re not leaving this alone, are you?”

  “If you don’t cough up her address, I’ll have to employ another strategy to get it.”

  “I’ll do you on
e better. I’ll drive.”

  * * *

  Jillian Shumaker lives behind the gates in an exclusive community in Hollyhock, a neighboring town between Honey Hollow and Ashford. It’s officially St. Patrick’s Day, and I spent the morning pumping out more shamrock sugar cookies and green frosted cupcakes than should ever be legal.

  Noah drove us over and parked a few houses down in the event she looked out her window and recognized his menacing presence as I headed on up the Shumakers’ walk with a basket full of banana muffins. I had wagered whether or not it was in poor taste to bring her the very dessert her husband enjoyed last, but I thought it might be a nice token of remembrance as well as a delicious treat so I went with it.

  The Shumakers’ home is a two-story Tudor with an expansive front yard, well-manicured with a three-tiered fountain smack in the middle of it. A glossy maroon Audi sits pridefully in the driveway, and behind that is a beat-up old Honda that reminds me much of my own, which looks to be parked in haste. I climb up the short flight of stairs and head for the enormous double doors. I lift my hand to give a quick brisk knock, and the sound of an argument escalating from inside has me freezing in my tracks.

  I lean in and hear the distinct sound of female voices. I turn my ear toward the door and hold my breath in the event I can make out what they’re shouting about, but it’s far too garbled so I do the only thing that logic dictates—I boot scoot my way to the large picture window to my left and spy on whoever is in there giving Jillian Shumaker heck.

  I spot Jillian first, her hair pulled back into a chignon, a mint green cardigan on in honor of the day. Whoever she’s going at it with is a woman, for sure. I can see a dark coat stepping in and out from Jillian’s frame but nothing else.

  Jillian raises a hand as if she were exasperated. “I want this over.”

  “I want this over, too!” the other woman riots. Her hand lands on a small marble table that holds a vase filled with lilies, most likely flowers from other mourners. Her hand taps against the marble impatiently as they mumble something indescribable to one another, and I spot a long gold ring over her index finger bejeweled with emeralds that branch out like leaves. It’s pretty, and in a strange and sorrowful way it reminds me of Nell. I only knew Nell Sawyer as a friend and Keelie’s Grammy. She was the one I shared my supersensual secret with for so long. And as it turned out, she was not only my friend, but my grandmother as well.

  “I’ve got a fistful of fresh one hundred dollar bills hot off the press. Do it tonight or it’s over,” Jillian thunders. “We’re over. And you know exactly what I mean.”

  We’re over? Is Jillian having an affair with the woman?

  The sound of heels clicking in this direction emanate from inside, and I speed my way back to the entry. I hold up my hand, ready and willing to knock up a riot just as the door swings open.

  Jillian gasps, and the door shuts slightly. The scuttle of shoes is heard from inside as she opens up again, this time with a manufactured smile.

  “May I help you?”

  “Oh, yes, actually, no. I come bearing a basket full of goodies. My name is Lottie Lemon. I was the—”

  “The baker from the party at Heritage Hall.” Her smile softens as she takes the basket from me. “This is so very sweet.”

  “I just wanted to express how sorry I was and perhaps brighten your day even in the tiniest way.”

  “Of course. This is wonderful. What a kind gesture.” Her steely eyes meet up with mine as I glance past her, and yet there’s no evidence of a soul around. Whoever is here, she’s not about to make her presence known. “Is there something else I can help you with?”

  “Right.” I straighten like a pin. “Actually, I wanted to extend an invitation to the Honey Pot Diner. St. Patrick’s Day is sort of a big deal at the restaurant, and tonight’s menu shouldn’t be missed. My treat. Feel free to bring a guest.”

  A light laugh bubbles from her. “I’m already set to go. Judge Baxter extended an invitation to his colleagues to make up for the tragedy that befell us that awful night.” She fans herself with her fingers a moment, no tears.

  “Everett—I mean, Judge Baxter is very thoughtful. I’m so very glad you’ll be taking him up on his invitation. I’ll be sure to look for you and say hello.” I take a step back as if I were leaving before holding up a finger. “May I ask if they found your husband’s killer? That was a horrible tragedy, and it’s shaken me to the core. I can’t imagine what you’re going through. Do you even feel safe in your own home?”

  She averts her gaze to the bushes a moment. “They haven’t found the killer. I’m afraid the case has grown cold. But, nonetheless, I don’t feel afraid. Whoever did this to Sterling was simply after his money—his wallet,” she clarifies.

  “Right.” I nod as I try to take this in. “Well, I’ll see you tonight.”

  The door seals shut once again, and I scamper as fast as I can to Noah’s truck and spill everything I gleaned.

  “Do you think we should do a stakeout and see who it is she’s harboring in there?”

  “I’m in.” Noah drives to the next block over and parks so that we can see the house, but the beat-up Honda in the driveway is already missing. “She must have taken off in the other direction.” He speeds for the guard shack at the exit, but it’s too late. Not a sign of the woman with the ring or her car.

  “Sorry, Lot.” Noah drives us out of the tract and pulls to the side of the road under an enormous oak tree. The dappled sky above looks almost periwinkle.

  “Noah, she said her husband was robbed that night he was killed. Is that true?”

  His finger thumps over the steering wheel. “He had his phone on him and about a hundred dollars in small bills tucked in his pocket, most likely for the bar. No wallet.” His forehead creases as if he’s trying to push this through his brain. “I specifically asked Mrs. Shumaker myself if he had his wallet with him that night, and she said she didn’t know.”

  “Well, she seems to know now. Maybe she figured it out later and forgot to mention it. I guess she’s had a lot on her mind—like this other woman she’s about to end it with.”

  Noah nods, his gaze lost as he looks out the windshield. “I’m thinking she meant something along the lines of a business arrangement.”

  “A business arrangement?”

  Noah takes a breath and reaches over for my hand. “I don’t want you to worry about it, Lottie.” He squints out a pained smile. “I think I can take it from here. Rumor has it, you have a birthday coming up.”

  “That I do.” I soak in the feel of his warm, strong hand over mine before slipping away from his grasp.

  He shifts in his seat. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Anything.” I shrug, as I fall seamlessly under his spell again—and as much as I hate it, on some level it feels unavoidable. Will I ever be able to judge someone for having an affair again? Was what Noah and I had truly classified as an affair?

  “When I stepped into the bakery the other day with Toby—you called him Dutch.”

  I freeze solid as his heavy stare holds me hostage.

  “Lottie, you’ve said that word before.” He shakes his head. “I just assumed it was a part of that secret you didn’t want me to know about. Now I’m not so sure.”

  My mouth opens, and a croaking sound comes out. “I guess I didn’t want you to judge me. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you about my secret. And yes, Dutch very much has a part in it.” My entire body relaxes as I say those words.

  That look of utter agony I’ve become all too familiar with contorts his features. Noah still wishes he had all of me—and all of my secrets, too.

  “Fair enough.”

  We drive back to Honey Hollow with more questions than we had when we left.

  A part of me wonders if Judge Shumaker’s killer will ever be brought to justice, and a part of me bets that Noah wonders if I will ever reveal my secret to him.

  Something in me suggests the answer to both is yes.
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br />   Chapter 16

  The Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery is due to close in less than five minutes, and yet I’m busier than ever pulling batch after batch of banana cake out of the oven. Keelie had the brilliant idea that I should dye them green in ode to the emerald-colored day, and I took her idea and ran all the way to Ireland with it—proverbially, of course.

  And since I dismissed the staff so they could get ready early for the festive event next door, I’m here pretty much alone—if you don’t count my new sous chef Greer Giles. You can bet your bottom ghostly dollars that I took her up on her offer to lend a helping haunted hand, and we’ve been chatting it up in the kitchen ever since.

  She makes a face at the baskets full of banana muffins. “Don’t you think these things should be frosted? Who in their right mind will want to eat a naked cupcake?”

  I can’t help but roll my eyes. Despite the fact she owned a rival bake shop, no one was ever going to accuse Greer Giles of being a champion baker.

  “I’ve never frosted banana cake before.” I wince at how sickly they look with their pale green hue. “But I’m betting a good dousing of powdered sugar won’t hurt. Why don’t you pull the fine mesh strainer from the basket under the island? There’s a bag of powdered sugar on the counter there, so get cracking. It’s a great idea and one I wouldn’t have come up with if it wasn’t for you.”

  “Think of all the brain power I could gift you if you never solve this case.”

  “Oh, I’m solving it. I have to. It’s like some volcanic eruption that’s begging to burst out of me.” I click my tongue. “That night keeps haunting me. I mean, I saw Judge Shumaker with his wife. Then I saw him and his wife arguing with Maureen Taylor. Come to find out, Maureen wasn’t too happy about being cheated on either. Cindy Mitchell didn’t seem to mind. I didn’t get any hard-core revenge vibes from her. Birdie the stripper seemed perfectly content with or without Judge Shumaker in her life. It was Jillian she had a problem with after he died. But Jillian had every right to blow her top. And oddly, she was having an affair of her own. Her boyfriend was in China at the time of the murder so Noah says he’s clean. Judge Kremer—I think he might be our man. And, of course, there’s that bozo my mother has leashed herself to. Rich Dallas is a psycho, but is he a killer?” I scoff at the thought. “Is it sad that I’m rooting for Rich to be the killer? That’s how badly I want him out of my mother’s life. But by default, I can rule him out. Things don’t usually turn out the way I hope they would. If I get a chance, I’ll question him tonight.” I take a step over toward Greer as she lifts the confectioners’ sugar to the counter. “Thank you for listening. It just feels so good to process all of that again.”