Murder in the Mix Books 1-3 (Murder in the Mix Boxed Set)

by Addison Moore

  “For a second, I thought you might be hitting on me.” No smile. “But then you kept looking over my shoulder like you are now.” He turns and gives a curt nod as if acknowledging the spectral between us. “And I think I recall a rather deranged yet hauntingly truthful conversation we had a few weeks back.” His gaze softens as he looks to me. “Lemon, give it to me straight. What do you see? A cat, a dog? My mother ran a bona fide zoo. It could be anything.”

  My mouth opens, and just as I’m about to lob a big, fat, furry lie his way, Collette Jenner bounds in wearing a skin-tight red dress with ruching up and down the sides as if she stole the lining right out of a casket.

  “Here you are,” she trills while inspecting Everett as if he were a side of juicy beef before turning to me and smacking her lips with disgust. “Lottie, you wouldn’t happen to have something for a headache, would you? I feel a humdinger coming on, and I’d rather die than throb with a migraine tonight.”

  “No, I don’t. Sorry. I tend to travel with just my keys and wallet during deliveries. If I can’t keep it in my pockets, I can’t keep track of it. And after I lost the first three purses—”

  “Okay, okay!” Her voice hikes to obnoxious decibels. “I asked for an aspirin, not a soliloquy.” She turns to Everett. “I have very important people to introduce you to. Come, come.” She snaps him up by the hand, and he does the same to me.

  “You’re coming for the ride, Lemon.”

  “I can’t go out there.” I free my hand from his. “I’m a part of the catering staff. I wasn’t invited to the event.”

  “I’m inviting you.”

  Collette huffs my way. Her crimson hair is pulled back into a bun, and her makeup looks flawless with matching red lipstick. An entire stratum of granite colors is dusted over her eyelids.

  “Be out there in five, Essex,” she hisses at him before whirling right back out of the kitchen.

  Essex. It seems all of Everett’s exes have a propensity of calling him by his proper moniker, but since he prefers to go by Everett, I do as I’m told. I tend to follow orders—except when Noah and a dead body are involved, but that’s another story.

  “Go on, Everett. Get out there. You’re acting as if you’re afraid of Collette.” I can’t help but wrinkle my nose. Everyone in Honey Hollow is a little afraid of Collette.

  He scowls at the thought. “I promise you I’m nowhere near afraid of that woman. I think she’s seeing someone here, and she’s brought me along to make him jealous. I don’t like feeling as if I’m being manipulated.”

  “Manipulated? Or has your ego imploded?”

  Everett growls as he takes ahold of my hand.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m about to introduce my date to the PR crowd on the other side of this wall.”

  “I’m your date?” Horror jolts through me at the thought. “Noah is not going to like this one bit.”

  “He won’t mind,” he says, breezing us out into the cool air of the dining hall where people move about, mingling and snapping up champagne glasses as if they were a requirement for survival. And on a night like this, they just might be. Jazz music plays softly from the speakers. The entire Evergreen Manor is decorated with fall leaves of every citrine color, pumpkins and wreathes made of cranberries. Across the room, I spot Naomi, Keelie’s twin sister—but with that long black hair and sinister look on her face, you would never know they were related at all. Naomi runs the Evergreen Manor, so I knew on an intrinsic level that the run-in was inevitable.

  Everett leans in. “He can consider it payback. There was once a girl he borrowed from me. Only he wasn’t as kind enough to return her.”

  Before I can ask all of the appropriate questions, we’re standing in a circle with Collette and her glamorous co-workers while she gets to the punch line and the crowd breaks out into laughter.

  “Essex!” Her face lights up at the sight of him and then falls just as fast once she sees he’s holding my hand. “I’d like for you to meet my boss, Mr. Brad Rutherford.” She motions to an older gentleman, handsome in a generic way, salt and pepper hair, dark serious eyes. He scans Everett as if he were a piece of furniture.

  Mr. Rutherford offers Everett a nod of approval. “Nice to finally meet you. I was beginning to think you were the invisible man.”

  Another round of chortles circles the crowd as Collette’s face turns hot pink with embarrassment.

  “Of course, he’s real, Brad. Why would I make up a big hunk of love like Essex?” She giggles at a stalky blonde, her hair too is in a chignon, an unflattering wrap dress peeling open at the leg. “Essex, this is Jenna Hatfield, my co-worker at the firm. She’s my one true friend.” She glances back to the girl. “But too bad for you, because Judge Baxter is one toy I’m not sharing. He’s mine, all mine!”

  More chortling ensues, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. Little do these poor souls realize there’s no actual toying around occurring between the two of them.

  “Funny you should say that.” A tall brunette with stick straight hair, complete with bangs that are a tad bit too short, and pouty lips that look as if she’s spent the last thirty years sucking on a lemon huffs at the thought. She’s pale with far too much kohl liner ringed around her eyes, and her lipstick is dragon’s blood red. Everything about her gives off a Goth effect. “He’s holding someone else’s hand right now. It looks like you might not want to share, but he sure does.”

  The crowd breaks out into a violent burst of laughter, and Collette’s flesh burns a deep shade of crimson that rivals her dress and her hair.

  Poor Collette. It really must be bad if even I’m feeling sorry for her.

  “Well, he is mine.” She openly glares at Everett as if there will be hell to pay. And now I’m fearing for the good judge and his lack of good judgment for dragging me out here to witness the event. “May I have a word with you?” Collette hisses.

  Before Everett can answer, she whisks him out the main doors to the ballroom, and the rest of the group turns to themselves and mingles.

  The sickly-sweet scent of gardenia comes at me from behind. “What are you doing here?”

  I turn to find none other than Naomi glowering at me as if I were ruining her night. Naomi used to have an insane crush on my high school boyfriend, Otis Bear Fisher, and she hasn’t cared for me since.

  “You know why I’m here. I brought the dessert.”

  “I mean here, here.” She pulls me by the wrist and leads me to the door. “Catering staff belongs in the kitchen unless otherwise instructed. You’re not to mix with the guests. These are very important people.”

  “I’m here with Everett,” I say just to watch her squirm and squirm she does. Naomi, just like every other ovary-endowed woman in the Western Hemisphere, has one serious lustful hankering for Everett. “As his date.”

  She squirms twice as hard. “Wait a minute. Rumor has it, you tricked some poor goof into thinking he’s your boyfriend—and I happen to know it’s not Judge Baxter,” she hisses out that last part like the threat it is.

  Voices rise from the hall to my left, and I spot Collette tossing her arms in the air, red-faced and angry.

  “Never you mind who my boyfriend is,” I say, trying to push past this dark and twisted version of my bestie.

  Naomi shoots a dark look toward the shouting. “Never you mind about Collette. She’s just as annoying as you are. I hate her, too.”

  “Well, she may not be my favorite person either, but I’m not liking the sound of this argument.” I take off before Naomi has a chance to protest.

  “You can’t have two men, Lottie! That’s one over the limit. Keep your Fox and give the sexy man with a gavel to me,” she calls out as I speed to the oversized doors, and the shouting grows louder.

  A small crowd lingers at the edge of the cavernous hall where Everett and Collette seem to be going at it full steam.

  “Everett!” I snatch him by the sleeve and drag him all the way to the kitchen. “It’s time to serv
e the dessert.”

  And we do just that. Soon enough, the entire banquet room holds the scents of pumpkin spice, nutmeg, cloves, and a whole lot of cinnamon as the blooming crowd indulges in the pumpkin cheesecake, the pumpkin pie, pumpkin pinwheels, pumpkin rolls, pumpkin brownies, pumpkin sugar cookies, and let’s not forget the pumpkin lattes in the fun pumpkin-shaped mugs.

  I spot Collette speaking to the brunette that so freely humiliated her just a little while ago. Collette is a heck of a lot nicer than I am. That woman would have quickly become persona non-grata to me.

  Collette tosses her hands, exasperated as their conversation grows more animated, and a crowd drifts between us.

  “I’m getting the feeling Collette has a hard time holding onto friends.”

  “And you’re going to lose one if you don’t tell me the truth.”

  I turn to Everett and gasp. “Are you threatening me?” That spook behind him grows toweringly large for no good reason, and I swallow down a scream, petrified at the sight. My God, where is the waiter with a tray full of champagne when you need him?

  “Yes. I mean no.” He glances over his shoulder. “What are you looking at, for Pete’s sake? Lemon—do you or don’t you see a dead pet in my presence?”

  My mouth opens and closes. I’ve never been a good liar... And then it hits me. I don’t have to.

  “No.” I give a little shrug as Collette’s boss charges past us, and we follow him with our eyes as he stalks off toward the exit. “He looks fit to be tied.”

  Everett cranes his neck through the crowd as he looks in that direction. “That woman Collette was speaking to is Jules King. She was up for the same award that will supposedly go to Collette tonight. I was briefed on all the inter-office drama last week.”

  “But why would that make him so angry?”

  “I doubt it has anything to do with that woman. Collette has a way of giving every individual a reason to blow their top all on their own. In truth, I’m surprised his wife isn’t stalking after her.” He glances toward a demure brunette with shoulder-length hair, orange lips—and something about her reminds me a little of my mother. “It’s a well-known fact Collette is seeing her husband.”

  My mouth falls open, and without thinking, my feet lead me in Collette-the-Homewrecker’s direction as if I were about to give her a piece of my mind myself.

  The sound of shouting ensues again, this time in a three-way match and, sure enough, there they are.

  Jules King, the irate co-worker, gets in Collette’s face and roars something out before heading off in the direction of the restrooms, leaving Collette and Mr. Rutherford going at it like seasoned pros.

  Everett gently pulls me back into the ballroom.

  “Ever hear the expression let sleeping dogs lie?”

  “They’re not sleeping.”

  “Then let howling cats roar.” He nods toward the pumpkin pie. “Shall we?”

  “We shall.”

  Soon enough, the ceremony officially gets underway, and Collette’s boss, Mr. Rutherford, is on stage handing out fancy diamond-shaped awards as if they were Halloween candy. It begs the question, if everyone wins an award tonight, does it really mean all that much? Although, I must admit, it’d make a snazzy paperweight. I’m willing to bet that at least one person in the room would be willing to trade one of those sparklers for a whole pumpkin cheesecake, and I just so happen to have my bartering tool in the kitchen.

  I’m sandwiched between Collette and Everett at the table and feel strangely as if Everett has morphed into a child during an ugly custody battle. To hear Collette threaten me, you’d think I were stopping her from seeing him on weekends and holidays.

  “You’re his ex,” I whisper over to her in between her bouts of insanity. “The very definition begs to ask why he was kind enough to be here to begin with.”

  She grits a pressured laugh through clenched teeth. “If you’d scoot over a seat the way I asked, then we wouldn’t be having an issue, Lottie Lemon,” she says it all in a streamlined sentence without moving her lips. Collette is proving to be quite the ventriloquist. “But you never do as you’re told, do you? I bet that boyfriend of yours has asked a dozen times for you not to see other men, and now look where you are? On a date with another man! My man to be exact.” She reaches across from me and fondles Everett’s hand. I can’t help but avert my eyes. It was Everett who insisted I seat myself between them, and now I know why. She’s a predator.

  Mr. Rutherford calls Collette’s name from the podium, and she quickly downs the rest of her pumpkin spice latte. She’s boldly polished off a pumpkin spice cheesecake and a slice of my soon-to-be-famous pumpkin pie at Everett’s suggestion. It’s clear she’d eat a pound of mud to please Everett. Not that I’m comparing my delectable delights to the earthy mixture. But still. Collette is that dangerously eager to please.

  A young man with dark hair and squared glasses applauds for her like mad. “Would you like me to escort you up there?” His voice rises in a peculiar manner as if the offer to trip her on the way up was an option. I’m quickly getting the idea Collette has no real friends. He stands and extends a hand toward her.

  “No, Josh, you may never touch me.” Her gaze drifts right back to Everett. “Excuse me, my love.” She gives his hand a quick squeeze. “I’ll be back with enough crystal to furnish that new house of yours.” She glares over at the Goth brunette across from us. “Jules, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to accept the fruit of my labor.”

  Both Jules King and the demure brunette, aka Mrs. Rutherford, exchange a glance.

  Hey? Maybe Collette invited Everett here to debunk any theories about her having an affair with her boss? In that case, Collette is right. My presence really didn’t add anything to the situation.

  Jules King leans in and leers at me. “That woman has my position and my award.” She openly glares at me as if I were somehow an extension of Collette.

  Jenna Hatfield, the blonde with the uncooperative wrap dress, leans my way. “Once Collette Jenner sets her mind to something, or someone”—she gives a covert glance Mrs. Rutherford’s way—“it or they are more or less hers.” She glances down at her untouched pumpkin pie as if she took this personally.

  We turn to the stage where the spotlight makes Collette’s chandelier earrings sparkle like mad, blinding the room with a spectral glow. Speaking of specters…

  Oh my word. What is Everett’s not-so friendly ghost doing looming behind Collette like some towering spook set out to frighten the entire room?

  Collette leans in toward the mic, and her décolletage dips dramatically as those girls of hers threaten to make an appearance. My God, it’s like she’s actually harboring flesh-covered cantaloupes in there. I’ve never seen a pair so round and perky, not to mention the fact they look like they weigh ten pounds each easy. It must be a real killer.

  “I’d like to thank everyone who came out to see me accept this award this evening.” She extends a hand toward our table, and three of the woman growl audibly. It’s clear Collette is on better terms with the table than the women seated at it. “And a special thank you to the one man I simply cannot live without.” She shoots a quick glance to her left at Mr. Rutherford, and her mouth opens wide but not a sound comes out. Her hand reaches for her throat as her affect morphs from prideful to frightful. A choking sound emits from her throat as she settles her mouth right over the mic as if she were about to swallow it.

  “Poison,” she says it lower than a whisper, but that haunting word reverberates around the room like a haunting echo.

  Just like that—Collette falls to the floor in a heap, passed out cold. And judging by that blue hue that’s quickly taking over her complexion, she won’t be waking up anytime soon.

  It looks to me as if Collette Jenner just dropped dead.

  Chapter 37

  “Poison?” The word circles the room on a demonic loop as Josh, the young man from our table—who was specifically instructed not to touch her, is currently administra
ting resuscitative efforts, mouth-to-mouth.

  His ear moves over her heart, and a moment pulses by before he rises to his knees and announces, “She’s dead!”

  The room breaks out into gasps and screams as dessert plates and mugs alike are violently pushed to the center of the table as if they were serpents.

  Once, when I was twelve, I baked a lala berry pie for my mother’s birthday party, and just as everyone indulged in their first delicious bite, a bevy of tiny worms made their presence known from inside the seemingly innocent berries. Up until now, that was my most cringe-worthy baking experience—but something tells me I may have inadvertently usurped myself.

  Everett jumps on stage, along with Mr. Rutherford and just about every other man in the room as if their collective testosterone-laden efforts were needed to bring this damsel back from deathly distress.

  Time seems to stand still and speed up all at once, and before we know it, the room is flooded with sheriff’s deputies.

  Naomi gives my arm a violent shove. “You killed her!”

  A breath gets locked in my throat as the house lights go on and remove the fantasy-like aura from the room.

  “No.” The word pumps from me breathy and void of the proper conviction as every face in the vicinity turns my way.

  Mr. Rutherford’s wife takes ahold of the oversized mug Collette was last sipping from and sniffs it. “There’s murder in this cup!”

  “No!” I stand, taking a staggering step back. “Put that down,” I hiss. “This is an active homicide investigation.”

  A dark murmur strums behind me as an all too familiar cologne permeates my senses. “You got that right.”

  Noah pops up beside me. “I’d like to ask everyone to head to the north lobby where deputies are waiting to get your information. Please do not panic. You are not in any kind of trouble. This is purely routine on behalf of the department. And we ask that you please file out in an orderly manner.”

  The entire room appears to evacuate at once, and instead of joining the herd, I wrap my arms around Noah. He’s all decked out in a well-fitted suit, and I’m finding that stern expression of his vexingly sexy. I’m pretty certain that a bout of wild lust for my newly minted boyfriend is entirely unacceptable during a murder investigation in which the goods from my bakery are being implicated. But I can’t help it. It’s like some safety mechanism going off in my brain so I don’t leap completely off sanity’s edge.