She lifts one of her cartoon villain brows my way. “I bet you’ll be sorry to see me go once the time comes.”
I give a wistful shake of the head. “If Judge Shumaker’s killer is never caught, I doubt you’ll be going anywhere. Just FYI, I’m here alone from the hours of four a.m. to seven.”
“No thanks. Despite the fact I’m missing my corporal frame, I still very much value my beauty sleep.” She scoops the powdered sugar out with the sifter and holds the mound precariously over a batch of fresh baked muffins. “You know, I’ve been thinking. I’m not so sure I want to go back. At least not anytime soon. I kind of like it here. And you said yourself I’m a great help to have around.”
“I said no such thing.”
“All right. You implied it.” She sticks her tongue out at me. It’s safe to say Greer and I feel more than comfortable getting cheeky with one another. “Anyway, I’m not going. I’ll be your sidekick, your bakery barista, whatever it is you need me for. I just want to stay. Besides, I haven’t even seen you and Essex get to the good part yet. What in the heck are you waiting for?”
A laugh bounces from me. “I don’t know. I mean, he’s the whole package and yet Noah—”
“Is a married man. Face it, he was using you, Lottie, just like Judge Shumaker was using me.”
“Actually, I’d like to think it was a little more complicated than that.” Dutch flits through my mind. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on the extended stay you’re willing to dive into. I just sent back a Golden Retriever who I would have loved to have kept forever, but as it turns out, if I claim one of you as my own—I get a big, bad bag of misfortune. Come to think of it, Noah’s wife, Britney, waltzed into town just as my run of bad luck was finishing up. I guess you could say she was the crescendo.”
Greer belts out an ear-piercing cackle. “Some might say that was your first stroke of good luck.” She beats her hand against the strainer as if it were a tambourine, and powdered sugar falls like snow.
I’m about to make some smart-aleck remark that drives home her point when someone calls my name from behind, and I spin on my heels, fully expecting to see Lily or Keelie, but it’s neither of them. It’s Britney Fox.
“Can I help you?” I ask, stunned to see her so brazenly standing in my kitchen. Her hair is doing that wavy thing that blocks one eye from view, and her lips are filled in with a bold shade of crimson.
Her face contorts to something just this side of horror as she looks past me. I follow her gaze, and my insides squeeze into a knot at the sight of Greer happily dusting away with the powdered sugar.
“Stop that,” I hiss to Greer, and yet the stubborn spook merely laughs as she looks to our uninvited guest.
“Look at her face!” She lets out a hoot. “She’s greener than these cupcakes!”
Britney takes an unsteady step back, and her ankle turns before she rights herself. “What’s happening?”
“Oh—oh my God.” I look back to Greer. “So help me God, if you want to pretend to live another day,” I hiss once again, this time lower than a whisper.
Britney gags as she does her best to keep moving toward the door, with her rear leading the way. “You’re chanting, aren’t you? Oh my God, you’re a witch! You’re a real witch! It was you moving the pedals on that bicycle the other day, wasn’t it? You were trying to make me think I was crazy!” Her voice pitches to the ceiling. “And you hate me!” Her eye bugs out as if it were about to launch right out of her skull. “You hate me, and you’re going to cast a spell on me! Oh God!” She runs for the door, and I chase after her. “No warts, I’m begging you. I don’t want to be a frog!” she wails as she runs right out the door and down the street where I’m betting she came from.
Greer comes up and lands her elbow over my arm. “We got her good, didn’t we?”
She holds out a hand, and I stare at it a second before slapping her a weak five.
“We did,” I concede. “But pull another stunt like that and, trust me, I’ll find a way to turn you into a frog with lots and lots of warts. I may not be a witch, but I have a wicked way with animals.”
“Point taken.” She scuttles back to the kitchen, and I glance to the Honey Pot Diner where it’s already teeming with bodies.
Let’s hope this night ends better than it started.
With my luck, I’m guessing it won’t.
* * *
The Honey Pot Diner is brimming with bodies. Even the giant resin oak tree in the middle of the restaurant is hard to make out due to the shoulder-to-shoulder thicket of people. I’m pretty sure we’re breaking fire code tonight, but since Forest and most of his firefighting comrades in arms are here, I’m guessing they’re letting it slide. Not only is the fire department here, but I see more than a few people from the Ashford Sheriff’s Department, and I happen to be seated with two of them. Ivy and Noah have joined Everett and me at a cozy table near the front. The twinkle lights that are meticulously wrapped around the branches that climb from that resin oak tree and work their way across the entire ceiling give this place a romantic glow, and it only sours my mood all the more, considering Ivy looks as if she’s every bit playing the part of Noah’s plus one.
Margo and Mannford, the chefs here at the Honey Pot, along with Keelie and her staff, worked hard to put out a buffet of traditional Irish fare. Corned beef brisket, cabbage, mashed potatoes, carrots, and Irish soda bread are in abundance tonight.
“I can’t eat another bite,” I say, pushing my plate away. “I literally feel as if I can roll all the way home.”
Ivy inverts a smile as if she didn’t care for my theatrics and chooses to ignore me—sort of the way I’ve been ignoring her for the better part of the night despite the fact she’s haunting the table with her presence.
“Everett”—I turn my attention to my official date for the evening—“that was so very kind of you to invite your colleagues from the courthouse. And having Mooney here as the interim bartender was a stroke of genius. His green beer is pretty delicious.”
Everett’s chest pumps with a dry laugh. “In a roundabout way, I felt responsible for the fact they had a disastrous evening.” He shoots a look to Noah. “And that was not a confession. This is merely a kind gesture on my part.” He narrows his gaze past Ivy’s shoulder. “In fact, Judge Shumaker’s widow is here, too. And I’m glad. It’s nice to see her having a night out with friends.”
“I agree.” I shoot a look to Noah. A part of me wonders if he shared anything about our outing to Detective Ivy Fairbanks. A greedy and shallow part of me is hoping not.
Ivy leans in, her eyes squinted as she strains to smile.
“So the two of you are dating.” She looks from me to Everett with an aggressive form of glee. I so knew she was after Noah. And I hope he notes it, because as much as I hate it, I was apparently right.
Everett glares at Noah. “This is a date, so technically, we are.”
Noah’s chest bucks with a silent laugh as he gives a deadly stare right back to his old stepbrother. “You didn’t waste a moment.”
“It’s my decision,” I say it crisp and clear as I glower at Noah. “I’m a free agent, and if I choose to spend my nights with Everett, it’s entirely up to me.”
Ivy bucks with a husky laugh. “I do believe she’s embedding the javelin into your heart, Fox.”
Everett ticks his head to the side. “Some might say he deserves it.”
But Noah doesn’t respond. He merely seethes before rising from his seat.
“I think I’ll ask Mooney McBride to make me something strong.” He takes off, and Ivy collects her purse.
“And I’m off to powder my nose.” She nods to Everett. “I always did think you would be great if you settled down. I’m just a bit taken aback by your choice in partners.” She takes off, and I look to my handsome devil of a date.
“For the record, I’m thrilled to be your partner.”
“And for the record, I’m glad to have you.” Everett cinches a vexing
ly sexy grin on his face that lasts about as long as a flash of lightning. “Because I’m craving one of those delicious kisses you doled out the other day. I’m fairly sure an addiction is building.” He openly frowns my way as if it were my fault, and I guess it is.
I can’t help but giggle. “I suppose I can treat you to a rather special good night.” I grimace at the thought of what I just implied. “I meant with a kiss. God, that sounded horrible. I apologize.”
“No apology necessary, Lemon. In fact, when the time comes, feel free to knock on my door. I don’t pencil in the important things. I let them combust naturally”—he reaches over and glides his thumb over my cheek—“like a match to gasoline.”
A laugh gets caught in my throat. “How is it you never offend me?”
“Because deep down, you realize that walk to my door is coming sooner than you think.”
My mouth opens at his brazenness, and to his point, deep down I love it. “You’re both easy and naughty in just about every single way, Judge Baxter.” I catch a glimpse of Jillian Shumaker chatting with Noah as they wait their turn at the bar. “And you’re making me quite thirsty. I think we should head over to the bar.”
Everett looks to the exit, and I follow his gaze to find Judge Kremer stepping inside. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
We part ways, and by the time I reach Mooney’s mixology station, Mrs. Shumaker has done a disappearing act.
“Darn it,” I say as I step in close to Noah. “Did you get anything?”
He shakes his head. His dimples press in a show of disappointment.
“Lottie, Britney said she came by earlier tonight to speak with you.”
A breath hitches in my throat as that whole spiritual sous chef incident runs a lap through my mind.
“I was, there this—I think…” I glance to the ceiling and come up empty.
“Lottie, she said some really strange things. Did you have kitchen items floating in the bakery?”
“Oh! Um—it’s a new apparatus.”
His eyes widen as if he were shocked I’d entertain the lunacy.
Noah leans in, his chest expanding as if fight-or-flight were kicking in. “She mentioned you were a witch. Did you tell her this? She said she walked in on some spell you were casting.”
“Oh my God.” I spin on my heel before reverting back to him. “I’m no such thing. In fact, I consider it an insult, as I’m sure witches would, too.” My entire body spikes with heat, and suddenly I want to be anywhere but here. I turn to go, and Noah gently reels me back by my wrist.
“Lottie?” His confusion is palpable. He looks frightened for me, perhaps frightened of me. “What’s going on? Does this have to do with that secret of yours?”
“I—” A chocking sound comes from me as I look around for Keelie or Lainey or even Meg for help, but they’re all seated in the four corners of the restaurant, each having a wonderful time on their own. I spot my mother and Rich Dallas stepping inside. His skin is glowing a strange hue of orange as if he hit the fake bake a little too hard this evening. “I have to go.” I yank myself free and zip right over to my mother and her twisted date, and shockingly I’m more than happy to see them both. I’d be happy to see just about anyone who could pull me free from that conversation with Noah.
“Lottie!” My mother pulls me in for a quick embrace. “Oh, you’re just the person I was hoping to see. I have a disaster on my hands.” She pulls out her phone and pulls up a national hotel rating system. “The B&B is getting accosted with terrible reviews. I’m losing bookings left and right. People are calling me horrible things.”
Rich Dallas leans in, his face as red as a pomegranate, his eyes white with rage. “They’re saying she’s a sham!” he grunts it out as if he’s ready to hunt each one of them down himself. “I’m ready to hunt every one of them down myself and make them take it back.”
I blink back surprise at how spot-on I was. It’s not a wonder he’s easy to read.
“You wouldn’t stab them all to death, would you?” I couldn’t help it. I have a feeling I need to get straight to the point with this turkey.
His mouth squares out in horror. “Are you kidding? I can’t stand the sight of blood.”
Mom chortles into her hand as if it were a cute quirk. “He passed out cold twice this week at the hospital just walking by the blood bank. Good thing I was there to revive him.”
“And that’s why I’ll be avoiding that wing altogether from here on out. It’s not very manly to fall flat on your face.”
If my mother witnessed the event, then it must be true—unless, of course, he were staging an elaborate alibi. Something tells me that’s not the case. He’s just a hothead who blew up that night. I bet Rich Dallas was one of the last people to give Judge Shumaker an earful, unless the killer did before using him as a pincushion.
“Oh, Lottie”—my mother moans—“the conservatory will be ready in just a few weeks, and I’m further in debt than ever before. I was counting on the money from the haunted B&B tours to help give my income that extra boost.” My ex-boyfriend Bear has his own construction company, and he’s adding the conservatory onto the B&B for her on the cheap.
“Extra income?” I gag at how cold that sounds. “Mother! That’s terrible. You were playing all those people for fools all along. There’s not a ghost in the B&B and you know it.”
“That’s not true. It’s as if it just up and left.” She gesticulates wildly with her hands, and that’s a clear signal my mother is at her wits’ end. “If only there was another ghost I could get my hands on.”
My eyes widen at the thought as I spot Greer Giles seated on Judge Kremer’s lap as he starts in on his dinner.
I’m just about to tell my mother I just might be able to help her with that when a familiar face waltzes on by and waves—and that familiar emerald ring on her finger stops me cold.
I watch stunned as Maureen Taylor—Judge Shumaker’s OG inamorata—saunters over to the bar and begins whispering to Mooney.
Jillian Shumaker was speaking with Maureen this afternoon. She didn’t care how much money it took. She wanted this to end. Jillian had a motive to kill her husband. She was betrayed. Maureen had a motive. She was betrayed.
She dips her fingers into her purse and discreetly hands Mooney a wad of something. My blood runs cold. I’m betting those are fresh one hundred dollar bills hot off the press.
Jillian had a motive, and Maureen had a motive. Was Mooney McBride the brawn behind their murderous scheme? Noah said a good hit man would have used a bullet. Sterling Shumaker was stabbed to death at least a dozen times. It was personal. What could Mooney have possibly held a grudge that volatile over?
My eyes sweep across the restaurant as if searching for answers—then I see her.
And I have my answer.
Chapter 17
“Lottie?” My mother struggles to garner my attention as the crowd in the Honey Pot Diner bustles around us. “What do I do? Is there really a ghostbusters I can call? How I wish I had some sort of redline to the other side.”
Greer comes up and latches onto my arm. “What are you looking at, Lottie Lemon? I’m getting the cold chills—and I haven’t felt a thing since that witch shoved one of your red velvet cupcakes down my throat!”
Mooney meets up with my gaze, and his eyes lock over mine. Maureen turns around and does a double take. The two of them whisper among themselves before they go their separate ways. I take a blind step forward and watch as Mooney ducks through the kitchen. I’ve already lost Maureen in the crowd.
“Oh God,” I say as I start threading my way through the throngs of bodies.
“We’re gonna get him, aren’t we?” Greer hops up and down before gasping and trying to block my path, but I walk right through her and that cold chill she’s feeling rides through me instead. “Stop right there, Lottie Lemon!” Greer shouts at deafening decibels, but I choose to ignore her tirade. Instead, I do a quick sweep for Noah or Ivy, but they’ve both conveniently don
e a disappearing act. “You’re not sending me back tonight!” she hisses as she does her best to pull me back and, my God, it’s working.
“Would you let go?” I slap her silly, only to have her latch on all the harder with superhuman strength. “I have zero control whether or not you go back or forth or up or down. I have a killer to catch! You can either come with me or not. I really don’t care.” I barrel on ahead, making my way to the kitchen.
“Lottie, wait!” Greer trots along like an unwilling child. “You don’t have to claim me. I found another spirit in the woods behind your house, and he said all I need is a task to do. I won’t be attached to you all and in no way will this rain down a bad juju parade all over your life. No more ex-wives coming out of the woodwork.” She crosses her finger over her chest like a Girl Scout, but her eyes widen suspiciously as if she might not be telling the entire truth.
“What spirit?” I shake my head. “I’ve taken countless walks, I run regularly every spring and summer, and I’ve never seen a spirit lingering in Honey Hollow. Granted I’ve not combed through every pine tree in town, but still, I’d like to think I’d be in the spiritual know.”
“He’s a cutie! He used to have a pig farm out on the back side of town about two hundred years ago. A bad winter came around, and he and his pigs froze to death.” She wrinkles her nose. “But you can’t have him. His name is Winslow Decker. He’s all mine.”
Murder in the Mix Box Set Page 14
