I know Everett doesn’t believe in luck, bad or good. And I also know he’s trying his best to help Noah pump his old friend for info.
Bridger looks to Noah. “But he died from natural causes, right?”
I shrug over at him. “It could have been a double murder, or even a serial killer.”
Bridger turns his head, his eyes still pinned on mine. “Serial killer? I bet that’s what it is. A serial killer right here in Honey Hollow. Who was the other man that passed away?” He directs the question to Noah.
“A man by the name of Rooster. He was poisoned, injected with a toxin,” Noah says. “So I guess I do have two homicides on my hands to investigate.”
“And don’t forget the ATM robberies,” I tell him. “You’ll need to clone yourself to get it all done.” And since he can’t, he should be thrilled that he has me to help him. Although Noah is seldom thrilled by the fact.
Noah shakes his head. “I might have to bow out of the task force.” He looks to Bridger. “I’d like to say there’s a big bust coming down the pike for the robbers out there cleaning out ATM machines left and right, but I think I have a better chance of solving this double homicide than that happening.”
“Double homicide.” Bridger fumbles for words. “I don’t know what to say. I guess that’s pretty incredible.” He tips his head back and nods. “And—I bet you’re right. There might be a serial killer on the loose.”
I know neither Noah nor Everett believes that. I certainly don’t. One was a mob hit and the other—well, Clark’s death is more of your run-of-the-mill homicide. That is, if a homicide can ever fall under that classification.
Leo twitches his head my way, and his yellow eyes glow like ambers. “So where is his ghost?”
“His ghost?” I ask lower than a whisper while trying to make heads or tails of Leo’s question, then it hits me.
Where is his ghost…
Rooster would be the subject in this equation.
Huh, that’s strange. Where is the ghost that should be helping me solve Rooster’s case?
On second thought, after getting to know Rooster, maybe he didn’t really love anyone at all, furry or human. I mean, that is the criteria. The one who the murder victim cared for the most—typically a pet, shows up to help nail down the killer. I guess Rooster’s death will have to remain a mystery. Either that or the Ashford Sheriff’s Department will have to kick into high gear and solve it. Lord knows I can’t be bothered with it. Unless…
Oh my word, what if whoever snuffed the life out of Rooster is the same person who is about to fill my beautiful husband’s body with bullets?
Good grief. Now I’m practically obligated to hunt down Rooster’s killer.
There you go. I’ve just doubled my pleasure, doubled my fun.
But I’m not going to bother to say anything to Noah or Everett. They’ll just try to double up their efforts to stop me.
Noah’s chest expands a moment. “Bridger, I know that Clark must have been on the dark side of the lake securing the site of his garage sale. Can I ask where you were? Did you see anything at all that might help out?”
Bridger tips his head back and forth.
“Careful,” Leo says. “A rock is liable to fall out of his ear. Sammy always said Bridger’s head was full of them.”
A tiny laugh lives and dies in my chest. Leo is a riot even though he’s not trying to be. I really appreciate his dry wit. If you ask me, that’s the best kind of humor.
Bridger sniffs. “I was on the south side myself enjoying the fireworks with everyone else. But I knew Clark would be securing the site, so as soon as the show ended I headed that way. I’m sorry, I didn’t…” He stops mid-sentence and takes a deep breath. “Wait a minute. Just as the show was starting, Sammy flagged me down. She asked where Clark was. I thought it was strange at the time. I mean, they never exchanged two words, not in years anyway. But I did tell her where she could find him.”
Noah nods. “And she was the first person on the scene.”
Everett shakes his head. “If she did it, I doubt she’d be the first person on the scene. She’s a smart woman. I think she’d steer clear, at least in the beginning.”
Bridger purses his lips at Everett as he contemplates this. “You always were the smart one, Everett. You’re right. Honestly, Noah, if you really want to kick-start your case, I’d talk to Betsy Monroe.”
“Betsy?” Everett inches back as if he couldn’t see the connection.
“You must know her.” Bridger nods. “She works down at the courthouse, court reporter. She used to moonlight at one of the antique shops Clark owns. I don’t know what was going on, but one night I caught the two of them going at it. All I know is she must have done something very wrong because she pleaded with him not to call the sheriff’s department on her. It sounded serious. He told her to never darken his doorway again. And that was the last I ever saw of her at the antique shop. But I did see her at Honey Lake the night of the murder.”
Everett takes a deep breath. “She was there. I spoke with her.”
“Thank you, Bridger,” Noah says. “I’ll be sure to speak with her. Maybe I can get her to open up and tell me what that was about.”
We finish up dinner and Bridger takes off, citing the fact he needs to be at the lake at the crack of dawn to start the massive garage sale still going strong. He anted up at the register, so we’re free to leave, too.
A couple of men seated a few tables away garner my attention. They’re both dressed in suits, matching goatees, matching serious expressions, and they don’t hide the fact they’re glaring in our direction.
“Do either of you see those men?” I ask, hitching my head casually their way.
Everett nods. “They sat down five minutes after we did.”
Noah glances their way. “I saw them, too. They’ve been making me twitch all night. I guess we need to get those briefcases back where they belong.”
“You get yours back,” Everett tells him. “Mine is missing a few hundred thousand dollars. I’m pretty sure Luke isn’t interested in the luggage alone.”
Noah’s mouth opens and he pauses.
“What is it?” Everett grouses. “Don’t make me shake it out of you.”
Noah gives a long blink. “I forgot to mention that the night I went to Evergreen, I saw my dad and Miranda leaving the manor.”
“What?” I shake my head. “What did they say?”
“Nothing. I didn’t confront them. Your mom was buttoning her blouse. They looked a little wrecked. I’d like to think they were merely having a tryst.”
Everett growls hard. “As opposed to cleaning out the loot from my briefcase? Noah, you should have taken care of this the very first night.”
“It’s only been a few days,” I point out. “That is, if Wiley took the money. And believe me, my mother is clueless. He probably had his way with her in some dark corridor, took off and did the deed on his own, and she was none the wiser. My mother is an innocent lamb—at the slaughter.”
Noah’s dimples dig in. “I’d like to think my father has nothing to do with this.”
Everett’s chest bucks. “Your father is the reason you have a bullseye on your forehead—and so do Miranda, Lemon, and Lyla Nell by proxy.”
“I’ll talk to him tomorrow.” Noah shoots a look to those mobsters that says he, too, is ready to kill.
Sergio comes over. “Sorry, guys.” He glances to the men in suits. “But I don’t want any trouble. I think maybe for your own safety and the rest of the customers, you should leave.”
Sergio seems to be in the know enough to sense a potential massacre in our midst.
We take off, and no sooner do we get outside than Carlotta and Charlie stumble out the door after us.
“I saw ’em,” Charlie says as she struggles to catch her breath. And I have no doubt her breathlessness has more to do with those jerky, twerky dance moves than her jaunt over. “Those men, they belong to Manny Moretti.”
She should know. She d
ated Manny just a few months ago. From what I understand, Manny would have offered Everett protection once again against Jimmy’s hit, but as a payment he wanted Everett to get Charlie to date him. It was a no-go.
Noah and Everett exchange a look. No doubt that news threw them for a loop.
“Come on, Cha Cha.” Carlotta yanks Charlie over to her as she navigates her toward the parking lot. “We can’t hang around with this crowd out in the open. They’ve got the Grim Reaper on his toes. It was nice knowing ya, Foxy and Sexy.”
“What about me?” I ask.
“What about you?” Carlotta juts her chin out. “There you go again. Always trying to make it about yourself.”
“And I want my cat,” Charlie snips, and Leo leaps from the middle of my chest and wraps himself around her shoulders like a stole.
“Geez,” I say as I press a hand to the spot he just materialized from. “I will never get used to that.”
“I don’t plan on getting used to a lot of things either,” Noah says. “Starting with this Moretti business. I need to talk to Jimmy.”
“I’ll go with you,” I volunteer.
“No,” Everett bites the word out.
“But I can help,” I offer.
“You can make things worse”—Everett doesn’t miss a beat and our eyes lock with a fury—“for yourself, for Lyla Nell, for Evie—by getting yourself killed.”
Noah steps in close to Everett. “Mind how you speak to her.”
Everett grabs ahold of Noah’s shirt again. “This is all your damn fault.”
Charlie snickers. “I knew if we left too soon we’d miss the show.”
“He’s right, Lot,” Noah says as he attempts to shield me with his body, but I don’t take my eyes off Everett.
“I’m going with him,” I say. “Jimmy responds to me in a positive way.”
“You are not going with him. Do you hear me?” Everett is unrelenting with his harsh tone, and his heated emotions are palpable.
That vision Nell shared with me over a week ago flits through my mind and my own fury burns anew.
“You don’t tell me what to do,” I seethe. “You don’t know what I know.”
Everett ticks his head back a notch. “What do you know, Lemon?”
My mouth opens and closes. I cast a threatening glance to the peanut gallery in the event Carlotta or my sister decides to have a sudden case of loose-lips-itis.
“That I love you,” I tell Everett. “I love you both, and I’ll do anything to protect you. Just you try to stop me.”
Noah’s phone goes off in his pocket, and he pulls it out and groans hard as he looks at the screen.
“What is it?” I ask in a panic. This entire night has me on edge.
“It’s Rooster,” he says. “He’s—alive.”
Both Carlotta and Charlie let out a horrific howl.
“I told you he was wicked,” Carlotta says, yanking Charlie off toward the parking lot. “Come on, Cha Cha. We’d best stock up on holy water while we still can.” She turns back our way. “You can’t kill evil.”
Noah, Everett, and I exchange a look because in this case, Carlotta just might be right.
Lottie
The next afternoon Noah and I make tracks to my mother’s B&B.
Noah dropped Lyla Nell and me off at the bakery this morning while he ran to the sheriff’s station down in Ashford to look into what was going on with Rooster a little more in depth. And then he came back and picked us up.
“He just woke up?” I ask as we pull into the parking lot of the Rendezvous Luxury Resort and Razzle Dazzle Day Spa, formerly the humble Honey Hollow Bed and Breakfast.
“That’s what happened.” Noah looks just as baffled as I am as we glide into a spot up front. “Apparently, the coroner was getting set to carve him up like a Thanksgiving Day turkey and he noticed some movement in his chest. Sure enough, he was breathing—barely breathing but still.”
“And now he’s in a coma at Honey Hollow General.”
“Yup. And you can bet as soon as he so much as blinks, I’ll be there to question him. You can come if you like.” He sheds a dimpled grin my way.
“Why, Noah Corbin Fox, I do think you’re trying to get on my good side.”
“I don’t have to. Every side is your good side.”
“Smooth, Fox. Smooth.”
Noah scoops up Lyla Nell, and I sling the baby bag over my shoulder as we head into the hot pink monstrosity. Back before Cormack and her socialite counterpart, Cressida, attacked the place with a glitter gun—by way of a hired hand, of course—the mansion-like structure with its Roman columns and decorative wrought iron railings was a humble hue of alabaster as opposed to the hot pink monstrosity before us.
Inside the foyer hang two expectantly tall oil paintings, one of my mother and one of Cormack. Both of which have been glammed up and their decollates boosted and made to look more ample. Before I won back my mother’s half of her old haunt, there was a picture of Cressida that hung next to Cormack.
Speaking of haunts, I can’t wait to see the ghosts who reside at the B&B. And seeing that I’m terrified to ask my mother if she has anything to do with that missing money, I’d much rather talk to the dead while I’m here than the living.
The mahogany paneled walls inside the B&B are thankfully untouched, but the floors are pink in areas, and everywhere you look there’s something glittery or gilded, neither of which was a part of my mother’s cozy décor pre-hijacking of her home.
A roar of laughter comes from the direction of the conservatory and we head that way. The conservatory is a glass structure that was tacked on a couple years back by none other than Bear Fisher.
One might think the woods behind my mother’s B&B would have been a great place for the Honey Hollow Blue Butterfly to repopulate the species—and if it did, the conservatory wouldn’t be here, and theoretically all of the people who have met their demise in that glass casket would still be roaming the earth.
It’s true. My mother’s B&B, or the Rendezvous Luxury Resort and Razzle Dazzle Day Spa as it’s now unfortunately called, has had more than its fair share of homicides on the grounds.
We step into the conservatory, and it’s breathtaking to see the evergreens right outside these glassy walls toward the back. The roof is made of sloping glass as well, and it lends an airy light to the cavernous space. The conservatory is filled with bodies as groups of ten sit at dozens of round tables and in the front, commandeering a small spinning cage, are my mother and Wiley.
To my delight, on each table sits a platter of my blueberry muffins. I thought we had an unusually high order for them after I had asked Suze to deliver them to the B&B this morning, and now I know why.
“B, eleven,” my mother calls out and everyone hurriedly looks down at the cards spread before them.
“Bingo,” Noah says as he chuckles. “How much you want to bet your mother and my father orchestrated this to get another wad of cash into his pocket?”
“Let’s hope that’s the only cash he’s stuffing it with,” I say while Lyla Nell vocalizes and kicks her legs and arms as she looks out at the room.
“I’m mad about it, too,” I say, giving her a little kiss over the nose. “Oh look, there are Carlotta and Charlie—and Cormack, Naomi, and Greer Giles.”
Or more to the point, the ghost of Greer Giles.
We head in their direction and say hello, but the five of them hardly give us a quick glance as my mother calls out another number.
Mom zips over. “There’s my princess,” she sings as she scoops the baby from my arms. “You just look like the yummiest little cream puff, and Glam Glam is going to yum you right up.” She dots a row of kisses over the baby’s cheek, and Lyla Nell squawks and laughs as she grabs onto my mother’s earrings with a death grip.
“Oh no, no, no,” I say. “Glam Glam doesn’t need another hole in her head. Or any of the holes in her head to get any bigger.” Her brain is liable to fall out. “What’s with the bingo?”
“It’s game night,” Mom says as she untangles her earrings from Lyla Nell’s beastly strong clutches. “But we have to host it in the middle of the afternoon. Cormack said it would get in the way of the dance parties.”
“That makes perfect sense.” Noah frowns as his father calls out another number.
Greer abandons her card and floats my way.
Greer Giles was about my age, late twenties, when she died a couple years back. She has long dark hair, perfectly sculpted features, and eyes that give off an eerie glow. She’s still wearing that white ruched gown she had on the night she was gunned down, and that crimson gunshot wound over her chest almost looks like a necrotic corsage.
“Lottie, she’s getting so big.” She attempts to take the baby from my mother and Mom holds Lyla Nell a little tighter.
“Whoa.” Mom shakes her head. “Lyla Nell, you almost jumped right out of my arms. Now don’t you scare Glam Glam like that.”
Lyla Nell’s foot looks as if it’s being pulled to the side at an unnatural angle and I’m about to reprimand the culprit when Greer beats me to it.
“Lea,” Greer hisses at her tiny daughter. And just past the tiny menace, I see both Lea and Thirteen are up with their own bingo cards, and judging by the way those cards look, they’re not doing so bad at it either.
I make a face at the sight. It’s one thing to rattle a few bookshelves around here or sway a chandelier or two, but to manipulate bingo cards and markers?
“Greer, are you nuts?” I whisper as my mother steps away to show off the baby to her friends. “It’s bad enough you’re playing the game, but Lea and Thirteen?”
The two of them appear before me front and center when I say their names.
Little Lea—Azalea—is perennially about six. Her family was slaughtered on the grounds here, and she now roams the B&B with a machete. She has long brown stringy hair that’s combed over her face, and she wears a dirty pinafore and scuffed Mary Janes. And yes, she’s exactly as terrifying as she sounds. Thirteen is a black cat that once helped me solve a crime, and for whatever reason, he never had to leave. Can’t explain it, don’t want to.
Red, White, and Blueberry Muffin Murder Page 9
