Cormack steps in once again, her thick perfume holds the scent of rich spices, and my allergies threaten to unleash themselves full force.
“Who’s this Nessa person?” I ask. “And why does Landon look as if she’s trying to impress her?”
Cormack belts out a laugh that reminds me of a dolphin braying. “Vanessa St. James is everyone’s worst nightmare. Let’s just say people play nice with Nessa because she has dirt on just about everyone. Yes, Nessa certainly knows where all the bodies are buried. She’s ruled our social circles for as long as I can remember. She’s practically untouchable.”
“She sounds like a powerhouse.” There are a few more names I can think of to describe her but won’t. “What about her bookends? They each looked equally disgruntled to be here.”
She points to the copper-haired girl who is busy loading up at the sushi bar. “Jenson Becker is Nessa’s roommate. They share a house in Fallbrook—and by house, I mean sprawling estate. Jenson’s aunt owns it, I think. The dark-haired girl is Lindie Holland. She’s an illustrator and artist. We all went to boarding school together.”
“I see.” Boarding school, otherwise known as the babysitter’s club for exorbitantly wealthy parents. Not only do they get a child-free environment, but their kid gets an elite education to boot—and as I’m seeing, a brood of rather nasty friends as well. “What about Viv?” I nod to the Carol Lombard look-alike making eyes at the bartender.
“Vivian Wood is one of Landon’s closest friends.” She shakes her head at the girl. “And she didn’t mind scooping up my sister’s leftovers, no sirree. But then, Clayton McDaniel is quite the catch.”
“If he’s such a catch, why did your sister dump him?”
Cormack twists her lips. “Let’s just say he’s a catch that never quite understood the fact that he was caught.”
“Ah. Say no more. I seem to catch those as well. What does Viv do for a living?” I may as well case everyone out— a little forward thinking as far as the inevitable is concerned. I shoot a side-eye to Carlotta and the spook she’s bonding with. I still very much plan on shaking him down for the prospective murderous details of events to come.
“Viv is a stay-at-home trust fund baby. She got a degree in English lit, and now she spends all day watching YouTube vloggers and Kardashian reruns.”
“A real go-getter,” I muse.
“She lunches, of course, and that takes up the middle of her day, and she sees her trainer each morning. Once Clayton and she make it official, she’ll pump out two point five beautiful babies and hire a tribe of French au pairs to mind them.”
A gorgeous redhead comes our way and gives the obligatory faux scream once she spots Cormack. The two of them proceed to hug it out and air kiss with the best of them.
“I haven’t seen you in ages!” The redhead squints out what appears to be a genuine smile. Her makeup is at a minimum, and her clothes are demure, white cardigan and jeans paired with light pink leather wedges. There’s something warm and down-to-earth about her, and instantly I like her. She extends a hand my way, and I note her left wrist is wrapped in a bandage. “I’m Blythe.” She leans in and wrinkles her nose playfully. “Nessa’s real best friend.”
I give her a quick shake. “Nice to meet you. I hope your wrist is okay.”
“Tennis injury. I’m telling you, my body will take any excuse to sit on the sidelines. That’s where all the real action happens, just like life.”
She and Cormack share a laugh, and soon I’m edged out of the conversation as Cormack wraps an arm around the girl and leads her away. I seize the moment to make a beeline toward Carlotta and our uninvited ghost.
“Lottie Lemon,” I say it curt as I look right into his holographic coffee-colored eyes. “What’s your name? And who in this room did you date, mate, or hate? More to the point, who loved you best?” That’s how it seems to work—the most prized pet, or in this case, person (a person seems to be the alternative in the event the soon-to-be deceased never bonded with an animal) comes back from the great beyond and seemingly does, well, nothing. Okay, that’s not true. They try to help in their own way, or not. I still haven’t made rhyme or reason out of it. All I really know is that they tend to stick around until the killer is apprehended, and then they’re happily blipped back to the other side to be reunited with the recently deceased.
“Maximillian Finmore, you can call me Max.” He shakes my hand, and it feels every bit solid. “I can’t believe this”—he quickly scans the party—“it’s just like the keggers we had back at Aimsley.”
“Aimsley—of course.” I nod as if that explained everything—and it really does. Aimsley is the premier upper echelon private school right here in upstate Vermont with a tuition tab that equals all other elite college tuitions combined.
Carlotta takes a deep breath as she eyes him. Side note: she looks identical to me in every way but older and grittier. I know exactly what I’ll look like in sixteen years if I don’t exfoliate religiously and deep condition my hair, considering the fact Carlotta was about sixteen when she had me. She’s the niece of Nell Sawyer. Nell died a few months back. Up until Everett, Nell was the only person who knew I was supersensual.
It turned out, at the end of her life, she confessed to having the same abilities. Nell is my best friend Keelie’s grandmother and mine in a roundabout way, too, come to find out.
Nell felt so bad about the deep, dark secret she was forced to keep regarding where I came from that she left me most of her estate in her will. But my newfound uncle, William, wasn’t having it. He’s contested the will, and it should all come to a head sometime this summer. But as it stands, it’s just the beginning of May, and I don’t want to think about any money or real estate that may or may not be heading my way. I want to get to the bottom of this would-be homicide we’re right smack in the middle of.
Carlotta swats him on the arm. “Died four years ago in a freak accident back in grad school. Tell her what you did, Book Smart.”
He averts his glowing eyes. “It was the weekend before the big game, and I tried to dump manure into the rival’s fountain. The dump truck I hauled it in on wouldn’t release, so I went back to make sure the latch was lifted. Long story short, the lift gate malfunctioned and I suffocated in a big pile of dookie.”
I wince. “That’s terrible. And I’m so sorry.”
Carlotta leans in. “You know what they say, dookie happens.”
I shake my head at her in a weak attempt to stave off the bad jokes before returning my attention to the spook before us.
“You’re obviously here on a mission, Max. You have to tell me who in this room you think you were called for.”
He blows a breath through his lips. “I don’t know. I dated Greer, but she’s already dead.” We look in her direction as her argument with Winslow seems to be heating up. Greer picks up a bud vase filled with a single yellow rose and hurls it across the room, narrowly missing a temple or two in the process. The room stills for a moment and collectively the girls expel a unanimous oooh and wiggle their fingers as if the B&B were haunted, and it is.
Max shrugs. “Greer says Cormack chose the venue because they wanted to freak everyone out. It turns out, a good haunting is all the rage these days.” His brows do a little waggle as he looks Cormack’s way.
“You knew her?”
“Are you kidding? She was my first.”
“Your first what?”
Carlotta doles out a smack my way this time. “His first kitten. What do you think?”
“Oh, oh.” I glance to my right and spot both Noah and Everett speaking to the kitten in question. “Cormack really gets around. Is there anyone else in the room that lit your flame?”
He shrugs as he takes in the sorority-esque scene. “There’s Vivian. She was easy. Then there’s Nessa.” His voice drops an octave as he chortles out her name. “There’s nothing easy about Vanessa St. James, let me tell you.”
Carlotta nods into the crowd. “What about the gues
t of honor?”
“Landon?” He crimps a pitiful smile. “She’s a special girl. I’ll always hold a place in my heart for her.”
“And that’s all I needed to hear.” I make a beeline toward Everett and land smack-dab between him and Noah just as two men walk through the door.
“Here he is,” Cormack grumbles. “The guy who sliced and diced my sister’s heart to pieces.”
“Which one?” I ask, anxious to pin him with all my venom. I know what it feels like to be cheated on, and it’s no thrill ride. I have a very low tolerance for wayward men. The one on the right in khakis and a powder blue dress shirt beams a smile at the girls all flocking his way. His hair is sandy blond and wiry, and the dark-haired guy next to him is wearing a suit, looks like your typical Ken doll who seems to be working the room with his eyebrows alone.
“The guy with the suit,” she whispers. “The one next to him is his good friend, Ryan Holland. He’s engaged to Blythe. Bluebloods, both of them. He’s in the same law firm as Clayton. They’re both hoping to go into politics soon enough, and they will. You might just be looking at a future president. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if they ran on the same ticket. I think that’s why Clay was hitting up Viv. Viv’s old money, good breeding, no scandals. I guess he didn’t think the Featherbys were good enough for his pristine career. I’m so angry at the way he treated my sister, the way he’s still treating my sister, I could just kill him.” She trots off, and I ponder this for a moment. Maybe it’s Clayton I need to protect? But then, if Cormack does him in, that would mean she would be far away from Honey Hollow for the next thirty years to life.
The two of them appear before us, and, before you know it, Cormack is screaming with faux delight as she offers them each a firm embrace.
“So glad you both could make it. It wouldn’t have been possible without you!” She stabs Clayton in the stomach with her finger. “This is Lona Lemon. She baked the desserts.”
“Nice to meet you.” I hold out a hand to Clayton just as he tucks both of his into his pockets and nods my way. Fine. I bring my hand back to my side and nod to Ryan as well.
Landon swoops over and scuttles the three of them away just as the most handsome judge I’ve ever laid eyes on leans my way.
“Lemon?” Everett holds a military stance with his chin up as he scours the crowd along with me. “You see another one, don’t you?”
“You’re intuitive, Judge Baxter.” Both in and out of the bedroom, but for Noah’s sake, I’ll leave that tidbit out. My heart very much still pines for Noah, and I happen to really dislike that about my heart.
Landon taps the edge of a champagne flute with a knife as she brings the room to order. In the span of seconds, a small army of men in tuxedos land a champagne flute brimming with bubbly in just about everybody’s hand.
“It’s time to officially and ritualistically say goodbye to the past and hello to a vibrant beautiful future!” The room ignites in cheers as Clayton himself does the honors and sets the interior of the hibachi ablaze. Landon sets an envelope over the flames, and the room breaks out into another wild cheer as the paper melts to nothing.
Landon engages in an odd little bump and grind with her ex. “You won’t be getting any more of that now, will you?” She cackles, as do her cohorts. “It’s time to party! I say, let them eat lemon cake!”
“Lemon bars,” I correct to no one in particular as the crowd rushes to the dessert table and dives on in. It’s a mad tangle of flesh, and it does lead one to believe that we’re witnessing cheat day on a keto diet taking place in full force. Landon’s nuptial nixing is clearly the excuse they needed to get a good and decent carb fix. I could swear a collective sigh just expelled from the entire lot of them.
Noah shakes his head. “The desperation to get ahold of one of those bars—the sheer ecstasy on their faces when they bite on in—I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Everett grunts, “I have.” The edges of his lips give a naughty curve, suggesting he’s seen it in his bedroom, and I have no doubt he’s seen it many, many times. Everett gets around, or at least he did.
“Hear that, Lottie?” Noah offers a stern look. “You’re more than likely going to need vaccinations. I’ll take you to the clinic right after, to get you checked out.”
I’m about to kindly decline his inoculating offer when the sound of wheezing erupts near the hibachi.
Vanessa St. James is clutching her throat intermittently, her limbs flailing wildly. She’s staggering and knocking over dishes from the refreshment table as she struggles to stabilize herself. Her face turns pomegranate, then an eerie shade of blue before she falls to the floor, with remnants of my lemon bar smeared across her face.
Her eyes roll to the back of her head as her body ceases to jerk.
Nessa isn’t untouchable anymore.
I think Nessa St. James is dead.
Chapter 3
Dear God, what have we witnessed?
I stagger forward just as the room explodes with screams, and, soon enough, Noah has wrangled his way to the front. He’s on his knees, checking her vitals before turning my way and shaking his head. More screaming ensues as my mother runs over.
“Oh, Lottie, this can’t be happening.”
“Call 911,” I say, panting with fear. “It is.”
Landon tips her head back and howls like a werewolf, and the bizarre act stuns me momentarily.
I pull Everett in close by the shirt. “What is she doing?”
He squints over at her as if trying to assess the situation himself. “I think she’s grieving.”
Soon enough, the room is filled with sobbing as the masses grow increasingly hysterical.
Noah jumps to his feet and holds up his badge, eliciting a round of gasps—with the exception of one girl in the back who thinks this is a fine moment to declare, damn, he’s sexy.
“I’d like to ask everyone to stay on the premises,” he shouts. “If you could file back into the B&B and make yourselves comfortable in the lobby, the dining, and living rooms until we can get each of your names and statements, it would be much appreciated. This is strictly procedural, and you will be free to go within the hour.” He puts a call into his phone, and I’m willing to bet he’s summoning his partner, Ivy Fairbanks. She’s a tall, luscious redhead who has about zero tolerance for me and vice versa. They work together as the lead detectives at the Ashford Sheriff’s Department.
Everett pulls me in and looks deep into my eyes, the way he does when we’re, well, never mind. It’s the last place I want my thoughts to drift right now, all things considering.
His blue eyes narrow in on mine. “This was a homicide, wasn’t it?”
I give a quick nod. “I’m certain of it.”
“All right, Lemon. Let’s split up and garner all the information we can. There’s a good chance the killer is still here.”
“And there’s a good chance they will do their best to evade Noah and Ivy.”
“That’s where we come in.” His cheeks flicker with a smile of their own. “I’ll start with Cormack. You keep an ear out for anything suspicious. Make the ghost work for you.”
“I will,” I assure him as we head our separate ways.
Near the front of the room I spot Rich Dallas having a grade A meltdown, roaring on and on about not being able to look at a dead body, and my mom does her best to shoo him out of the vicinity.
Lainey and Keelie head this way.
Keelie’s eyes are twice their size. “We’ve got another one, don’t we, Lottie?”
“I think so.” I bring my fingers to my lips.
Lainey scoffs. “Both of you are insane. The poor girl obviously choked to death.”
“On a lemon bar?” Keelie shakes her head. “It was probably poisoned. Lottie’s seen it before.”
Someone clasps a hand over my shoulder from behind, and Meg's face pops up next to mine. “That’s right. Lottie here is a virtual magnet for murder. That’s why I came.”
Meg purses her lips a moment. “It is when it’s inevitable.” She pats my back again. “Let me know if you need an all access pass to the seedy greedy parts of Red Satin.”
I glance around as the posh masses hit the exit. “With this crowd, I seriously doubt it. More like an all access pass to the runways of Milan and Paris. These girls live untouchable lives.” That word jars me for a moment. “Hey, that’s what Cormack said about Nessa. She said she has the dirt on everyone, and that she’s practically untouchable.”
Meg lifts a shoulder in a partial shrug. “If she was murdered, someone touched her, all right.”
The room quickly floods with EMTs, firemen, and enough deputy sheriffs to throw a spontaneous charity ball.
The captain of the sheriff’s department, Captain Jack Turner, heads this way, and Keelie is quick to wrap her arms around him.
“Daddy!” she wails against his shoulder. I’ve known Keelie and her family forever. Since Keelie and I declared our undying friendship in preschool, her family has been my family ever since—especially after it was discovered that I was indeed their biological family last winter.
“Don’t worry, princess.” He pats the back of her head before offering an assuring nod our way. “This was just an accident.” He looks particularly grieved when his eyes meet with mine. “It turns out, the victim had a very aggressive peanut allergy, and she simply reacted to something she ate.”
“What?” I squawk so loud half the heads in the room turn my way. “The last thing she ate was my lemon bar.”
Lainey comes over and wraps an arm around me as if to offer up some much-needed comfort. “There was a sushi station here. She probably had peanut sauce or something.”
Cormack crops up like a bad apparition, her face pale, her eyes—well, they look sort of enraged. “There was no peanut sauce. Landon knew about Nessa’s allergy. Everybody knew,” she barks the words right at me as if I had staged this entire elaborate event as a means to off the poor girl.
Lethal Lemon Bars: MURDER IN THE MIX 9 Page 3
