Lethal Lemon Bars: MURDER IN THE MIX 9

by Moore, Addison

  I grunt at the sight of it. “Noah, you take care of your girlfriend and your wife. Everett and I have a perpetrator to capture.” I lead Everett by the hand as we weave through the ever-growing thicket of yuppies until we come upon the bar where we’re greeted by what looks to be a banker incognito.

  “What can I get for you this fine evening?”

  I glance to Everett. “You have to admit, it’s an upgrade from Red Satin.” I lean close to the bar. “I’ll have an ex on the beach.” I give a little wink at my play on words.

  “Coming right up, young lady. And for you, sir?”

  “Whiskey neat.” He lands an arm around my shoulder. “No use in letting our designated driver go to waste.”

  “I wondered why you took him up on his offer.”

  “He deserves to be sober when he witnesses what I’m about to do to you on that dance floor.”

  “Ooh, Judge Baxter. Maybe we should ditch the investigation and get right to the hip-grinding good part?”

  “Your drinks are ready,” a female voice chirps from behind, and we turn to find Jenson Becker herself giving a flirtatious wink Everett’s way. Her copper bob glints metallic as she offers a saucy smile at the man by my side. “Wow, you are ten times hotter from the front as you are the back—and here I didn’t think that was possible.”

  I growl at her without meaning to. Oh, heck, I meant it. What kind of a monster flirts with someone else’s date?

  She slides a fruity concoction my way in her demure gray cardigan. “You must think I’m a monster.” She gives another sly wink my way, and I’m suddenly concerned she has the power to read my mind. “I’m the owner. Jenson Becker.” She squints my way. “Hey? Didn’t I see you the other day at that divorce disaster?” Her affect goes slack as she makes her way around the bar. “I did see you.” She pokes a finger into Everett’s rock-hard abs. “And I certainly remember you. Wow, the rumors are true. You really are the man of steel.”

  “That’s right.” I pull Everett my way. “My boyfriend fights for truth and justice every day. He’s a judge at the Ashford Courthouse. Lottie Lemon.” I extend my hand, and she shakes it. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

  She shudders. “Nessa wasn’t really anyone’s friend. Did they catch the killer?”

  “They’re very close,” I say, inspecting her for signs of panic. “Did you happen to see something? You were there the moment Nessa took that fatal bite.”

  “True, but once Landon invited us to have at the lemon bars, it was a free-for-all. Everyone was pushing up against everyone.”

  I step in close. “Did you happen to see who pushed up against Nessa?”

  “The only thing I saw was Nessa bouncing off of Clayton.” She tosses her gaze into the crowd. “But Nessa was bouncing off of Clayton regularly, if you know what I mean.”

  My mouth rounds out as Everett and I exchange a quick glance.

  Everett nods as if he’s got this. “But you and Nessa were good friends, right?”

  “The best, I guess.” She blows a loose strand of hair off her face. “Everyone wanted to be Nessa’s friend. But even among the privileged, she was untouchable. Nessa didn’t really let anyone on the inside. Some people have a wall around their emotions. Ness had a fort—an impenetrable fort. Unless, of course, you looked like that.” She flicks Everett’s tie. “If Nessa spotted a man she wanted, she’d be on top of that situation—and I do mean on top. Nessa liked to be in control both in and out of the bedroom.”

  “So she wanted Clayton,” I say. “That must have made both Landon and Vivian angry. That is, if they knew about it.”

  “Please”—she scoffs as she waves us over into the expansive room just beyond the borders of the bar—“everyone knew it. But it was never spoken about.”

  Max and Greer pop up at their leisure, per usual.

  Max’s hair is disheveled, and his shirt is buttoned crooked—and how is anything of that nature possible? Isn’t he basically just a ball of air?

  “About time,” I hiss lower than a breath.

  Jenson juts her chin forward. “Pardon?”

  A breath hitches in my throat. “About time Nessa was called out on her naughty shenanigans. I mean, well, Landon told me.”

  Jenson’s mouth falls open as she grips me by the wrist. “Landon knew?”

  “You just said everybody knew.”

  “Everybody but Landon. If Landon found Nessa St. James was sleeping around with her then-husband, she would have killed her.”

  Greer lets a riotous applause rip. “Winner, winner, chicken dinner. Arrest the girl, Lottie. The little twerp keeps hiding the good stuff from me. You break into a person’s cosmetics bag once and they forever ban you from it.”

  Everett ticks his head to the side. “I don’t know. I mean, I do know Landon pretty well. And like you said, nobody really got along with Nessa. Landon wanted the spotlight to herself that day.”

  Max clicks his tongue. “Unless she wanted a good cover. And Jenson here knows all about a good cover. Ask her about the time she and Nessa were arrested. I dare you.”

  I’ve never been one to back away from a dare.

  I tap the side of my cheek with my finger. “Come to think of it, Landon mentioned something else about Nessa—something about her getting arrested with someone. What was that name?” I glance around the room in a circle before abruptly landing back on Jenson. “Oh wait, it was you.”

  “An arrest?” Everett sounds amused, downplaying it as if it were no big deal. “It sounds like a little sorority fun back in the day.”

  Jenson taps her foot violently against the floor, her jaw clenched tight. “Nessa swore on her grandmother’s grave she wouldn’t tell a soul. Figures. She was a liar through and through.” Her entire body convulses as she lets out a roar. “Just when I think I can’t get any angrier at her, she goes and boils my blood again. And from the great beyond!” Her face is purple as a plum. “The reason we were arrested is because Nessa decided shoplifting would be the next sexy sport. It was all a game to her. And when Nessa threw out a challenge, you had to accept or you’d be a social pariah the very next day. At first I was good at it. A little too good.” She admires a large sparkling rock on her finger, and it hits me that these were no small-time heists. In fact, Jenson Becker is still wearing her haul on her finger. “Nessa tried to swipe a Rolex. I already had a Bvlgari necklace stuffed in my pocket. Let’s just say security was not as kind once they determined we were thieves. My father is an attorney. He has a very prominent law firm in Fallbrook—Clay and Ryan work for the firm, and they saved our behinds. Nessa and I could have had records. We could have done time. That really burned me.”

  “I bet you never played one of Nessa’s dangerous games again,” I say breathless at the extent she went to just to please her friend.

  “Oh, I did. And the games just got more dangerous as time went on. I’m betting some people are relieved that Nessa is gone. Or she could have killed us all.” Jenson glances past us and waves at a crowd coming through the door. “It was nice seeing you,” she says, passing me by. “Especially you.” She flicks Everett’s tie once again as she takes off.

  Greer takes the liberty to straighten Everett’s tie for him. “You can’t blame the girl for having excellent taste in men. You too, Lottie.” She flashes a brilliant smile my way. Before Greer bit the big one, she was plotting to land Everett horizontal herself, but that, much like her future, never materialized.

  Noah comes up, putting his phone away.

  “That took a while,” I quip. I couldn’t help myself. I hate that it took a while.

  “Actually, I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation with Jenson. I already interviewed her.”

  “I see.” Everett’s lips pull back, a clear sign he’s about to have some fun with his old stepbrother. “So you already knew about Nessa’s arrest history, and the fact she nearly killed all her friends while coercing them to do potentially illegal and unsafe activities?”

  Noa
h inches back. His wheels are spinning, I can tell. “You got all that out of Jenson in a five-minute window?”

  Everett tweaks a brow. “What can I say? Lemon and I are a powerhouse when it comes to putting the squeeze on suspects.”

  Noah gives a slow blink. “I’ve seen what you can squeeze in the back of a parking lot.”

  Everett takes up my hand. “Wait till you see how we get it done on the dance floor.” And he has us off and running until we’re shaking it with the best of them—them being Keelie and Meg—right in the middle of the dance floor.

  I’m twirled from behind, and Noah grabs me by the waist, his hips gliding over mine as he gives that lazy smile my way, the one that used to drive me insane, still does. So not fair.

  Everett swoops between us, holding me close. His every movement is my movement by proxy, and if I didn’t know better, there’s a purring sound emanating from deep in his chest. Everett runs his heated hands up and down my back in tracks as his body keeps time with the music. Everett’s smooth moves make the room seem to spin at a heated clip, but I can’t stop looking directly into his eyes.

  His lips crash to mine as he claims my mouth, and, before I know it, I’m spinning toward Keelie and Meg while Noah throws a punch at Everett.

  “Stop!” I roar as I bolt in their direction and land right between them as security charges this way. Meg intercepts, and bodies go flying like bowling pins and we all get kicked out on our rears.

  Keelie offers me a sorrowful hug goodnight. “If it wasn’t for those cones, you might have sustained some real damage.”

  “I guess so. They really did break my fall.”

  She joins Meg and Hook, and I wave the three of them off before turning to Noah and Everett.

  “Don’t either of you ever pull another stunt like that again. The next one I see throwing a punch might as well throw any relationship with me out the window. I swear I will not speak to either of you again. Now take us home, Noah. I need to get to bed.”

  Everett’s lip twitches. “You heard her, Noah. Take us home. We need to get to bed.”

  Noah drives angry all the way back to Hollow Brook.

  Chapter 11

  The next person on my hotlist is Clayton McDaniel. All-star quarterback in high school. Didn’t play in college. Debate team. Fraternity president. Star pupil of the Aimsley School of Business. Your average all-around overachiever.

  Seeing that Clayton works in a fancy law firm mostly composed of men—I did my homework there, too—and the fact that his bestie, Ryan Holland, will most likely be glued to his side per usual, I decide to eschew the firepower that Noah can deliver, and any legal-ease that Everett might provide and opt to take my own bestie on this covert op instead.

  I thought it might be best if we reprised our old cookie routine where we barge into an unassuming establishment of collegiate-trained professionals and turn them into mindless three-year-olds in desperate need of their next sugar fix. I’ve often found that baked goods have the power to do just that. When you get down to it, sweet treats seem to be the glue that holds this world together. I’m convinced that if my fresh baked chocolate chip cookies were served on the frontlines—the history of wars in general would be brief and, pardon the pun, sugarcoated.

  But I digress. I specifically chose to bring Keelie along for the ride to keep the testosterone to a minimum and if what I’m hearing about Clayton McDaniel is true. He really likes the ladies.

  Becker and Becker Law Firm takes up most of the upper floors in a quasi-high-rise in downtown Fallbrook. We make it as far as the receptionist, a gorgeous temptress with long black hair and the face of a supermodel, high cut cheeks, almond-shaped bright green eyes, and skin the color of honey.

  “I said thank you, ladies.” She gives a curt nod, her brows hiked a notch as if this were escalating on some level. “I’ll make sure your generous donation is graciously received. There’s a partner meeting in an hour. I’ll land the boxes on the refreshment table. Believe me, they may look like tigers, but you land a cookie in front of them and you’ll have nothing but a litter of kittens eating out of the palm of your hand.”

  I thought so myself.

  The air of defeat settles around us as I shrug over to Keelie. “One hour, huh?”

  That doesn’t give us a lot of time to shake the goods out of Clayton. And to think it took close to an hour just to drive here. What a waste.

  Keelie smiles as she lifts a finger my way, and suddenly I’m terrified of what might come from her mouth.

  “Thank you”—she leans in as she reads off the nameplate—“Francesca. We appreciate that. And I certainly hope you help yourself to at least one of those goodies. We all know you do the real work around here.”

  Francesca is quick to chortle right along with Keelie.

  “True as God,” she agrees. “And don’t you worry. I’m already eying that peanut butter fudge bar. It’s been a long day, and that is going to get my night started in the right direction.”

  “It will for sure,” I say. “Be careful, though. It could inspire a spike in impulsivity, which usually leads to mad shopping sprees and questionable decisions on my end.”

  Neither Keelie nor our new friend Francesca bothers to laugh at that one.

  “Yes, well.” I give a little wave while pulling Keelie back with me. “Have a great day.” I wait until we’re out in the foyer next to the gilded elevators before I lose it. “What are we going to do? There’s not a chance of us penetrating Fort Francesca. This is a total loss as far as the investigation goes.”

  “Pft.” Keelie accidentally sprays me in the face with spittle as she tries to contest our defeat.

  “Say it, don’t spray it, sister.” I do my best to wipe away the spontaneous baptism but only end up rubbing it in. A long hot bath is in order once I get home. And if I’m lucky, Everett will join me.

  Keelie cranes her neck back toward our newfound nemesis. “Wait here.” She trots off just south of the reception area and suctions her backside against the wall as if she were a cartoon character.

  “Oh dear,” I moan to myself. “This is not going to end well.”

  Keelie does her best to slink along the wall adjacent to Frontline Francesca unnoticed, and I watch in horror as Keelie’s hand reaches for a bright red breaker.

  “Oh God, not the fire alarm!” I whimper, but it’s too late. The shrill sound of a bell screaming out sends executives and attorneys alike spilling into the main hall.

  Shouting ensues, salty language starts to fly, and then the unthinkable happens—the electricity goes out, and a light drizzle hits us just before the sprinklers hiss and sputter to life and let out a deluge of rain.

  Bodies fly past me en route to the staircase, and I make a mad dash for Keelie who seems to have forgotten the fact she is not invisible.

  “What in the hell are you thinking?”

  She gasps, her hair plastered to her face. “Did you just curse at me, young lady?”

  “Don’t you even start with me.” I yank her into the foyer, and we join the mad hustle down the stairwell and feed out into the parking lot with dozens of soggy legal eagles.

  We hit the Fallbrook fresh air, and I shake myself off like I’ve seen Toby, Noah’s golden retriever, do after he gives him a bath. And just as I’m about to wring my hair out, I stop cold.

  “That’s them! Ha! That’s Clayton and Ryan standing by the oleander bush.”

  Keelie scoffs. “You didn’t think I’d let you down, did you?”

  We trot on over, and I give a meager wave. “Fancy meeting you here.” I make a lame attempt to laugh while someone shouts to see if all parties are accounted for. Great. I’m making lame jokes and they’re scouting for co-workers who might have perished in the faux flames. “Um, we were just delivering cookies.”

  Clayton stops wiping down his cell phone a moment to get a better look at me. He still looks like one hundred percent frat boy to me even if he did bother to stuff himself into a three-piece monkey suit
. His hair is sticking up on the side, and he looks as if he’s about to burst a blood vessel or two, he’s that angry.

  “Are you my three o’clock?” He softens a bit in the event I’m one of his many walking talking ATM machines. Everyone knows a good lawyer is an expert at sticking a hose to your bank account and siphoning what little bit of green you have right out.

  “Oh no, actually, I met you at the—at the art center with—”

  Ryan Holland smacks him. “That’s the baker from Honey Hollow. What are you doing delivering cookies all the way out here?” He tips his head to the side, and suddenly it feels as if I’m about to be interrogated by the best of them.

  “My fiancé’s sister works at an insurance firm out here. She’s the one that was on the board at the art center.” Boy am I ever glad Everett has a sister with Fallbrook connections. “I thought if I was going to stop by and see her, I might as well bring some cookies this way, too. You mentioned the law firm to my fiancé the other night. And I just know you’re shocked and saddened by what happened to your friend. I thought this might cheer you up.”

  Ryan studies me for a moment before nodding to Clayton as if he approved. Why do I get the feeling Ryan is the brains of this non-dynamic duo?

  Clayton shakes his head. “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you. I usually wait until the second date to shower with a girl.” He offers a short-lived grin, but Keelie and I cringe.

  Ryan swats him. “The water threw him for a loop. He’s usually better behaved.”

  From what I hear, that’s not necessarily true.

  Ryan rakes his fingers through his dark wiry hair. His tiny nose is reminiscent of his sister, but he’s still a rather striking man—tall, fit, well-educated. I wonder if he’s a cheat like his BFF? I seriously doubt it. His girlfriend, Blythe, seems like a sweet girl, very pretty, and she lingered on his every word. What more could a guy want?

  Clayton inspects me a moment as if I were next up on the stand. “Any news on who could have done something like this to Nessa?”