I quickly pull him to the side, filled with unmitigated glee. “I can’t believe this,” I whisper, trying not to arouse Noah’s attention since he’s not apprised of my supersensual standing. Of course, Everett knows all about my ability to see the dead—and if he holds my hand, he can hear them, too. “Are you like me? Are you transmundane? I’m actually further classified as supersensual. There was a meet-up with our kind at my bakery a few months back. This is just incredible. When did you realize you could see those that have long since passed?”
He pauses a moment to glance at Greer, and she shrugs while tossing her long dark hair. Her gray eyes used to glow like paper lanterns while she was still alive a few months back, but after her murder, they glow like floodlights.
Greer was a sorority beauty queen—just about the same age as me when she perished back in February. She actually chose to eschew paradise in order to haunt my mother’s B&B along with her two-hundred-year-old boy toy Winslow Decker. They’re quite the success, considering the fact my mother’s haunted B&B tours are sold out for the foreseeable future. All parties seem thrilled with the paranormal arrangement, so it’s pretty much a ghostly win-win.
“What’s your name?” I shake my head at this marvel of a man. “Can I get you a lemon bar? I just can’t believe you can see the dead!”
Any trace of a smile has since dissipated from his features. “I’m not just seeing the dead. I am dead.”
Chapter 38
His words swirl around me like a slippery fish my mind refuses to grasp.
“You’re dead?” I let his words sink in for a moment.
A pained smile crosses his face. “I’m sorry to spring it on you like that. I’m not used to speaking to the living—at least I haven’t for the last few years. In fact, I had no idea at all I’d be summoned back from paradise.”
I suck in a lungful of air and nearly inhale all of the lemon bars in the vicinity in the process.
“Oh my God!” I howl at what this all means.
Noah rushes over. “Lottie, is everything okay?”
I pivot on my heels as I shoot a quick look to Everett. Everett is the only person on the planet, sans my birth mother, Carlotta Sawyer, and the small portion of the transmundane community I had the privilege to meet, that actually know of my peculiar abilities.
“Everything is”—I do my best to search for words—“running very off schedule. Noah, why don’t you help take one of these platters out to the conservatory? Everett, you can help me put together another plate.”
Noah growls low, “You’re trying to get rid of me. This has to do with that thing, doesn’t it? The secret you were going to share with me? We can do it now. What is it, Lottie? You’re rattled. I can tell.”
A quivering breath escapes me as I look back to the handsome man once again chatting it up with Greer as if they were old friends.
“Not here.” Everett narrows his gaze on that seemingly vacant space I’ve been staring at in horror as if he senses something. “We can do it at my place tonight. After Lemon and I finish up in the bedroom, we’ll come out and tell you all about it.” A mischievous grin spreads over his face, his double entendre purely drummed up for Noah’s sake.
Noah’s jaw tenses, and it makes him look that much more handsome. “There is going to be a homicide today.”
I watch as Greer and the mystery man walk right through the wall and out toward the conservatory.
“He’s right. There is going to be a homicide today.” I nod to Everett and pick up a platter. “And for once, I’m going to try to get to the bottom of it before the Grim Reaper has a chance to score another homicidal home run.”
I head out and am greeted by the sound of happy chattering voices. The conservatory is a new addition that my mother recently tacked onto the B&B. One of my exes, Otis Bear Fisher, built the structure for her.
Bear broke my heart in high school, which in turn sent me running for big city pastures out in New York where I went to Columbia for my bachelors, but before I could think about grad school, I met yet another cad, Curt Vanderlin, and he broke my heart twice as hard as Bear ever did. Basically, Curt proposed, I said yes, he slept with my roommate, and I said goodbye. He was recently in town, and we’ve since mended fences. Suffice it to say, I’ve never been lucky in love.
The bustling crowd in the conservatory jars me back to reality. The room itself is a large glass and steel structure that gives you that outdoor feeling while you’re still snug inside. Cormack, the woman who caused the great divide between Noah and Everett years ago, paid to have a design team come in and put up posh tables at standing height, no chairs. They set out several large white sofas scattered around the periphery, and hung ridiculously large yet stunningly opulent crystal chandeliers in hues of baby blue from the ceiling.
It’s almost wall-to-wall bodies in here, exclusively female thus far, and the sound of classical music pops from the speakers.
I spot Keelie and Meg going at it near the refreshment table, and I can’t help but frown. They’ve both been quasi-dating Hook Redwood for the last few months. Let’s just say they’re not a happy little threesome. I wish one of them would back down. It’s not healthy to have three hearts tangled in a knot when there’s clearly only room for two. Noah and Everett bounce through my mind, and I do my best to bounce them right back out.
Out on the refreshment table behind Keelie and Meg, there’s an ice luge of some kind that shoots out liquor, complete with a bartender at the helm. To his left is a sushi chef making rolls to order, and just beyond that is what looks like a small hibachi barbeque with lighter fluid and briquettes as if we were about to grill up some steaks.
“Lolly!”
I turn to find Cormack, the formidable real-life Barbie with her golden blonde hair, light green doe eyes, waving at me. She’s clad in a pink hip-hugging dress with a plunging neckline and what appears to be an ever-shrinking hemline. To my surprise, standing next to her is her doppelgänger, albeit with chestnut-colored locks and a bright yellow dress, equally as hip-hugging and suggestive.
Cormack has never bothered to get my name straight, and I don’t bother correcting her anymore. Not to mention the fact she’s got the serious hots for Noah, whom I still have the serious hots for as well—mostly because I can’t seem to find the shut-off valve.
Cormack needs to stand in line, though. It just so happens that Noah’s wife hit the pause button on their divorce and is forcing him to undergo another round of counseling. Noah says it won’t avail much since he’s already emotionally removed himself from the marriage, but I suppose only time will tell.
Cormack wraps an arm around my shoulders and abruptly pulls me close as if we were suddenly besties. “Don’t you just love the way things turned out? I’d move the moon to make my sister happy. That goes for the big boss in my life, too.” She gives a quick wink. By big boss, I’m certain she means Noah. I’ve heard her reference him as such in the past, and it turns my stomach each and every time. “Lonnie, this is my sister, Landon. Landon, this is Leighla.”
Both Landon and I gawk at Cormack in wonder. Cormack is a bright woman, and, yet, she doesn’t seem to be egging me on while badly mismanaging my name.
“It’s nice to meet you, Landon.” I offer a hand and she shakes it, so light and ice cold she makes the limp fish feel like an aggressive arm wrestling match.
Landon glances at the burgeoning crowd of what appears to be hordes of Miss America contestants. I’m half-expecting a bathing suit competition to break out. Although, to be honest, this doesn’t look like the thong and pasty crowd you might find down at Red Satin where Meg works. These women come from money. Honest to God, I can smell it on them just as sure as their pricy perfume.
Landon leans in. “All of my best friends are here. Oh, and my ex is stopping by in a few. Sort of a celebrity appearance, if you will.” She honks out a laugh that sounds like a flock of geese heading south for the winter, and my eyes double in size because in the span of thirty second
s both Featherby sisters happened to amaze me—and not in any good way.
“Your ex? Now there’s a twist.” And oddly, I have a feeling he will be the least strange thing in this room.
I scan the area and spot Greer with her boyfriend, Winslow Decker, and he looks good and fighting mad. Come to think of it, Greer looks pretty red-faced, too. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were having an argument.
Just past them I spot the man of the ghostly hour chatting it up with Carlotta, my biological mom—who just so happens to share my quirky gift. I can’t help but snarl at the sight. Carlotta should know better than to prattle on with a poltergeist in the midst of ordinary people, but, apparently, she lacks common sense.
Landon waves off the idea of her ex. “He’s with Viv now.” She nods to a bleached blonde with ice blue eyes and a svelte waist that looks impossibly tiny as exemplified by the belt cinching her off like a bracelet. She looks strikingly like one of those old-time movie stars, long thick lashes, red velvet lips, smokey eyes. She’s the modern embodiment of Carol Lombard, and I could easily find myself staring at her for hours the way you would a creature in a zoo habitat.
“But I’ve moved on, too,” Landon continues. “I’ve got the breakup brunette going.” She plucks at one of her chestnut curls. “And I’ve upped my Pilates classes to four times a week. Now that I’ll be staying in Honey Hollow, I’ll need a full list of local recommendations—nails, hair, lips, esthetician, masseuses, the name of the cutest bag boy at the grocery store—we’re talking full monty.”
I think on this for a moment just as Keelie’s evil twin steps in my line of vision. Naomi took a harsh disliking to me a million years ago when she decided she wanted Bear for herself. She wasn’t the one he cheated on me with, but Naomi and I have never been friendly.
“You’ll want to speak with Naomi Turner.” I nod over to her just as a crowd bustles between us. “She runs the Evergreen Manor and is in the know on all things—high-maintenance.” I wanted to say shallow, but the truth is, I like a good massage as much as the next girl.
Landon jerks as her entire body freezes. “Here she comes,” she mutters under her breath, and Cormack follows her gaze to a group of girls entering the conservatory from the rear entrance.
A trio of brunettes heads this way. The one in the middle with the fiery chestnut locks has her shoulders back, a cutting look on her beautifully chiseled face. She has high cheekbones, full lips, just about everything else a supermodel requires, and she could easily be just that. The girl to her right has a pushed-in nose, tiny lips, and an angry look that suggests she might be the potential killer.
I try to shake the thought away. I shouldn’t think like that. It’s repulsive. But the fact Carlotta is laughing at whatever Ghost Boy is telling her, firmly suggests otherwise. In the last eight months, there has yet to be a specter’s presence that has not resulted in someone’s impending doom. Honestly, though, murder is the last thing I want to think about.
My attention reverts to the trio of brunettes. The girl on the end ensconcing the trio’s clear leader has a sour puss, too. She sports a short copper bob that nearly matches her honey-colored skin. She’s pretty, petite, and pardon my French, she looks decidedly pissed.
Landon gulps audibly. “Nessa!” She trots forward and grabs the hands of the redhead in the middle.
Ha! I knew she was the queen bee.
Nessa’s lips tug with disdain as she glances around. “I don’t see DJ Dash. He did my mother’s divorce party and Lindie’s.” She shoots a look to the girl with the pushed-in nose and tiny lips who I’m guessing is Lindie before looking to the copper-haired girl. “Jenson, find me a cocktail that isn’t pink and doesn’t have an obscene name.”
Landon threads her arm through Nessa’s. “Let’s look at the legal documents. I’m having a freedom fire in about ten minutes and we’ll toast with champagne!”
Nessa chortles. “So tacky.” She shoots me a careless glance. “Don’t you agree?”
“Totally,” I agree without thinking, and Landon’s mouth falls open in horror.
“I’m sorry,” I’m quick to apologize, but it’s too late. She’s already dragged Nessa off to ogle the vodka luge.
Cormack steps in once again, her thick perfume holds the scent of rich spices, and my allergies threaten to unleash themselves full force.
“Who’s this Nessa person?” I ask. “And why does Landon look as if she’s trying to impress her?”
Cormack belts out a laugh that reminds me of a dolphin braying. “Vanessa St. James is everyone’s worst nightmare. Let’s just say people play nice with Nessa because she has dirt on just about everyone. Yes, Nessa certainly knows where all the bodies are buried. She’s ruled our social circles for as long as I can remember. She’s practically untouchable.”
“She sounds like a powerhouse.” There are a few more names I can think of to describe her but won’t. “What about her bookends? They each looked equally disgruntled to be here.”
She points to the copper-haired girl who is busy loading up at the sushi bar. “Jenson Becker is Nessa’s roommate. They share a house in Fallbrook—and by house, I mean sprawling estate. Jenson’s aunt owns it, I think. The dark-haired girl is Lindie Holland. She’s an illustrator and artist. We all went to boarding school together.”
“I see.” Boarding school, otherwise known as the babysitter’s club for exorbitantly wealthy parents. Not only do they get a child-free environment, but their kid gets an elite education to boot—and as I’m seeing, a brood of rather nasty friends as well. “What about Viv?” I nod to the Carol Lombard look-alike making eyes at the bartender.
“Vivian Wood is one of Landon’s closest friends.” She shakes her head at the girl. “And she didn’t mind scooping up my sister’s leftovers, no sirree. But then, Clayton McDaniel is quite the catch.”
“If he’s such a catch, why did your sister dump him?”
Cormack twists her lips. “Let’s just say he’s a catch that never quite understood the fact that he was caught.”
“Ah. Say no more. I seem to catch those as well. What does Viv do for a living?” I may as well case everyone out— a little forward thinking as far as the inevitable is concerned. I shoot a side-eye to Carlotta and the spook she’s bonding with. I still very much plan on shaking him down for the prospective murderous details of events to come.
“Viv is a stay-at-home trust fund baby. She got a degree in English lit, and now she spends all day watching YouTube vloggers and Kardashian reruns.”
“A real go-getter,” I muse.
“She lunches, of course, and that takes up the middle of her day, and she sees her trainer each morning. Once Clayton and she make it official, she’ll pump out two point five beautiful babies and hire a tribe of French au pairs to mind them.”
A gorgeous redhead comes our way and gives the obligatory faux scream once she spots Cormack. The two of them proceed to hug it out and air kiss with the best of them.
“I haven’t seen you in ages!” The redhead squints out what appears to be a genuine smile. Her makeup is at a minimum, and her clothes are demure, white cardigan and jeans paired with light pink leather wedges. There’s something warm and down-to-earth about her, and instantly I like her. She extends a hand my way, and I note her left wrist is wrapped in a bandage. “I’m Blythe.” She leans in and wrinkles her nose playfully. “Nessa’s real best friend.”
I give her a quick shake. “Nice to meet you. I hope your wrist is okay.”
“Tennis injury. I’m telling you, my body will take any excuse to sit on the sidelines. That’s where all the real action happens, just like life.”
She and Cormack share a laugh, and soon I’m edged out of the conversation as Cormack wraps an arm around the girl and leads her away. I seize the moment to make a beeline toward Carlotta and our uninvited ghost.
“Lottie Lemon,” I say it curt as I look right into his holographic coffee-colored eyes. “What’s your name? And who in this room
did you date, mate, or hate? More to the point, who loved you best?” That’s how it seems to work—the most prized pet, or in this case, person (a person seems to be the alternative in the event the soon-to-be deceased never bonded with an animal) comes back from the great beyond and seemingly does, well, nothing. Okay, that’s not true. They try to help in their own way, or not. I still haven’t made rhyme or reason out of it. All I really know is that they tend to stick around until the killer is apprehended, and then they’re happily blipped back to the other side to be reunited with the recently deceased.
“Maximillian Finmore, you can call me Max.” He shakes my hand, and it feels every bit solid. “I can’t believe this”—he quickly scans the party—“it’s just like the keggers we had back at Aimsley.”
“Aimsley—of course.” I nod as if that explained everything—and it really does. Aimsley is the premier upper echelon private school right here in upstate Vermont with a tuition tab that equals all other elite college tuitions combined.
Carlotta takes a deep breath as she eyes him. Side note: she looks identical to me in every way but older and grittier. I know exactly what I’ll look like in sixteen years if I don’t exfoliate religiously and deep condition my hair, considering the fact Carlotta was about sixteen when she had me. She’s the niece of Nell Sawyer. Nell died a few months back. Up until Everett, Nell was the only person who knew I was supersensual.
It turned out, at the end of her life, she confessed to having the same abilities. Nell is my best friend Keelie’s grandmother and mine in a roundabout way, too, come to find out.
Nell felt so bad about the deep, dark secret she was forced to keep regarding where I came from that she left me most of her estate in her will. But my newfound uncle, William, wasn’t having it. He’s contested the will, and it should all come to a head sometime this summer. But as it stands, it’s just the beginning of May, and I don’t want to think about any money or real estate that may or may not be heading my way. I want to get to the bottom of this would-be homicide we’re right smack in the middle of.
Murder in the Mix Box Set Page 34
