Raspberry Tart Terror (Murder in the Mix Book 30)

by Unknown

  Teddy gives my tresses a tug. “Oh, let’s look at the yarn, Lottie. We can’t just zoom in here and start with the hard questions. Carlotta says you have a bad habit of throwing the horse before the cart.”

  A choking sound emits from me. “For Carlotta’s information, that’s how you’re supposed to do it.” I head over to the shelves, pull out a couple of fuzzy mauve skeins, and sniff them. “Oh wow, these are scrumptious.”

  “Well, for heaven’s sake, don’t eat them, Lottie,” Teddy says as she hooks one of her long dark claws into the ball of yarn and I help detangle her. Since she’s a ghost and has the ability to slice right through anything, I know for a fact she’s willingly tangling herself up with the yarn.

  “But they look so delicious.” I steal a moment to snuggle with it, drawing it ever so close to my lips. “I think I’ll buy a few and see if my mother will knit me a scarf. Oh!” I chirp as another far more delicious skein catches my eye. “Look at that butter yellow. That would make the perfect baby blanket whether it’s a boy or a girl. Who doesn’t like butter?”

  “Carlotta was right. You’re as hungry as a horse twenty-four seven.”

  “What’s with all the horse analogies?” I wrinkle my nose as I pull a few fuzzy yellow skeins my way, too.

  “Say”— Teddy reaches over and gives a branch of the ficus tree a tug—“this reminds me of home.”

  “Speaking of home”—I glance through the window at the bakery across the street, and thankfully, there’s still no sign of Noah or Everett—“I’d better speed this up.”

  “You do that,” she says, slinking over to the ficus. “I think I’ll do a little reminiscing.”

  I pull a few more skeins off the shelf in that Granny Smith apple green color I plan on painting the nursery and take my loot to the counter.

  There’s a sign hung on the wall behind the register that reads to knit or not to knit? Is there really a question?

  Just below that is a slender white shelf with a row of dark Mason jars, and next to them sits a small handwritten sign that reads jams and jellies, locally sourced from Jax Farm.

  And just like that, I have a craving for both jelly and yarn.

  The teenager in question glances up from her phone before scowling over at me and hopping off her stool. Her long auburn hair hangs down to her waist, and she has delicate features and a smattering of freckles.

  “Welcome to the Social Knitwork. Will that be cash or charge?” She begins scanning the balls of yarn without so much as looking up.

  “Actually, I was hoping to speak with the owner, Juliet? We’re sort of friends. I was going to ask her advice on which yarn would go best with which project.”

  “So you don’t want them?” She stops midflight from ringing up the third skein.

  “Oh no, I do,” I say as I reach for my purse. “It’s just I thought I should get her opinion. You know, she’s the expert around here, right?”

  The girl gives a slow blink. “Juliet’s not here tonight. She’s holding a special workshop across town.”

  “Across town? Where would that be?” A mild panic sets in. How am I supposed to have a relaxing buffet with Noah and Everett and be across town at a knitting workshop questioning a suspect?

  “It’s the party with the knitwits event at the Rendezvous.” She says party with the knitwits in air quotes.

  “The Rendezvous Luxury Resort?” I can hardly believe it. “And by nitwits, I presume you mean the owners of that bawdy establishment.” That was more or less a rhetorical question.

  The girl sputters with a laugh. “The two bubble-headed blondes? They came in yesterday talking about some investigative services. Really set everyone on edge.”

  “Featherby Sleuths?”

  “That’s it.” She snaps her fingers my way. “Anyway, they wanted to schedule a private party and that’s where Juliet is tonight.”

  Just great.

  Leave it to Cormack to snag my suspect—and my mother’s B&B.

  On the bright side at least she hasn’t snagged Noah.

  A twinge of guilt rides through me for having the thought.

  It looks as if we’ve had a change of plans tonight. Noah, Everett, and I will be sharing our dinner with my mother and Wiley—and that will put me in the prime position to sneak off to speak with Juliet.

  Let’s face it, having a cop and judge in the vicinity is a great way to get a suspect to clam up.

  A whooshing sound emits from behind, and I turn around to see that silk ficus tree on the floor and Teddy immersed in a basket of yarn marked half off just south of where the ficus stood to begin with.

  “Oh dear.” Teddy flails as she struggles to untangle those knife-like claws of hers from a pile of red and pink yarn.

  The girl lets out a short yet shrill scream. “I think there’s a mouse in there!”

  The poor girl hops back on her stool and draws up her knees as I quickly run toward the melee, tossing yarn in the air as I struggle to free Teddy from the impending yarn-ageddon.

  “No mouse!” I shout over at the girl who’s gone white as toothpaste, but with a hint of anger, too. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was one step away from calling the local security guard. “I’m just loving all this yarn.” I turn back and growl over at Teddy, “You’re a ghost, for Pete’s sake. Can’t you just float out of this mess?” I hiss while getting down on my knees in an effort to free the rowdy little specter.

  “I don’t want to, Lottie. How I miss getting tangled in the vines.” She reaches up and an entire shelf’s worth of blue and purple yarn rains down over us. “Wee!” She thrashes her arms through the balls of yarn as if she was mixing a salad, and soon I’m covered head to toe in unraveled wool, and the one that needs to be detangled now is me.

  The door to the shop swings open and in burst both Noah and Everett, stopping cold in their tracks once they get a look at me.

  “Lottie?” Noah cocks his head as if he’s unsure what to make of it.

  “Lemon.” Everett’s chest expands just as the girl from the register comes up.

  “Someone’s going to have to pay for all that,” she says leaning in to inspect the damage.

  Everett plucks out his credit card and hands it over to her without ever breaking his gaze with me.

  “Thanks,” she says. “Hey? Aren’t you that hot judge? Can I get a picture with you?”

  “Sure.”

  While Everett’s off on his photo shoot, Noah helps me back to my feet just as Teddy floats between us.

  I quickly take up Noah’s hand in the event Teddy has something to say. I discovered a while back that I act as sort of a conduit for the dead if someone is holding onto me.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to go, Lottie,” Teddy says as she floats toward the door. “I’m being pulled away. It seems Carlotta is about to grill a suspect, and duty calls. I guess she was right. She is the primary supersensual in charge.”

  “She’s not in charge,” I balk. “I’m the primary!” I shout as the furry little cutie floats right through the window.

  “What’s a primary?” Noah frowns as he helps unspool me from the fuzzy mess.

  “I’m not exactly sure what the primary is, but I’m positive Carlotta is spewing lies to that poor thing, and apparently to her bingo group, too. And now she’s headed to the Rendezvous.”

  Everett steps up. “Who’s going to the Rendezvous?” he asks as he pulls me loose from the colorful ties that bind.

  “We are,” I say as I examine the disaster around me. “I might be a hot mess just like Carlotta suggested, but I’ll be darned if I’m going to let a featherhead steal my suspect.”

  Noah and Everett exchange a brief glance.

  “What?” I ask as I look to the two of them.

  Noah shrugs. “I stopped by to see my mom, and let’s just say Cormack and Cressida have made a few more changes to the B&B.”

  My lips purse at the thought. “So you’re saying I should bring Ethel?”

  Ever
ett gives a subtle nod. “And your dancing shoes.”

  Lottie

  Once we pull up to the Rendezvous Luxury Resort and Razzle Dazzle Day Spa, it becomes painfully apparent that my mother’s quaint B&B is a thing of the past. Despite the fact it’s pitch-dark out, the entire B&B seems to be glowing with a hot pink aura. There’s a large hot pink banner draped across the entry that reads Welcome to the Love Your Selfie fest! Where the fun of loving your selfie never ends! #Rendezvousluxuryresort

  “This is all my father’s fault, Lottie,” Noah says as we gawk at the new outward appearance of what was once the Honey Hollow Bed and Breakfast.

  “I will not argue with you on that point,” I say, trying my best to control my breathing and my temper for the sake of the unborn among us.

  “I’m going to kill him,” Noah adds.

  Everett shakes his head. “You should do it, Lemon. You’ve got a solid case. That man has singlehandedly ruined your life and that of those you love.”

  My chest pulsates with a quiet laugh. “Wiley should be so lucky if death is all that happens to him.”

  “I was talking about Noah.”

  I’d frown over at Everett for even suggesting it, but I can’t take my eyes off the disaster before me. What was once an overgrown white mini mansion with Roman columns and dark mahogany doors is now a bubblegum pink eyesore with flashing bulbs installed around the doorway and…

  “Are the front doors painted silver?” the words choke out of me. “Please tell me this is all some grand illusion caused by the floodlights they have pointing at the place. And why are there so many floodlights? Are they trying to be seen from space?”

  Everett blows out a breath. “I could hire a wrecking ball, Lemon. It would be an act of mercy.”

  “I don’t know,” Noah muses. “It has sort of an apocalyptic charm.”

  I let out a hard breath. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want me to sue you.”

  The three of us head on in, and no sooner do we get through the front doors than we’re met with a throng of bodies. Men and women stand about enjoying lively conversation with matching glowing pink cocktails in hand.

  “What in the heck are all these people doing here?” I ask as we try our best to maneuver around them.

  Everett turns my way. “I heard rumors there was a nightclub percolating here.”

  “A what?” I shrill, but my voice is hardly audible over the buzz of the crowd.

  The flooring has been switched out to a pink harlequin pattern travesty, and the walls thankfully are still lined with dark mahogany and unscathed from an ounce of paint, but hanging in the foyer—across from a newly installed oversized gilded mirror—are two life-size oil paintings, one of each of their tacky new owners.

  Cormack’s face looks slightly disfigured, giving her plumper lips and fuller cheeks. And Cressida looks oddly elongated with a neck that a giraffe would be envious of. They’re both wearing flashy pink dresses that show plenty of leg and plenty of boobs—far more boob than either of them actually owns.

  “Oh my word,” I growl as I look to the boisterous masses. “As if the décor wasn’t enough, everyone in here is three sheets to the wind.”

  Noah sighs. “My dad mentioned something about the liquor license being approved.”

  I spot Evie and give her a wave as she speeds in our direction.

  “Mom!” She bounces in her high heels. “Can you believe this place? It’s everything Glam Glam wishes it could have been!”

  “No, it’s not,” I’m quick to inform her. “It’s—” But before I can get another word out, one of the teenage girls by her side gasps as she looks to Everett.

  “The hot judge is here!” she shrieks, and before we know it, Everett is swept up in a mob of teenage girls and grown women alike.

  “Geez,” Noah says as he pulls me to the side in an effort not to get trampled to death. “I don’t think it matters to these women that the hot judge is currently suspended from his duties.”

  “Oh, they know.” Evie is quick to nod. “In fact, it just makes him hotter.” She sticks a finger down her throat and pretends to gag. “And sorry, Mom, but no one seems to care about the hot baker.” She shrugs. “But guess what? They really care about me. I’m up to six million followers!” She jumps and squeals before getting lost in the crowd again.

  “Six million followers?” I shake my head at Noah. “Is it safe to have six million people monitoring your every move?”

  He scowls at the crowd around us. “Nothing feels safe anymore.”

  A hand reaches out from the mass of bodies, and before I know it, I’m in Carlotta’s clutches.

  “What do you think, Lot Lot?” She holds a hand out at the travesty before us. “Welcome to the best little whorehouse in Honey Hollow.”

  I look back at Noah. “At least she’s honest. About this.” I snatch back my wrist. “Carlotta, why would you tell Teddy I was your sidekick? And are sharing your transmundane status with the people you lose money to at bingo?”

  She glowers my way. “I tell my bingo girls everything. That’s bingo code. I can’t help it, Lot. Once those numbers start jumping in that cage, it’s like a truth serum is dispersed and everyone under that roof starts spilling all sorts of secrets. I know everything about everyone thanks to my Tuesday night vice. The rest of the world might have Bambi Bailey to fill in the juicy telltale gaps, but I’ve got my bingo bimbos.”

  “Carlotta, the only truth serum circulating under that roof is whiskey. Those innocent bingo numbers have nothing to do with it.”

  “Maybe so, but I’ve got a suspect all primed and ready to go for you in the library. Come on, Lot. Dig your heels in and winnow out the killer before those nitwits beat you to it. We’re taking bets down at Red Satin to see who’ll crack the case first. I hate to break it to you, kid, but the odds aren’t in your favor this time.”

  Noah leans in. “You mean they were betting on me a few weeks back?”

  “More like betting against you. But don’t feel bad, Foxy. Lot Lot is easy money—just like she’s easy in other ways, too. Speaking of which, you’d better practice your moves. It’s almost showtime. Tonight’s the big dance-off here at the B&B. Men only. Good thing the hot judge showed. There were rumors of women looking to kidnap him. Now that he’s here, he’s safe. Mostly.”

  Carlotta whisks me off through the crowd, and before you can say psychotic socialite shenanigans, we’re in the library, or what used to be the library.

  I gasp at the sight of it. The floor-to-ceiling bookshelves are suddenly devoid of books and filled with—

  “Stuffed animals?” I balk.

  Cormack runs up with her hands swinging side to side like a child.

  “Well, it’s about time, Lynnie.” She gives me a wink. Cormack has her blonde hair in loose waves, and her celadon green eyes are full of mischief. She’s donned a gold dress with a pink scarf, and her accouterments—in combination with the stuffed animal brigade—send my nausea soaring out of the blue. “Sorry to break it to you. But I’ve already been given some very valuable information regarding who the killer is in the case of Verity Prescott, and soon I’ll have my prime suspect apprehended and behind bars where they belong. I’m afraid your days as an amateur spoof are numbered. You really should leave these kinds of things to the professionals, such as myself and the Big Boss.” She cranes her neck past me. “Speaking of which, I think I smell his cologne.” She trots off into the main artery of the B&B and my nausea subsides a smidge with her absence.

  “Stuffed animals?” I riot at no one in particular.

  The middle of the room has a cluster of chairs brought together in a circle, and I’m shocked to see more than a few familiar faces. Lainey is here, as is Keelie, her twin, Naomi, my stepsisters, Kelleth and Aspen, Britney, Noah’s ex-wife, Suze, his battle axe of a mother, my mother, Lily Swanson, Sugar Hartley, and a whole slew of other women. And each of them seems to be knitting up a storm. At this point in their projects they all
seem to be working on a scarf, but I know so little about knitting they could be pants for all I know.

  Of course, Juliet Jackowski is here going from person to person and praising their work. And right now my sights are set on her. She’s wearing jeans and a red and white knit cardigan, and yet oddly, everyone else here seems dressed to the nines, my sister and Keelie included.

  Teddy bounds over on all fours before floating up our way.

  “Welcome to the party, Lottie!” she warbles. “Pick up some sticks and get to knitting with the rest of them. Carlotta and I have already mined the suspect for all she’s worth. You just go on and enjoy yourself. Knit up a pair of booties for yourself, or better yet, the baby.”

  “Booties?” I make a face over at Carlotta. “Would you please tell this sweet little girl that you’re not the primary, whatever that means. I’m the one in charge here. Teddy, you came to help me.”

  “Not true, Lot,” Carlotta is quick to contest. “Technically, she came to help the deceased. And whether you like it or not, I’m going to be the primary sooner or later. Who do you think is going to take over once the baby arrives?”

  Juliet pokes her head our way and gives an apprehensive smile. “Everything okay here, ladies?”

  My lips part, but before I can answer, the lights flicker on and off as Cressida Bentley jumps to the center of the room.

  “All right, nitwits!” She tosses up her hands, and I do believe Cressida meant nitwits in the traditional sense. She’s just that mean. “It’s seven o’clock. You know what that means!”

  The entire inn vibrates to life as shockingly loud rock music bellows from the hall, and I look that way to see the lights have dimmed and in their place flashing pink and blue spotlights highlight the chaos as that mass of bodies starts gyrating to the music in tandem.

  “What in the hell?”