“Are those books for the library?” I force my affect to brighten. Eve has always known me as a cheery person, and this isn’t the time to show my newfound suspicious side. “I’m heading that way in a bit to have lunch with my sister.” Sort of true. Although my cheeks heat as if brushed with brimstone. I have never been a good liar. There’s a reason I’m not starring in Hollywood movies.
Eve bucks a moment as her fingers spread wide. Eve Hollister has always been an animated woman. She’s exactly my mother’s age but looks as if she has ten years on her easily. Her hair is a shock of white, the bags under her eyes have evolved to full-blown suitcases the size of water balloons, and she’s made a habit of wearing too much foundation to cover up the fact, but it only seems to make the lines on her face more prominent. Time and fate have not been kind to Eve. She lost her husband early in their marriage and spent the rest of her time focusing on her children. I think that commonality bonded her and Mother more than anything else. Then last year she had a health scare that had her name at the top of every prayer chain in the state, but she powered through that just fine.
“Why yes, you may. That’s so kind of you.” She hands me the overladen tote brimming with remnants of a forest. “Have you read the book? Please feel free to take a copy for yourself and even a few for your friends.” She leans in as a silver lock swings between her forehead like a sickle.
“Oh, I have a copy and so does my sister, but I’ll ask around in the back before I get the surplus to the donation center.” I bite down hard on my lip as she hastily puts on her chenille cardigan, a deep forest green. “Say, can I ask you a question?”
“Anything.” Her head ticks back an inch, and there’s a sparkle in her blue eyes as if the attention were feeding some underling emotional need and I have no doubt it is. Eve’s children all moved to Ashford years ago, and all she’s had to keep her company are the characters in the novels she reads. According to my sister, Eve is a voracious reader.
I give a quick glance over her shoulder at my mother who seems to be engrossed in a conversation of her own. “Remember that day at the orchard—the day Merilee was killed?” I wince even bringing it up, as does she. As much as I want to come right out and ask her who that woman was standing with her that day, I don’t think it’s the best approach. “Someone said there was a woman asking the secretary about a cookie bouquet, and I think it may have been that woman you and Chrissy were with. Would you happen to know her name? I’d hate to have a customer upset with me because of a delayed delivery.”
“What woman?” Her fingers claw at the gold chain around her neck.
“You and Chrissy Nash were speaking to the Simonson sisters just as I arrived. It looked pretty heated.” Stupid, stupid me. Why would I bring that up? I’m sure Eve is working hard to forget the dirty details of that day just like everyone else. “Anyway, she was standing there with you. I thought it might be her.”
Eve straightens, stiff as a corpse. Her baby blue eyes glaze over as if she’s just seen her dead husband pop up behind me.
“Oh goodness, I can’t remember a thing about that.” She flings a black and white checkered scarf around her neck and weaves through the furniture. “I’ve got a doctor’s appointment in less than ten minutes. If you’ll excuse me, I need to make tracks.” She speeds out of the Honey Pot so fast you’d think I just threatened to set her hair on fire.
Mom comes up as the rest of the ladies clear out. “What was that about?”
“I think maybe Chrissy Nash and Eve Hollister are covering up a murder.”
Mom tips her head back and chortles as her blonde curls spring over her shoulders. She’s donned a bright orange pea coat and looks as fashionable as ever. My mother does love to dress for the seasons, and she looks every bit the autumn queen.
“Please, Lottie. Those women would no more house a murderer than you or I.” She makes a face. “And don’t worry, Lottie. I don’t believe for a minute you’re capable of doing something so heinous. Although, I might be the only one at the moment.”
“Mother.” I shudder at the thought of being the town lunatic. “That’s exactly why I need you to do me a favor, to clear my good name.”
“Anything.” She leans in and takes up my hand. “You know I’d move the moon for you.”
“Good. Because judging by your stubborn friends, you just might have to.” I fill her in on the odd conversation Eve and Chrissy were having with the Simonson sisters that day along with the mystery woman I couldn’t quite identify. And then I fill her in on how evasive both Eve and Chrissy have been. I omit the white lie Chrissy shed in a moment of discomfort. Just the thought of a murderer running free in Honey Hollow has just about everyone on edge. I can forgive her for that.
Mom’s shoulders square out, her head held high. “Don’t you worry, Lottie. I’ll have this wrapped up by this afternoon. Whoever this mystery person is, I’ll have her name to you in no time.”
“You really think they’ll open up to you just like that?” I’m afraid my mother isn’t quite aware of what her friends are capable of. It seems that no sooner did fall come around than the dark side was ushered out of everyone in this tiny part of the country.
She gives an affirming nod. “I have my ways, Lottie. I’ll have one of them singing like a canary in a coal mine by dinner. Just you wait and see.” She dots my cheek with a kiss before speeding out the door.
I hate to be the one to break it to her, but canaries in coal mines don’t usually sing. They die. And a part of me is terrified I may have inadvertently put my mother in grave danger.
Hours go by slow as molasses in January, and just as I’m beginning to think my mother’s talent of wrangling even the most delicate information from an unsuspecting person has subsided, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from my mother with just two words.
Melissa Hagan.
Chapter 13
Melissa Hagan.
After an hour and a half of relentless breakneck baking, I leave the leaf-shaped cookies on the rack to cool while I—correction—while Keelie makes a quick phone call.
“Hello?” chimes the sweet voice of a female on the other end.
I nod to Keelie with the go ahead. She’s in the know as far as who the mystery woman is. In fact, she was the mastermind of this newly hatched plan.
“Yes, hello! This is the Keelie from the Honey Pot Diner out in Honey Hollow. We had a giveaway last night for a bouquet of cookies, and the winner said she couldn’t take them. She, uh”—Keelie looks to me, baffled.
“Had a toothache,” I whisper, shrugging simultaneously.
“She had a dental issue that prevented her from enjoying the scrumptious confections. Anyway, she said she was a friend of yours and asked that we deliver them to you instead. She said we could find you in the community directory. I have you on Myrtle Drive. Is that still a good address for you?”
Keelie listens intently, her penciled in brows dipping and rising with amusement. “Oh, I see. At your mother’s.” She motions for a pen, and I quickly pull out a grease pen and some parchment for her to write on. “1631 Grand Marque, Hollyhock. Well, that’s just around the corner. I bet you’ve been down to Honey Hollow a time or two, haven’t you?”
I shake my head frenetically at Keelie. There’s no way I want to grill Mrs. Hagan over the phone.
Keelie hangs up and purses her lips at me. “She said she had to go pick up her daughter from school. I take it Honey Hollow isn’t her favorite subject.”
“Yeah, and we know why,” I say as I begin to ice the cookies in haste. “Because she just corroborated the assistant coach’s story. I guess Noah Fox really knows his stuff.”
“I do know my stuff.”
Keelie and I turn abruptly to find a sober-faced Noah Fox darken the entry to the kitchen, all decked out in a suit, which reminds me—he is supposedly Everett Baxter’s brother. For some reason, that familial connection just doesn’t seem to fit.
“Care to say it to my face?” He gives a bra
zen smile, and my blood begins to boil just seeing it.
“You took my note, and you told me to stay out of your investigation. I don’t see a single reason for you to smile in my presence. And by the way, last I checked, the investigation belongs to the Ashford Sherriff’s Department.”
His chest pumps with a slow breath. “I happened to walk in just as you mentioned Mrs. Hagan corroborated the assistant coach’s story. Therefore, it’s safe to say you’re not staying out of anyone’s investigation.”
“What note?” Keelie looks to me confused, and my mouth opens, ready to spew a half-truth, a lie, anything at all, but nothing comes out.
Noah heads over. “Somebody threatened Lottie last night.” His eyes settle over mine, and an unexplained calm settles over me. “I followed you home just to make sure you were safe.”
“You followed me home?” It comes from me astonished. “And you were eavesdropping in on a private conversation just now. You’re out of line.” My voice piques with anger. “You are a certified stalker, Detective Fox.”
“Eavesdropping and following people happen to be in my job description.” His own voice hikes a notch, as those serious eyes remain trained on mine. And then at the drop of a hat he softens. “But you’re right. I was out of line, and I apologize. I care about you as a person. I don’t want you to be the next victim that this maniac might butcher.”
“Aww.” Keelie’s shoulders sag on cue as she coos into him.
“Fine.” I box up the cookies—two sunflower yellow, two pumpkin orange, and two verdant green—and tie them up with twine. For the bakery that’s to come next door, we’ve ordered pale pink boxes, unbleached boxes with windows as well, and I’m dying to see them. “I’m headed to Hollyhock.” I shoot Noah a look sharp enough to pin him to a wall. “I suppose since you’ll follow me there, I might as well hitch a ride and save some gas.”
He sheds a crooked grin, that devilish gleam in his eyes shining right through. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He heads out the front door, and I take a moment to glare at my gloating bestie.
“Don’t worry, Keelie. I won’t do anything you would do,” I tease.
Her brow hooks into her forehead. “Why don’t you do the opposite of what you would normally do and give us something to talk about for once?”
“You wish,” I say, taking off after him.
“You wish!” she calls after me. “The best part is, you can make your wishes come true!”
* * *
The drive to Hollyhock is thick with silence. I can’t remember the last time I was in a car with someone else, let alone someone else who happens to harbor an extra body part or three in his pants.
“There it is,” I say as we come upon a log cabin style home. “1631 Grand Marque,” I say as my heart vibrates straight through to my bones. I go to open the door, and Noah lands a hand over mine.
“Let me do it. If she’s the killer, she won’t take too kindly when you start asking questions. Trust me, whoever did it is paranoid right about now. I don’t think that was your traditional psychopath. That looked like a classic crime of passion.”
The slight look of pleading in his eyes tenders me into relaxing back in my seat a moment.
“But I’m a woman and she’s a woman. Trust me, she’ll feel a lot more comfortable seeing me on the other side of the door than a man with the body of a wrestler.”
His head tips back, and I can practically see his ego going off like an airbag. “Wrestler, huh? Pro or high school?”
“Definitely pro.” I shake my head at his willingness to have his ego stroked. And seeing that he’s a man, I’m betting he’s eager to have something else stroked as well.
I suck in a quick breath as I pull my head straight from the gutter. It’s not Noah’s fault he’s a stunning specimen of a man. But, unfortunately, he is squarely to blame when it comes to controlling that stubborn steak that seems to be embedded into his soul.
“Look”—I say, getting out of the truck—“if you stay in the car like a good doggy, I might just give you a treat.” My fingers clasp over the door as I’m about to shut it. “I’ll let you know what I’ve garnered in my investigation.”
“Exchanging notes. I like that.” His eyes light up, and I can’t help but think he’s mocking me somehow. I shut the door, not nearly as enthusiastically as I want to, and make my way up to the cute little cottage with its chimney chugging powder gray smoke into the air. A bed of auburn and butter yellow mums lines the walkway, a ghost white pumpkin sits on the porch giving it a warm inviting feel, and two twin wreaths comprised solely of acorns decorate the front doors.
I give the doorbell a quick buzz, and it takes less than ten seconds for a watery figure to emerge behind the frosted glass. The door swings open, and a petite brunette with her hair in a bun smiles wide.
“Oh my goodness! You must be from the Honey Pot. Come in and set those down. I was just planting some flowers out back, and I’m afraid I have soil all over me.” She leads me through an impeccably beautiful interior with pale wood floors. A giant fake bear rug lies draped over a leather sofa in the living room, and there’s a flannel moose head hanging over the fireplace. She leads us into an expansive kitchen filled with enviable stainless steel appliances, commercial grade, and a kitchen island made of powder white marble. “I bet it was my good friend Chrissy who sent them. She’s been nothing but a rock for me.”
Chrissy Nash!
“Oh? Did something happen?” I try to sound shocked and concerned as if I’m just hearing about a disturbance in her life. Not that I know her enough to warrant such a reaction, but we’re all human. In that sense, it’s totally compassionate of me to be concerned. “I mean, your family is okay, right?” Too close to home? I can’t help it. She walked into that one.
“It’s nothing like that.” She rinses her hands under the sink before patting them dry on a towel. “Actually, I guess it very much is something like that. My husband thought it was a good idea to run out and find himself a girlfriend.” She rolls her eyes as if it were one of those annoying things that husbands eventually get around to doing. “Other women might have been more tolerant, but I’m not that kind.” She takes the cookies from me and pulls off the twine with minimal effort. I’m always careful not to wrap anything too tight. I figure if you purchase something as delicious as this you want to tear into it and not have to fight your way through aggressive packaging. “Would you look at that?” Her entire face brightens. “These are adorable. I think I’ll save them for the kids. Let me give you something for the trouble.”
“Oh no, please don’t.”
She gives a quiet laugh as she pulls her purse from off the counter and quickly rummages through it. “Looks like I don’t have any cash on me.” She pulls out a couple of orange rectangular coupons. “How about tickets to a football game out in Ashford? I seem to have a plethora of those.” She glares at the tickets as if they were her cheating husband before passing them to me. “It’s high school ball, but some people get a kick out of that. No pun intended. They’re for tonight.”
“Prefect.” I run my fingers over them as if they were made of gold. “I mean, I think I’ll really enjoy seeing the game, and I know just the friend I’ll bring with me.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” she says, walking me to the door.
I step back out into the autumn chill and tug at my flannel as the frigid air licks my skin.
I take another look at the poor woman whose husband left her for Merilee Simonson, or at least attempted to.
“I’m really sorry about your husband. Maybe there is no girlfriend?” I shrug because I happen to know that technically there isn’t a living one, at least not Merilee. “I mean, maybe there’s a shred of hope of putting your family back together. You never know, right?”
Her entire frame stiffens as she shoots a cold glance into the forest across the street. “There isn’t a girlfriend anymore, that’s for sure. And I for one am damn glad about it, too.” Her lips pu
ll back into a malevolent smile, and my blood runs cold at the sight.
“Did you know her?” My heart thumps erratically. My hands begin to shake. “The girlfriend?”
She looks past me once again, her stare strangely vacant as she continues to glare across the street. “I met her once. That was all I needed.”
“All you needed.”
The door slams shut between us with a violent bang, and I stand there stunned a moment before getting back to the truck.
“I hope you don’t have any plans tonight,” I say, breathless, as I put on my seat belt. “I’m taking you to a football game.”
He twitches his lips as if considering a smile. “Sounds like a date.”
“It’s not,” I assure him.
“Fine. I hope you don’t have any plans this afternoon. I’m taking you to grab a quick bite.”
“Sounds like a date.” I shake my head wistfully.
“It’s not.” He gives a lazy wink as he pulls out onto the road. “I just happen to be hungry.”
* * *
Noah and I pick up a couple of sandwiches at the Hollyhock Deli before heading to the park that overlooks a golden meadow. The wheatgrass below lights up like a fire as the sun begins to dip behind the thick pines on the mountain in the distance. A single lone oak with its leaves red as a blaze sits all by its lonesome in the vast expanse like a burning bush.
“So tell me about your brother.” I can’t help but bite down over my lip as we sit on a bench with a premier view of autumn’s splendor.
“Everett.” He closes his eyes a moment and takes a breath. “He’s not my brother. Not really. He’s my stepbrother. Used to be anyway.” He takes a bite out of his sub, and I can’t help but note the way his jaw clenches and grinds in an angular manner that only seems to add to his comeliness. One thing is for sure. I’ve never quite met a man like Noah Fox—or his stepbrother for that matter.
Cutie Pies and Deadly Lies: Murder in the Mix 1 Page 10
