The chief comes back, and Forest takes off with a nod.
“This was your father’s.” He holds out a thick silver ring with an impression of the company’s emblem. “It slipped behind his desk. Found it when we were doing some renovating.”
“Oh my God! It’s so precious.” I touch it to my chest and close my eyes. I can see him there in my mind’s eye. His gentle blue eyes, the way his entire face lit up when any of us Lemon women stepped into the room. My father was a true gentleman, a man’s man, a sweet soul who deserved to live far longer than fate determined. “Thank you so much.” I blink back tears from my eyes. “It’s as if he’s delivering one last Christmas gift to my mother. I’ll be sure to wrap it up for her. This is truly special.”
We say goodbye to the chief and meet with Everett just as we’re about to leave.
“How did the phone call go?” My heart thumps wildly with fear. Forest all but shouted that he didn’t do it, and now I’m wondering if he did protest too much.
“Not a scratch on the fender. Everything worked out fine.”
Noah leers at him. “What kind of a euphemism is that?”
“One only the elite understand.” His chest bucks with a silent laugh. “It’s something I made up spontaneously. I realize that’s another three-dollar word for you, but it might behoove you to look that one up.” He shoots him with his finger. “The nightie will be worth it, believe me.”
Noah growls at his old stepbrother just as Everett hops into his fancy ride and takes off.
We head out, and Noah wraps his arms around me before I can climb into his truck. “You and Everett wouldn’t have happened to be looking for something on say—somebody’s fender, were you?”
My mouth opens and I’m about to tell him everything, especially now that Forest is in the clear, but then I remember that he and Ivy have already amassed hundreds of clues. I’d hate to give them something else to keep them with pizza at three in the morning.
“Nope. Not a thing.”
“Good.” His dimples dig in deep, his lids grow heavy and thick, a dangerous combination that makes all of my girl parts beg to combust. “Now about that nightie…”
“You won’t get a clue from me. You’ll simply have to make time to see me in it.” I cringe a little because it just so happens it was left in the melee at the community center. But I’m sure Keelie will be more than glad to help me hunt down a replacement.
“Is there any way to bribe you into bringing along some cookies?” That playful tone of his makes me insane to pull him into the nearest snow bank and have my way with him.
“Just cookies? I’ll bring some frosting along to make things interesting.”
“Oh, sweetie”—his voice dips low—“I will certainly frost your cookies.”
My stomach bisects with heat, and I give a soft moan.
“In that case, one of us had better find Tanner Redwood’s killer, and soon. I believe you promised me three days of heaven.”
“It’s a damn good start, and we will certainly be touching paradise.”
Noah’s dirty grin doesn’t even have time to crest before he lands those lips to mine and gives me a taste of eternally blissful things to come.
As terrible as it sounds, even in death, Tanner Redwood has found a way to infuriate me.
Well-played, Tanner. Well-played.
Chapter 7
The Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery has never seen so much foot traffic, and if this keeps up, we might just need new flooring by the new year. They’re beginning to wear a path to the register—never a bad thing. Honestly, Keelie has lent me five more staff members from the Honey Pot. Ironically, the Honey Pot’s foot traffic has decreased slightly. It turns out, with all the office parties, school parties, ugly sweater parties, tree trimming parties, and parties just to have parties, people are far more eager to pick up a box of cookies and a Yule log beforehand rather than stopping in for a nice hot meal.
By the time the bakery closes, I’m well past exhausted. But despite my aching dogs, the ones attached to my feet, my newfound dog, Dutch, and I pile into the van and head out to the Jolly Holly Tree Lot where Everett is waiting for me.
It looks as if my newfound angel of a pet with the glowing eyes is sticking around for the long haul, or at least until he figures out how to eat those cookies he drools after all day long. Pancake hasn’t exactly made peace with him yet, although in Pancake’s defense, I’m not sure he knows what it is. All he seems to realize is that there’s a disturbance in the force, and it’s trying to eat his dinner.
If, and when, we catch Tanner’s killer, it will be interesting to see what happens to my new furry friend. I admit I’m getting used to having him around. He’s ventured into places in the bakery I wouldn’t dream of letting Pancake tunnel into. And it makes me feel better when I talk to him on the drive to and from work. I don’t feel like such a loon carrying on these conversations on my own. In my defense, talking to yourself is a great way to process your day—especially if you’re detangling a murder investigation.
“You’re going to love the tree lot. Tons of open space for you to bounce around in. I sort of wish I’d brought a Frisbee along. Although, I’m not really a fan of running in the snow.”
Dutch sighs as if he wishes I were.
Once we arrive, I spot Everett right away. Dutch leaps out of the car without the use of the door and begins barking and jumping as if he’s never been outside before. He darts into the woods while I head for my favorite legal eagle. Mr. Sexy is indeed living up to that mouthwatering moniker the baristas of the world have gifted him.
“Judge Baxter. You look dapper per usual.”
“Evening, Lemon. Do you have a tree?”
“Not yet. Noah and I were—”
“About to pencil it in?” A dark chuckle comes from him. “Noah might be all about planning, but I’m all about action. I think we’re getting you a tree.”
“I can’t get a tree without Noah. You get a tree.”
“I have a tree. I keep it in a box in the attic.”
“Very funny.”
“I don’t value a sense of humor. Besides, you and I both know we’re not here for a tree, and yet without one we’re sure to arouse suspicion.”
“You’re so right!” I sling an arm around him and pull him into a partial hug. “You’re always thinking on your feet.”
Lainey let me know that Tanner Redwood’s second in command—now the head of the Parks and Recs Department by proxy—is a man by the name of Pete Winslow. Pete happens to moonlight at the tree lot, and I couldn’t pass up a chance to speak with him.
We spot him over by the register, tall and lanky with large glowing gray eyes just the way Lainey described, and the fact he has a miniature stocking attached to his chest with the name PETE scrawled over it just tipped my assurance over the edge.
“Can I help you?” He has a friendly demeanor about him, and there’s just something that makes you instantly like the guy. Pretty much the opposite of Tanner.
“Looking for a tree,” Everett responds just as chipper, and I have to admire what a good actor he can be when needed. Lord knows there isn’t a chipper bone in Everett’s body.
“Great.” Pete dives into his spiel, orienting us as to where the nobles and firs are and how much it is per foot. “We’ve been seeing a lot of nice couples just like you folks tonight. I don’t care what anyone says. This is the most romantic time of the year.”
It’s only then I realize I still have my arm frozen around Everett’s waist. In my defense, he is very warm. Have I mentioned the snow?
A low, seductive laugh belts from Everett’s chest. “She just can’t keep her hands off of me. Isn’t that right, Cupcake?”
“Cupcake?” I blink up at him, unsure of how I feel about this newly minted moniker. On one hand, it’s a very endearing nod to my profession. But on the other hand, it’s a classic putdown of the female species. “Yes, Sugar Puss. Sometimes it’s just impossible to get enough of
you.” Like when I’m in the mood to kill, or maim. I glance back to Pete. “Hey, rumor has it, you’ve lost one of your own. I’m really sorry to hear it.”
Everett grunts as if disapproving of my segue. I’ll admit, the transition wasn’t smooth, but it works in a pinch. Exactly how long does he want me to hold onto his waist anyhow?
Pete grimaces. “We lost Tanner Redwood. It was brutal. I heard there was some psychopath hovering over him with an icicle in her hand.”
“Excuse me? Psychopath?”
Everett wraps his arm around my own waist and gives a slight squeeze as if keeping me in check before leaning in. “Sounds like love gone sour to me.”
Okay, so Everett’s approach borders on brilliant, but it doesn’t change the fact I’m irate that my sanity has been called into question. Hover over one dead body and you’re in need of a straitjacket.
“I can see that happening.” Pete gives a wistful shake of the head. “That dude had more women crawling over him than ants on a dirt mound covered with honey.”
Everett bounces with agreement. “That will do it. So, which one do you think did it? I’m sure he brought a few around.”
“I don’t know. The librarian was the quiet one. But they say it’s usually the quiet ones you need to look out for.”
“Wait a minute—” An incredulous laugh belts from me. Call me psycho, fine, but paint my big sis as a killer and you’ll have another—
Everett clears his throat. “You’re right. But what about the wild ones? You know that old saying, when you hear hoofbeats in Central Park, you don’t go looking for zebras.”
“You got me there.” He scratches the back of his neck. “There’s Bella. I can’t say he’s brought her around, but she sure made several unannounced appearances, if you know what I mean. Those were closed-door visits when she popped in. Sometimes, they went on for hours at a time.” He lifts a brow to Everett as if sharing a machismo moment in honor of Tanner’s insatiable libido.
“Bella Lipmann?” I say her name with glee as if we were old friends. And I’m sure we would be—if she existed.
“Bella”—he snaps his fingers as he squints toward the sky—“Carter!” He points a finger my way. “That’s it. Young, redhead.”
“Oh, right! Bella Carter. I just saw her. My goodness where did I see her?” Playing hide-and-seek with something in Santa’s pants, but that’s another story. “Oh, she works at that place”—I snap my fingers at him as if I had a clue.
Pete lifts a hand as if he understands why I might be remiss to say it out loud. “Bazingas.”
“Bazingas?” Everett and I say in unison. It’s sort of nice to hear our voices harmonize that way.
“You know”—Pete looks around before leaning in and cupping his hands over his chest—“Bazingas.”
Everett chuckles. “It’s a restaurant in Leeds, Lemon. Need I say more?”
“No,” I flatline as the picture comes in clear. I’m guessing Everett will volunteer for Bazingas duty before the night is through. “How about that brunette? The one with short hair, cute face?” I’ve got enough on Bella. Moving on.
Pete’s face lights up. “Kelly Ferdinand. Yeah, geez. That’s another nutcase. She used to work for Parks and Rec in Ashford. That’s how we met her. Known her for years. She finally finished with her schooling.” He averts his eyes a moment. “If you could call it schooling considering her profession.”
“Oh, I know!” I say, suddenly realizing I have no clue where to go next. But it’s served me well before.
Everett warms my arm. “What’s Kelly up to these days?”
“I’m not saying it.” I give a coy laugh as if willing to guard her secret to the grave.
Pete lifts his hands. “Hey, me either.” He backs away. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
Shoot. Think quickly!
“We sure will!” I shout as if we’re about to take off. “Oh, wait, let’s not be sexist. Surely there was a guy in the mix that could have been angry enough to off the poor man.” Yes! It’s hard to go wrong when you’re playing the gender card. It’s one female against two males. I win hands down.
“That’s easy”—Pete takes a few steps toward us once again—“there’s only one dude who couldn’t stand the guy. Tim Wagner. He still thinks Tanner was the one who got him fired.”
“Was he?” It begged the question, so I had to ask.
“I guess we’ll never know.”
He takes off, and I quickly pull out my phone and take notes. Bella Carter, Bazingas, Kelly Ferdinand, big question mark, and Tim Wagner, fired and angry about it.
“All right, Lemon”—Everett nods toward the trees staring us down—“let’s pick out a good one. It’s on me.”
I take Everett up on his offer, and we end up hauling a seven-foot shaggy Douglas fir into my living room.
Still no sign of Noah’s truck across the street, and it makes my stomach sour to think about all the pizza he’s enjoying with Poison Ivy. I hope she’s lactose intolerant by Christmas. A gift from the universe to me. After all those corpses it’s sent me, I think I deserve it.
Everett helps me set the bushy tree on its base, and he even twines a string of twinkle lights on it while Pancake and I watch in wonder.
“There you go,” he says, returning to an upright position. “Holiday magic.”
“Thanks, Everett. This means a lot to me.”
“My pleasure.” He gives Pancake a quick pat over the head. “Is that all he does is hang out on the arm of your sofa all day?”
“Is there anything better?”
“Does he have his own bed? Because that might be better. Poor guy looks as if he’s about to roll right off.”
“He doesn’t need a bed. He sleeps with me.”
“At least there’s one male on the planet that can say that and it isn’t Noah Fox.” A quick rubber band grin rides on his lips.
“I’m about to throw a pillow at you.”
“Hold your fire,” he says as he heads for the exit. “And, Lemon? See you at Bazingas tomorrow night for dinner.”
Knew it.
No sooner does the door close than a scratching sound emits from the other side. I head over and open it to find the cutest overgrown Golden Retriever—albeit a somewhat haunted version panting up a storm.
“There you are,” I say, letting him in. “I wondered if I’d ever see you again.”
And yet, a part of me was certain.
I curl up on the couch with Dutch and Pancake on either side of me while I Google Kelly Ferdinand, but there’s nothing. Huh. I look up Bella and the keyword Bazingas and, sure enough, there’s page after page of her well-styled selfies. Not a hint of Tanner. Not a hint of anything but her.
I do the same with Tim Wagner, but he’s a better ghost than Dutch is. He truly is proving to be invisible.
My phone bleats, and I jump. It’s a text from Noah.
Goodnight, Lottie. I love you.
“Aww.” I can’t help but show both Dutch and Pancake the screen. Neither of which is amused. I text right back.
Love you, too. Don’t work too hard! I’m beginning to forget what you look like.
It doesn’t take but three seconds for him to respond.
Believe me, honey. Once I frost your cookies, you will never forget me.
I let out a toe-curling squeal at the thought.
All night I dream of frosting cookies with Noah.
Chapter 8
“Bazingas is on the wrong side of Leeds,” I say as Everett, Dutch, and I stand outside the questionable establishment staring up at a forty-foot neon sign of a smiling woman holding a tray in which she rests her bazingas on. Each of the aforementioned bazingas lights up in a psychedelic array of purple and green.
“Every side of Leeds is the wrong side,” Everett says, pressing his hand into the small of my back as we enter the raunchy restaurant.
“Preach it, brother,” I say taking in the cantankerous crowd. The restaurant itself is
brightly lit with booths and tables scattered about, rock music blares through the speakers, and despite the light snowfall outside, every waitress has donned a pair of jean cut-off shorts that technically qualify as a belt. An itty-bitty bikini top graces their amply endowed upper torsos, each side dotted with a purple star. And smashed over each one of their heads is a red sequin Santa hat. We’ve been wearing them down at the bakery as well, but not nearly as flashy.
“I’m not your brother,” Everett whispers. “It’s date night, remember?”
“That’s right,” I say, threading my arm through his. Everett and I thought we should come in with a story in the event someone asks questions. In the least we should be on the same deceptive page.
Dutch bounds around as if thrilled to be here. In truth, Dutch is always far too thrilled to be anywhere I take him—correction, anywhere he follows me. I’m guessing his exuberance has far less to do with the fact he’s usually Rainbow Bridge bound and more to do with the fact he’s exuberant by nature. I’ve never seen such a happy pet in all my life. Pancake is the anti-Dutch, always scowling and sleeping his days away. And in a twisted way, it’s what I love most about him. Go figure.
A string of red garland garners my attention, affixed to a faux cardboard fireplace that’s taped to the wall, and lining every inch of it are miniature stockings that bear a bevy of girls’ names—one of which is Bella.
“Everett, look. She does work here.” I point over just as a short brunette with an ear-to-ear grin comes up in her scantily clad uniform. Both her bazingas and that smile are pointed at Everett. Her nametag reads Sugar, and I can’t help but scowl at her.
She giggles into him. “Well, aren’t you a tall glass of eggnog. I bet you go down real smooth and easy.”
Everett’s chest rumbles with a dull laugh as I pull him in close.
“He’s my eggnog.” The words come out snippy, but I can’t help it. He’s not really, but a date night is involved. Besides, I don’t like the way she’s leering at him. It doesn’t feel safe. “Table for two, please? In the non-boyfriend stealing section.”
Gingerbread and Deadly Dread: MURDER ON THE MIX 4 Page 6
