Raspberry Tart Terror (Murder in the Mix Book 30)

by Unknown

  I bet they’re sorry we ever met. And if they’re not, they will be soon enough.

  I’ve tarnished their reputations, taken down their careers, and ground their hearts under my heel, and ironically, I only meant to love them.

  The baby gives another hearty wallop, and I place my hand over my belly.

  All I want to do is love this baby, too, and a part of me is afraid of what my toxic brand of love might put this innocent child through—what I’ve already put it through by proxy.

  Some might say this has something to do with that curse that landed my way back in October, but I’m fairly certain I did this all on my own.

  There was no nefarious supernatural interference.

  I’m the curse in this equation.

  I caused this all to happen.

  I’m the disaster here.

  Me.

  Everett

  There have been times in my life when I have been steeped in regret. And there have been times in my life where I’ve been glad to take one on the chin to protect those I care about. Oddly, this legal nightmare I find myself embroiled in fits both of those categories.

  The cell is dank and small. Thankfully, there’s no one else but Noah and me in it.

  Sheriff Jack Turner seals us in himself and waits for the click of the lock before sighing over at us.

  “Well, boys?” His voice echoes over the cinder-block walls. “I’m not sure what the hell is going on, but I happen to know you’re both upstanding citizens. When people judged you for your questionable moral standards regarding Lottie and that kid she’s carrying, I wasn’t one of them. Lottie Lemon is like a daughter to me, and I know for a fact she’s a good judge of character. What I didn’t understand is why the two of you would steal a corpse from the morgue—the daughter of a mobster no less. But the more I gave it some thought, the more I figured the mob must have had a hand in your actions. Don’t bother saying a word to me. Save it all for your attorney. We’ll get you some one-on-one time alone with Ms. Dagmeyer soon enough. Noah”—he nods his way—“you’re suspended without pay until further notice, obviously. I won’t lie. I’d be thrilled to give you your position back once this mix-up is over, but I’ll have to be careful. I don’t want to be accused of playing favorites. You’ll be under internal review and go through the proper channels before you’re at your desk again. Try to keep your spirits up—both of you. There might be a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel yet. I hope. In the meantime, don’t kill each other in here.”

  He shuffles off and it’s just Noah and me, glaring at one another, considering killing one another if only because the sheriff put it on the table.

  “Don’t do this.” Noah’s cheeks flex when he says it.

  “Too late. It’s done. Fiona should wrap this up pretty quickly on your end. If you play your cards right, you may never see the inside of a courtroom. I’m guessing arbitration at worst. But that only works if you deny the hell out of everything. Play along—you had nothing to do with it, Noah. It was my car they found, not yours.”

  “I hauled that body out of that morgue right along with you. It was my backyard we buried her in. And we don’t know the evidence they have as of yet.”

  “That’s what Fiona is gathering right now.” I run my fingers through my hair and take a deep breath. “Look, Noah. Don’t make me hurt you to drive home the point. Lemon is having a baby. Both of us cannot be out of commission by way of a prison cell for God knows how long.”

  “We’ll make bail,” he says, taking a seat on one of the benches lining the walls.

  “And when this goes to trial, we could make prison, too.” My jaw clenches as I try my best to stifle my anger. “A month ago I could never have conceived this.”

  He leans hard and rests his elbows on his knees. “And you didn’t. Lottie asked me if I thought Florenza could help us avoid that mob massacre. I said yes. This is my doing. My nightmare. I pulled us into this.”

  “And I’m the only one who can pull us out of it.” My voice echoes over the walls like a gong. “Someone just might go down for this one, Noah. But it does not have to be you.”

  The clip-clop of high heels speeds in this direction and Fiona is let into the cell.

  She watches as the guard takes off before glowering at us.

  “What in the hell were the two of you thinking?” She takes a seat over on the bench next to Noah. “Essex, I expected more out of you.”

  Essex.

  My lips purse as she says my proper name. It’s nothing I’m ashamed of, but it’s not a name I prefer. My father had a way of saying it that set my teeth on edge, so a few years ago I let people know I preferred to be called by my middle name, Everett.

  But back when I was after everything that wasn’t nailed down, a few of the women got a thrill out of using my formal moniker and refused to call me anything but. Word got around, and soon only the women I bedded—of which I’m ashamed to say there were many—were calling me by my proper name.

  I didn’t mind. And yes, Fiona Dagmeyer happens to be one of many.

  Of course, Lemon has called me Everett from the get-go, and I prefer it. She’s the only woman I’m with, and I plan on keeping it that way. She’s my wife, even if we did start off as a business transaction, and I want to keep it that way, too—the wife part. Not that Noah won’t want to have a say in it. Noah is forever getting in the way.

  I shoot Noah a look. And here he is. In the way as usual.

  My mother was married to his father for all of five minutes. Just long enough for Noah to sweep in and steal my high school girlfriend. At the time it felt like a pretty big deal—something I needed to give him a black eye over, and I did. But Cormack Featherby and I weren’t all that serious, not outside the physical realm. At the end of the day, I couldn’t care less if they were together.

  But Lemon? I’m not feeling so generous. I don’t care if Noah was with her first. He came into that relationship with a wife of his own. Yes, they were separated, but he kept Lemon in the dark and it set them on a rocky trajectory.

  And while Lemon and Noah were taking a breather, Lemon and I started something up ourselves. It was good. It’s still good. But unfortunately for me, Noah still wants a shot with Lemon.

  I know she still cares for the guy.

  Hell, I care for the guy.

  He was my brother during our short tenure as family. In fact, I still very much consider Noah and his brother, Alex, family.

  I sigh over at Fiona. “I expected more out of myself as well. What’s the evidence we’re looking at?”

  “You won’t like it.” Her eyes narrow over mine as she slips on a pair of dark-rimmed glasses. “They have your car identified from the security footage from the bank across the street, but you knew that.”

  Noah nods. “And what about us walking to the morgue?”

  I know what he’s thinking. Lemon was there with us that night, and so was Carlotta. They can easily get sucked right into this nightmare along with us.

  Fiona glares at him. “I suggest you edit yourself out of any further conversations. As far as the sheriff’s department goes, they only have evidence of Essex’s presence. There’s no footage of anyone trotting to the morgue. The angle didn’t allow for it.”

  “That’s great.” Noah’s eyes widen in my direction. “We can say Everett was there doing something else. It’s just a coincidence his car was there the night Florenza’s body disappeared.”

  She looks at him through slotted lids. “He confessed. Not that it matters.” She turns my way. “They have a clear shot of you in the morgue, Essex. The alarm was disabled, but there was a camera inside. The footage is grainy. It only captures a narrow slice of the room that the victim’s body was held in. And at one point you stepped right in front of the frame. We can see you clear as day.”

  Noah hardens his stare over at me. “Did you know that camera was there?”

  “Don’t make me cross the room and beat you,” I seethe. “No, I didn’t know
the camera was there. I’m not all that hot on taking a hit, let alone doing it to save your neck.”

  “Don’t do me any favors.”

  Fiona’s chest bucks. “You should be kissing his shiny shoes, Noah. Everett is taking one firmly on the chin. He could easily have taken you down with him. I’ll talk to the judge about setting bail for you, Essex.” Her expression sours as she looks at Noah. “I’ll see about getting you released with nothing more than an internal investigation pending. They have nothing on you other than the fact the body was found in your backyard.” Her eyes sharpen over mine. “And seeing that the two of you are feuding over the same woman, it’s easy to pin that on Essex, too. Perhaps you wanted to make Noah look guilty.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “That’s not the point,” she fires back as she stands and signals for the guard.

  “What about my defense?” The question feels like window dressing in an otherwise charred out room.

  “I’ll do some digging,” she says as the guard opens the door and she steps on through before looking back over at me. “I won’t be finding any more bodies, will I?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” She points my way. “Keep it that way. I want to see you back on that bench.” She stalks on out of here, and Noah settles his angry eyes my way.

  “So you get to be the hero, huh?” His dimples dig in a moment, and the sight of them only seems to enrage me all the more.

  “I’m always the hero, Noah. And don’t worry. I’m not fishing for a thank you.”

  He nods. “I know what you’re fishing for. Lottie’s heart.”

  “I don’t need to fish for it. I already have it.”

  He bows his head a moment, but I’m not dense enough to think he’s admitting defeat.

  “Everett.” He sniffs back his emotions. “I love her. You know that. And I know in my heart that baby is mine. I want another chance with her.”

  I know that. Lemon knows that. And if that baby is his, and I’m doing time, maybe that’s what should happen. Lemon and I will drift apart. It feels almost inevitable.

  I take a seat, lean my head back against the cold concrete wall, and close my eyes.

  “No,” I tell him.

  “I’m not asking for your permission, Everett. I’m just putting it out there.”

  “Look, you’re going to be out of here soon. Don’t embarrass yourself by putting the moves on my wife.” A hard breath blows from my lips. “I want you to watch out for Evie for me.”

  He nods. “You know I will.”

  Evie is the daughter I share with Cressida Bentley, one of the many women I regrettably tangoed with. Apparently, we had a kid and she felt the need to hide that information until it suited her to present it to me—right before I was about to have her arrested for stalking Lemon.

  Cressida has made it no secret she wants me back, and I’ve made it no secret that psychotic relationship isn’t happening. I have full custody of Evie now, my beautiful, sweet, yet feisty, sixteen-year-old daughter, and I have no plans on handing her over to Cressida ever again. Not that Cressida would be gunning for the position. She dropped Evie off at a boarding school when she was a toddler and left her there to rot.

  Noah leans heavy over his knees once again. “You know I love Evie as if she were my own. I’ll make sure she has everything she needs, including my time.”

  “Good.” My teeth grind for a moment. “Take care of Lemon, too.”

  Noah doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare me down.

  “Thank you for taking one on the chin for me. You’re the big brother I never had.” His chest expands with his next breath. “I’ll take good care of Lottie for you.”

  I bet he will.

  And just like that, it feels as if Lemon and I have already drifted apart.

  Less than two hours later, Noah is free to go home and Fiona lets me know the courts here in Ashford are congested. Nobody wants to give a judge preferential treatment in fear it will cost them their own precious seat.

  I get my bail hearing in a week.

  Nope. I’m not getting an iota of preferential treatment. If anything, they’ll want to make an example out of me.

  Homicide detectives may not fare well in prison, but judges sure as hell don’t either.

  Lottie

  Less than three days have dissipated and Evie and I have dropped by the holding tank Everett is locked up in at least ten times already.

  Noah has all but moved in with me. Not that he needs to, seeing that he lives directly across the street. But he’s been staying late and coming in early and feeding us breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It’s hard to tell if he’s ever left. Not that I want him to. Everything has been such a nightmare, I can hardly hold my wits together, let alone my bakery or my household.

  Lucky for me, my mother called and asked me to whip up a dozen platters of raspberry tarts for an event taking place at her bed and breakfast. She was very specific in letting me know it’s the only dessert we’re to serve here this evening. Apparently, it’s keeping with the theme in some way.

  I tried to explain to her that I didn’t have any fresh raspberries, but she said it didn’t matter. So I used baker’s jam instead, which in my opinion is as equally delicious.

  Correction, this event isn’t taking place at my mother’s B&B. Just last week, she handed the keys to her B&B to Cressida Bentley and Cormack Featherby for less than a song. My mother is merely in charge of the event they’re hosting tonight. She’s gone from proud owner to grunt working scullery maid all in one fell swoop.

  A chill runs down my spine just thinking about it. My mother let her dubious boyfriend, Wiley Fox, Noah’s con man of a father, talk her into selling her dream in an effort to fund his dream.

  Wiley started up a publishing company a few months back in order to help my mother sell her steamy romance books, and in typical Wiley fashion, he’s turned everything into a spectacular mess. Not that there’s anything spectacular about this nightmare.

  “No freaking way!” Evie says as we pull into the parking lot of the B&B. “Look, Mom. They changed the sign.”

  “What?” I squawk as I lean as close to the steering wheel as my bloated belly will allow, and sure as heck, gone is the warm wooden signage that once read Honey Hollow Bed and Breakfast, and in its place is a large black plaque with a hot pink fancy font that reads Rendezvous Luxury Resort and Razzle Dazzle Day Spa. “Ugh, I can’t believe this. I’m going to head in there and demand they give the keys back to my mother. I have money. I have plenty of money. I’ll have them name their price. Everyone has a price.”

  Evie shrugs. “Good luck with that. Cormack and Cressi-duh both have enough purchasing power to buy all of Vermont. Who knows? Maybe they’re going to. And they’ve decided to start with Glam Glam’s B&B.”

  I glance over at Evie. She’s not wrong.

  Everly Evie Baxter shares her father’s midnight-colored locks, which flow right down her back in thick, luscious coils, and she shares his cobalt blue eyes and cunning wit, too.

  Evie has only been a part of our lives since last spring, but so far she’s enjoying her first year at Honey Hollow High. She’s made some friends, a few boyfriends whom she’s recently winnowed down to one, and she’s even made the cheer squad.

  The poor thing has been through so much already in her young life, no thanks to Cressida, her biological mother. And I’ve got a feeling Cressi-duh and her blonde bestie are about to expose her to even more horrors once we step inside their new real estate acquisition.

  “Hey, Mom? Do you think the ghosts will leave now that the ditzy duo has taken over?”

  “I hope not.”

  Evie doesn’t know anything about my transmundane abilities. Not many people do. Noah and Everett know all about them, and so does Carlotta, primarily because she happens to share my strange gift. Carlotta and I are technically supersensual, a set of powers that fall beneath the transmundane umbrella. In other words, we can see the dead.
<
br />   Spotting the disembodied among us has been an odd quirk of mine for as long as I can remember. In the past, when I used to see those ghostly visitors, I’d find them clinging nearby someone who was once near and dear to them. In the beginning, it didn’t mean much more than a skinned knee was on the horizon for the person the ghost was clinging to. But as of late, it almost always means murder.

  I park my minivan right outside the door of the glass conservatory my mother had tacked onto the B&B a while back. This very B&B is where my mother, the one who raised me, Miranda Lemon, and my saint of a father, Joseph Lemon, God rest his soul, had their honeymoon. And when he passed away all those years ago, she used the money from his insurance payout to buy the place. She sold the family home, moved in, and converted this place from a ho-hum B&B to a bona fide hot spot for all things supernatural.

  Okay, so the ghosts that haunt this place had a little something to do with that, too. But my mother played off of their spooky shenanigans like the successful businesswoman she is and sold tickets to eager tourists looking to have their socks scared right off of their toes. She charged eighty bucks a pop for what she dubbed The Haunted Honey Hollow Tour. And once she was through with them, she sent them to my bakery for what she calls The Last Thing They Ate Tour.

  And now that the B&B is out of her hands, a part of me wonders if that good time is over.

  The parking lot is teeming with cars as Evie and I gather the platters of my raspberry tarts and tread through the snow in through the back door of the conservatory.

  It’s wall-to-wall bodies in here. A tall blonde woman is having a spat with a man in an ill-fitting suit by the refreshment table, and I choose to tune them out for now.

  The music is lively, and if I’m not mistaken, French. There are food stations along the back end of the room featuring all sorts of culinary masterpieces, and oddly, the food looks so fancy, so geometrical, so microscopic, I can’t seem to identify it.

  My eyes dart around the room I’ve been in more than a hundred times and something isn’t right.