I go with another option entirely and glower over at Everett once again. “I hope you’re happy,” I pant as I try my best to reel in my newfound rage. “You’ve opened a can of worms that neither of us can ever shut.” My voice raises an octave and heads turn this way. “I have to get out of here.” I turn to leave, and Noah gently pulls me his way.
“What’s happening? Lottie, I want to help you.”
I glance to Dutch and those laser red eyes. “Neither of you can ever help me.”
Noah brings Everett forward with a violent yank. “What is it that you’re privy to and I’m not? It’s about her, isn’t it? The girl I supposedly stole from you. Lottie is nothing more than revenge on your part. It all circles back to that night and the fact you had your ego blown to pieces by some girl over a decade ago.”
“Some girl?” Everett muses. “I’m sure she’d love to know you’ve reduced her to less than a pronoun.”
“Lottie is my girl—and you stay the hell away from her.”
Everett slams his hands into Noah’s chest and sends him stumbling into the table behind us, knocking glasses to their sides, customers bolting upright and screaming.
I don’t stick around for the rest of the show. Instead, I run out the door and into the frozen December night with both Noah and Everett on my heels.
They call my name out as I head across the street to the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery. Yelling ensues as they argue amongst themselves.
“You stay here,” Noah barks at Everett. “You don’t get to do this.”
Footfalls come in fast from behind, and before I can open the door to my van, Noah’s hand lands gently over mine.
I turn and look into those heavenly eyes.
“You don’t have to tell me, Lottie. Not unless you’re ready. And if you’re never ready”—he swallows hard as if already regretting what comes next—“then I guess I don’t have to know.”
I shake my head just enough. My hand rises to his prickly five o’clock shadow. “You said the right words, Noah. But it will eat you up inside, the not knowing.”
“Lottie, I love you—in fact, you’re the love of my life. But what could be so horrible that you wouldn’t want to share it with me? I would never judge you.”
“I know.” I say a quick goodnight, jump into the van with my invisible dog, and take off.
Noah was right. Everett wedged his way between us, but not in the way Noah thought he would. I don’t believe Everett meant to ruin things for Noah and me.
I can’t blame Everett. I knew he was holding a live—or in my case a very undead grenade. I was the one who handed it to him.
It was only a matter of time before it went off.
I suppose the only way out of this mess is to tell Noah.
Dutch catches my eye, and I shake my head.
There’s not a ghost of a chance.
Chapter 15
Somehow, last night, after that fiasco at Mangia and before I cried myself to sleep, I managed to convince Margo from the Honey Pot Diner to open the bakery for me—and bake a couple dozen breakfast goodies that I usually have hot and ready for the early crew of patrons. I apologized up and down and swore it would never happen again, but she was more than fine with it. She mentioned something about leaving for the holidays with her husband Mannon in a few days, and this would give her an opportunity to get some baking in for her family as well. Margo and Mannon are the Honey Pot Diner’s five-star chefs that eschewed city life for our cozy small town.
Pancake and Dutch watch my every weary move as I caffeinate myself, shower, dress, put my face on, caffeinate myself again and again in hopes to get my bearings on a day that’s started without me.
I’m just about to drain coffee number five when I spot a woman in a green jacket run up Everett’s porch. Probably another ex. Hey? Maybe I’ll be witness to a good old-fashioned egging? That would be fun. Maybe I can convince her to egg Noah’s house, too? I’m sure he’ll be my ex in no time. On second thought, maybe I can get her to throw a couple of eggs at me. Maybe that will be the cure I need to get me off the supernatural express.
Dutch whimpers as if he understood.
“You’re the best,” I say it sad and forlorn as I give him a scratch behind his ears. And I’m just about to do the same for Pancake when the woman in the green jacket bolts back down Everett’s steps with a package in her arms. What’s this? A delivery gone bad? Funny, she didn’t come up with a package.
The package thief!
“Stop!” I roar as I bullet out of the house. “Stop, thief!” I scream at top volume.
The woman looks over, her eyes wide with surprise. That oversized package looks cumbersome in her arms. She glances around the vicinity until she spots a couple of taillights floating down the street, and she takes off in that direction.
“Hey!” I shout as Dutch bounds ahead of me in her direction. “Stop right there! This is a citizen’s arrest!” But she’s already halfway to her fickle getaway vehicle and my feet slow down as the sidewalk grows slick.
Dutch comes up on her and leaps right through her back. The woman jerks and seizes as if she felt the supernatural disturbance, and the package goes flying a good three feet above her head. But Dutch never hits the ground. He remains there, frozen midair, his entire body bursts into a brilliant flash of light before he detonates in a plume of smoke, evaporating to nothing.
“Dutch!” I cry out in grief. All of the pain, the agony that I’m embroiled in, roars out in that one vocal cord shredding burst. It’s horrible enough to feel as if I’ve lost both Everett and Noah. Losing Dutch feels like the final blow.
A man in a dark suit rips past me and practically tackles the woman in the green jacket before she can make her escape. The getaway vehicle jerks a few times before peeling out of the neighborhood, the tires squealing in its wake.
“Lot!” He turns to me, and it’s then I realize it’s Noah. “Call 911!”
I speed back to the house and dial for help as fast as I can. No sooner do I put my coat on and head back out than the sheriffs close in, three cars strong, and the woman in the green coat is taken away as if she was never here.
The package lies on its side, abandoned on a neighbor’s front lawn, and I snatch it up while Noah finishes up speaking with the deputy.
He jogs up alongside me. “Hey”—those soulful eyes penetrate me a moment before he lifts the package from my arms—“let me get that.”
“I’ll take it home. I won’t be able to focus today if I know we left it outside just waiting for another thief to come along.”
“Hopefully, that won’t happen. And on a bright note, you may have just busted that package theft ring.”
I can’t help but shoot a wry smile to Noah. “The driver got away in the event you didn’t notice.”
“Silver Buick. Ninety-eight. My dad drove one. I got half the plate, so hopefully that will help. But you’re right. In the meantime, we should remain vigilant.” He hikes the package in the air a couple of inches.
We pause at the base of my porch, and that forlorn look in his gorgeous eyes says it all.
“Lottie, let me set it down.” His dimples dig in, no smile, and he’s got me in more ways than he could ever imagine.
I lead us up the stairs and into the living room. Noah sets the package on the coffee table and looks up slowly at the Douglas fir Everett helped me schlep inside as I seal the door shut behind us. No Dutch and it stings, but I’m hopeful he’ll make another supernatural reprisal sooner than later.
“You got a tree.” There’s a marked sadness in his voice. “It’s beautiful.” Noah comes over, his arms landing around my waist just as Pancake lets out a rawrr of approval. Or disapproval, but personally, I like the former option. “Everett?” He ticks his head back toward the Christmas tree, that ever-growing sadness prominent in his eyes.
I give a quick nod.
“I’m just glad you have one.” He swallows hard, making his Adam’s apple rise and fall dramatically.
“Lottie, I meant what I said last night. You are the love of my life, and if there’s something you’re not comfortable sharing with me, I’m okay with it. It has no bearings on my feelings for you—no bearings on us. But what I’m not okay with is letting it get between us. Everett let me know that whatever it was, you weren’t enthused to share it with him. He said it was something shy of blackmail, the way he wrangled it from you. I’m sorry about that. But I’m not sorry that Everett is showing his true colors.” His hands gently cup my face. “Last night was misery. It was a knife in my chest to know that I had upset you. Forgive me, Lottie. There’s nothing more that I want than to move on.”
My shoulders bounce. “Trust me, there’s nothing to forgive. And it’s me who feels terrible.” I bite down hard over my lower lip in an effort to keep my emotions in check. “Did you mean what you said? The fact I have a secret has no bearings on us?” It almost hurts to look him in the eyes. The fact I have a secret from the love of my life is stifling. It’s a horror, and I can’t imagine how Noah and I will jump through this ring of fire and survive, but I’m hopeful.
His hands warm my back as he presses me closer. “No bearings whatsoever, I promise. It won’t be mentioned again.” He drops a kiss over the top of my head before pulling back to get a better look at me. “Did I hear you call out dutch out there?”
My mouth opens as if something useful were actually about to come out, and his brows knot with concern before smoothing over.
“This wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with that which won’t be mentioned, does it?”
“I—uh…” A guilty shrug rises and falls on my shoulders.
“Then it’s not necessary.” His gaze softens as he takes me in. “You’re beautiful and you’re sweet and kind. You are everything I’ve ever wanted. I just need to know you’re mine.”
“I’m yours.” I don’t hesitate with the words. “All of me, even the unspoken parts. They all belong to you, Noah.”
His chest expands right along with his lips. They land on mine, and he takes my mouth. Noah pours his heart, his soul, his every I’m sorry into that one luscious exchange. It says wait for me. Be patient, our time will come. Here is a taste of what I have to offer.
A soft moan works its way up my throat as I leash my arms around his neck. Sometimes you know something to be beautifully true, and Noah and I are that truth. Innately, we are simply right and meant to be.
This man right here has been my destiny all along.
This much I know is true.
Now, if only we can catch that killer and exchange the best gifts of all this holiday season—each other.
Chapter 16
Honey Hollow is beautiful year-round, but the splendor of the holidays only seems to highlight its beauty. And because of that beauty, the Lemon family is rife with traditions. In the spring, we picnic in the countryside. In the summer, we spend endless lazy days by Honey Lake. Fall brings a riot of color in all of the surrounding trees, and we bask in the rich bounty from the earth. Winter, well, winter reigns supreme as she ices the housetops with glittering snow, but it’s the yearly trip to look at the holiday lights with my sisters that I look forward to the most.
Lainey holds the screen of her phone out the window as we travel through neighborhood after neighborhood sharing the magic of the lighted holiday displays with our sister Meg. Meg is one year younger than me, and miles stronger as evidenced by her successful run on the Vegas female wrestling circuit. Her onstage, or should I say in ring persona is called Madge the Badge, complete with jet-black dyed hair down to her rear, and haunting yellow contacts, which I’ve only recently noticed have a line running vertically down the iris like that of a cat. Meg is a riot, good-natured, and a lot of fun to have around in general, so I don’t mind the fact that I’ll be adding a new leg to our adventure tonight. In fact, I think she’ll rather enjoy it.
“Farmington Way?” Lainey shoots me a look before getting back to the task of holding the phone out the window. It’s a balmy thirty degrees out, and even though I assured Lainey it would be fine to roll up the window, she insisted on nothing but an unobstructed view for our saucy little sis. “Hey, turn this train around. There’s only one more house coming up, and it’s dark. This is getting depressing.”
“The holiday light tour is over. We’re starting a new tour,” I say as I park just shy of the driveway.
“What kind of tour?” Lainey sounds as if she’d rather alphabetize every book in the entire library all over again rather than go along with anything I have planned.
“Relax,” I say, unclicking my seat belt. “It’s just a quick stop. Ned Sweeny invited me up to see his vast and impressive wooden doll collection.”
Meg breaks out into a hyena-like laugh. “Holy smokes!” She digs her pinkies into her eyes to stop the spontaneous flood of tears. “Some guy asked you to his place to see his woody, and you bring your sister along for the ride? I’m betting those boyfriends of yours don’t know about this dude. Who would have thought little Lot would be gunning for a dating roster? If you get seven, you can rotate one each night.”
Lainey scoffs. “Stick with six. Take a night off, sister.”
“I only have one boyfriend,” I’m quick to correct. “Not plural. Just the one and his name is Noah.”
Meg leans into the camera. “Have you seen his woody?”
“Would you”—I bat the phone away—“No, but I will. And that’s none of your business, by the way.”
Meg grunts, “Mom says you’ve got two of ’em. She says you’re juggling a detective and a judge. Way to cover your bases if you ever get busted for a felony.”
I avert my eyes at the thought, but hey, she’s got a point.
“Come on.” I nudge Lainey to get out, and she begrudgingly follows me up the walkway to the Sweenys’ enormous home. It has a medieval appeal, all dark wood and wrought iron, stone siding with ivy climbing up to the second level. As far as holiday displays go, it has nothing but a simple string of clear lights running along the lower level. The north end of Honey Hollow is definitely the ritzier side of town. The only person I know that lives out here is Mom’s friend, Eve Hollister.
We come up on the beveled glass entry, and I ring the doorbell and wait several minutes but nothing. I ring and knock and give a polite yoo-hoo before Lainey pulls me away.
“Take a hint. They’re either not home or wish we would go away,” she hisses because she clearly wishes we would go away, too.
Meg tee-hees from the other end of the phone, and I take a moment to scowl at both of them.
“Go on, Lottie”—Meg whispers as if she needed to—“why don’t you bust the door down? What’s a little breaking and entering to a girl like you? I bet you’ve got the entire Ashford County Sheriff’s Department in your back pocket. And if they show up, simply tell ’em you got a personal invite to see Mr. Sweeny’s woody.” She bursts out with the choo-choo train laugh she used to employ while shooting soda out of her nose when we were kids. Like I said, Meg has always been a real riot. Note, I am not laughing.
“I’m not busting down the door,” I say as I back up and inspect the mega mansion. Save for the porch light, the rest of the house is dark. It’s clear no one is home. Or to Lainey’s point, faking it.
Hey? Didn’t Ned mention that his study was downstairs? A four-car garage eats up the left side of the house with a simple pine wreath over each door.
“It must be this way,” I whisper as I lead us to the right.
“What must be this way?” Lainey gasps. “Lottie, we’re trespassing on someone else’s property. They shoot people for less than this!”
“Nobody is going to shoot you,” I hiss as I make my way to the corner of the enormous structure. A large window sits curtainless, exposing a dark cave beyond our visual reach, so I do the only thing I can think of. I turn on the flashlight to my phone and shine it inside.
“Oh my God!” Lainey barks unexpectedly. “What the heck are you doing? People are going
to think we’re thieves!”
“We’re not thieves.” I make my way around to the side of the house, and I can hear Meg giggling herself into a conniption.
“Breaking and entering!” Meg cackles. “Knew it!” It sounds as if she’s slapping her knee.
Lainey growls at the phone. “Oh, hush. You do realize that if we’re caught, you’ll be an accessory to a crime.”
“Lottie Kenzie Lemon!” Meg’s voice riots into the night. “Get off that man’s property and go find that boyfriend of yours to show you his vast and impressive woody!”
And on that note, Lainey clicks off the phone.
The side window is at just the right height for me to reach for it on my tiptoes, and as I glide my fingers over the glass, sure enough, it moves. I wince a little after the fact because I just realized I left my fingerprints all over them like a calling card.
“It’s open,” I whisper. “I’m going to need a boost.”
“What? Are you insane? I’m not giving you a boost.”
“You want to go home, don’t you? Besides, I’m not insane. I’m not going inside. I’m just going to poke my head into the window, and we’ll be out of here in no time.”
“Oh My God. The things I do for you. I sure hope you have a Cadillac waiting for me under the tree come Christmas morning.” She threads her fingers together, and I step over her palm like the wobbly step it’s proving to be.
“Would you hold still?” My voice warbles as I do my best to get the window to budge and, sure enough, it opens with a yawn. The harsh smell of mothballs and that pine-scented wood cleaner my mother douses the B&B with clots up my nostrils. This must be the right place. I shimmy up onto my elbows and poke my upper torso inside. It takes a coordinated effort to shine my light into the cavernous space and—
A strangled scream gets locked in my throat as a million smiling faces stare back at me. The whites of their unnaturally large eyes glisten like warning beacons, and a gripping fear seizes me, causing me to lose my balance and nosedive inside.
Gingerbread and Deadly Dread: MURDER ON THE MIX 4 Page 12
