Noah’s lids droop and he looks increasingly annoyed. “I’m not dating her. I’m in love with you, Lottie.” His dimples flex in and out. “I don’t mind saying it because I’m not afraid to.” He leans over and offers a brazen kiss to my cheek. “I’ll let you know if I glean anything.”
“Come on, Lemon.” Everett takes up my hand. “I think it’s time you get a real kiss goodnight.”
Everett drives us home and walks me to my door. He delivers that real kiss he promised, and it feels every bit like paradise, leaving me dizzy and heady and outright inebriated and greedy for more.
I gently nibble on his lower lip before pulling back and looking up at those searing blue eyes that seem to have the power to see right into my soul.
My finger lands gently over his lips as my heart ratchets up to top speed.
“I’m going to say something, and then I’m going to head inside. I don’t want you to say a single word back to me. Do you understand?” I say it curt with a crooked smile blooming on my face because I happen to know he loves it when I’m curt with him.
A dark laugh rumbles from him as he gives a solemn nod.
I take a deep breath as I gird myself for what comes next, and it feels right and perfect and I couldn’t think of a better backdrop for the event than that of a full moon behind him and the warm spring breeze licking at our skin.
“Essex Everett Baxter”—his name comes out breathless from me—“I love you.”
His eyes widen as I slip into the house and bolt the door shut. I pick up both Pancake and Waffles, two feline balls of marshmallow fluff, and run giggling all the way to bed.
I love Everett.
Yes, I do.
Chapter 14
A few hours after I hit the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery this morning, I found a note taped to the front door. Since I enter from the back, it took me a while to spot it, but as soon as I did, a million little butterflies began fluttering around my tummy at the thought of Everett leaving me a sweet nothing, here for me to find. But as soon as I plucked it from the glass, I realized it was indeed nothing.
This is no love note from Everett. It’s one of those fake threats Cormack has been planting on herself. I can’t help but roll my eyes as I take it in. In terrible penmanship it reads, you’re next.
As if. Am I really supposed to believe that less than twenty-four hours after I accuse Cormack of faking it that I too get a visceral threat tossed my way?
Please.
I bet she slapped it on my window on her way to her Swift Cycle class.
Britney, who happens to be a franchise owner of Swift Cycle, likes to open up the gym around five in the morning, and she gets quite a handful of customers. Of course, when she’s all through with them, she sends them my way to gain back all the calories they’ve spent. She’s wicked that way, but, hey, it works for my bottom line, too.
The bakery holds the thick scent of fresh coffee and the heavenly, rich, buttery scent of croissants. Despite the fact I made the dough late yesterday afternoon, they still took all morning to bake, but they were worth every melt in your mouth bite.
No sooner does the morning rush die down than Carlotta, my mother, and Meg stroll in.
“Now here’s a trio for you. What can I get for you, ladies?” I bounce behind the counter, happy to see each one of them, and this surprises me a bit about Carlotta, but it seems we’ve really turned a corner.
My mother lifts a heavily penciled in brow at Carlotta. “Go ahead and tell her.”
Meg averts her eyes, and she asks Lily for a cup of coffee. “Make sure it’s leaded.”
“What’s going on?” I pile a platter full of warm croissants and slide them over to my mother.
“Mayor Nash is running for reelection next month, and I’ve signed up to be a campaign volunteer. He says I can take the chief position.” She giggles with delight. “We’ll hold the victory party next door at the Honey Pot Diner, and you can cater the dessert. He’s a macaron man himself.” Her shoulders shimmy as she shakes her own macarons.
“What about volunteering at the hospital?” I ask—even though that is the exact venue where she met Rich Dallas. “I mean, you can’t do both, and run the B&B, right?” I’d hate to see my mother stretch herself too thin.
“I’ve officially left my post at the hospital.” She makes a face as she pulls the platter of treats her way. “I thought it was best to start breaking off all ties with Rich, and that meant the volunteer position, too. And I’m more than fine with it. Did you know that hospitals are just filled with sick people? It really was the wrong place for me. But Mayor Nash and those dreamy hazel eyes... Not a woman in her right mind could say no to him.”
My mouth squares out in horror. “Mother! Chrissy Nash is your best friend. You cheered her on when she dumped her cheating ex.”
“And she’s fine with it. In fact, she’s going to campaign right along with me. She certainly doesn’t want her ex to be jobless in the foreseeable future. She likes her monthly alimony payment just the size it is.”
“Speaking of cheating exes.” Carlotta scoffs. “That boyfriend of hers was easier to steal than I first suspected. It turns out, good old Richie boy isn’t feeling the love the way he used to from his randy Mandy.”
I give my mother the side-eye. “There’s a nickname for you.”
My mother is quick to wave me off. “The important thing is that Rich is cheating on me now. That’s the progress I’ve been looking for.”
Meg stops mid-bite of her croissant. “Do I have permission to kill him now?”
Mom swats her on the arm. “No. You can’t kill him, dear. This is like detangling a delicate necklace. You need to go about it very carefully or—”
Carlotta leans toward my mother. “He’ll kill you.”
“Oh, he will not.” My mother wrinkles her nose at the idea. But deep down, she has to think it might be a little bit true. That man practically has the words homicidal psychopath carved into his forehead.
“Although it does beg the question”—I start—“when do you actually dump him?”
My mother twists her lips as she considers this. “It should be done in a public setting, of course. That kind boarder of mine invited the two of us to her divorce party re-do down at the art center. It’s going to be a masquerade ball.” Her shoulders do the shimmy. My mother’s shoulders seem to do the shimmy quite often. “So, of course, we said yes. And Carlotta is invited, too, because Landon said I could bring whomever I wished.”
“Good,” I say. “Because you’re bringing me. And Everett and Noah and possibly all of Noah’s harem, and that includes his partner.”
Meg nods. “Count me in. I like free food and making fun of things that look like a three-year-old painted them with their toes.” She points down to the lone croissant left on her plate. “Can I get this to go, Lot? I’m teaching a yoga class soon, and I can’t be late.”
“I didn’t know you were teaching yoga now,” I say as I place two into a bag for her. No matter what my sisters ask for, I’ll always double their order. I love them that much.
Meg shrugs. “It’s just a side gig. It’s all the way out in Fallbrook at their fancy country club.” She makes a face because Meg is pretty much allergic to fancy.
“Fallbrook?” My investigative antennae go up. “I was about to head that way at some point today. Next up on my suspect list is a girl by the name of Vivian Wood. She’s outrageously gorgeous with a white blonde bob and eyes that look like a clear blue sky. She has that aura of the golden age of Hollywood.”
Carlotta snorts. “You mean before it became porn star central and basically a dumpster fire? It was the first place I went after I dumped you at the fire department.”
“Why do I get the feeling I don’t want to know about your dicey Hollywood connections?”
“Ooh.” Meg’s ice blue eyes enlarge. She’s ringed them in with dark kohl, but it looks less raccoon and more coveted smokey eye. “Hey, if Carlotta shot some dicey movies, people are going to
think it’s you, Lottie. You’re practically twins.”
I cringe at the thought. “Now I really don’t want to know.”
Carlotta looks pensively to the ceiling. “Vivian Wood. Why does that sound familiar?”
“She was at the scene of the crime,” I volunteer, but Carlotta shakes her head.
“Oh, I remember. She was in the society section of the paper. That fiancé of hers and his law firm partner just officially announced a new charity they’re starting up—something about affordable housing projects.”
“It makes sense. Clayton and Ryan are about to launch their political careers.”
Mom moans through a bite of the croissant she stole from Meg’s bag, so I plate up some more for her and Carlotta.
“They call that seeding.” Mom nods. “I bet they picked just the right wives to propel their political careers, too. Chrissy says her proposal was nothing more than a calculated move to land Mayor Nash at the helm of the Honey Hollow’s political scene.”
“I know that chick you’re talking about—Viv.” Meg nods my way before talk of Mayor Nash begins to derail the conversation once again. “She’s in my yoga class.”
I suck in a quick breath. “What time did you say class began?”
* * *
It’s at ten. Which almost gave me zero time to rally up Keelie and get us down to Fallbrook. Poor Noah went through all the trouble of getting my car home last night, and here I am again, right back in Fallbrook with it.
Keelie and I saunter into Meg’s fancy yoga class with the lavender mats she lent us that smell of burnt rubber and feet. They also happen to be shedding long rubber strands, but we’ve chosen to ignore the hairy predicament for now. She says they use the mats down at Red Satin when she’s teaching the girls their sexy moves.
Keelie bumps her shoulder to mine as we inspect the rest of the girls in the class, most of which are already stretching like well-seasoned acrobats.
“I hope we don’t catch a disease because of these molting mats.”
I can’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. “You think this is a hygiene issue? You would have really hated prison. I hear they make you tie sanitary napkins to your feet when you take a shower so your toes don’t fall off. See what you almost got us into?”
She huffs at the thought. “You mean what I clearly got us out of. Once I explained to Daddy this was all a big mistake, he had them drop all pending charges. You’re welcome, by the way.”
My lips part as I try my best to make sense of her words. “How exactly was the fact that you pulled the fire alarm an accident?”
“I slipped and fell. I was trying to tiptoe along the wall and my foot caught on the carpeting. Nobody carpets anything anymore, Lottie, and you know it. The blame falls on that crappy interior designer’s shoulders. Anyway, I told Daddy I had to grip the first thing I saw to keep from tumbling to the floor, and, of course, he was relieved I didn’t break an ankle. He says the firm has excellent insurance, and we won’t incur any charges regarding the damages.”
My mouth is still wide open. “Wow. I guess it’s great to have a daddy in high places.”
She ticks her head to the side as if she were sorry for me. “Have you ever asked Carlotta who your—um, birth daddy might be?”
I offer Keelie a hug for not dismissing Joseph Lemon as some con artist who stepped in to take his place. Joseph Lemon was in fact my real daddy. “No, Keels, I’m not really interested in who he is.”
A svelte blonde walks into the room, and both Keelie and I gasp. Her silvery locks are pulled back into a bun, and she’s chosen to eschew the makeup and let her day-glow peepers steal the show. Viv really is stunning.
“That’s our girl,” I whisper. “Let’s set up shop wherever she lands.”
We trot off to the left side of the room where she lays her mat just a few rows back from where my sister will be barking out orders at us.
Viv lies on her mat, and both Keelie and I follow suit as she does a double take in my direction.
“Oh, hey! I remember you.” She winces. “I heard they shut down your bakery because you poisoned Nessa.”
“What?” I honk so loud Meg gives me a dirty look as she stands at the front of the room. “No such thing happened,” I hiss. “They’re still looking for the killer.” I shrug, trying desperately to look indifferent about it. “I had a friend like Nessa once.” I scoff as if this wasn’t a good thing. “She almost killed us with all those crazy antics of hers.” Okay, so I didn’t quite think through how I was going to segue into this conversation, but then I didn’t think Viv would throw the bakery under the homicidal bus either.
Meg starts in on what appears to be innocent slow stretches, and both Keelie and I fearlessly partake in the muscular mayhem.
“You’re right.” Vivian lunges forward and grasps her toes in an effort to mimic Meg’s new move, and my hands only get about as far as my knees. I’ll have to work on this. Everett really does require an elastic element to his lady friends. A silly smile swims over my face as I think back upon last night. I can’t believe I mustered up the nerve to tell him I love him.
Keelie knocks her foot to mine. “What exactly is she right about? I’m sorry, I’ve known this girl for years, and she’s rarely right about anything.” She gives my foot another tap in attempt to let me know she’s teasing.
Viv gets up on her knees per my sister’s orders, and we do the same.
“The friend thing.” Viv blows a slow breath from her mouth. “Nessa was toxic. She polluted the entire inner circle with her antics. She wasn’t really going to kill anyone, but I suppose everyone had their own self-worth to lose.” She shrugs. “But you and I both know those kinds of people write their own rules, and if you don’t like them, they gladly show you the door.”
I glance to Keelie. Vivian just offered up rather vague information. But I’m not entirely sure I’ll get too much more out of her.
Meg turns around and folds her arms unnaturally behind her back. “Reverse prayer position!” She commands, and women all around us begin plucking their joints from their sockets in an effort to fold their extremities like an origami project.
“Oh my God.” Keelie gasps as she does her best to slap her shoulder blades. “I think this actually might explain why every traffic accident I’ve been in has involved reverse in some capacity. I have no concept of the idea.”
Viv hops up, lithe as a gazelle. “Like this.” She carefully takes Keelie’s arms, and before we know it, Keels is shooting up a backward prayer with the best of them.
She comes my way.
“I’m good,” I say, clasping my hands together in front of my chest. “I like hitting up the Big Guy the traditional way.”
“Ah.” Viv bounces back to her mat by my side. “So, you’re a traditional girl. I say good for you. That judge you’re seeing? Before Nessa bit the big one that day at the party, she already singled him out.”
“Singled him out for what?” A twinge of jealousy burns through my insides at the thought of Nessa singling out Everett. Which is totally silly, by the way, for a number of reasons. One, Everett is hot, therefore, free game to be singled out forever. And two, Nessa is dead. If Everett were the last man she laid eyes on, I’d say it was quite a send-off.
“You know.” She twitches her upper lip my way as if whatever it was disgusted her. “Sunday brunch.”
“Sunday brunch?” I look to Keelie in hopes she can decode whatever preppy slang Viv just flung my way, but she, too, comes up empty.
We assume the next limb numbing position my sister wrangles us into.
Why do I get the feeling Meg has a strong disdain for the fine people at the Snobsdale Country Club? One more torque of my shoulder and it’s going to wind itself right off my body.
I glance back to Viv. “Oh, that Sunday brunch.” I roll my eyes as if it were obvious, but, dear God, I’m clueless.
Viv shudders. “Disgusting, right? I mean, when I first met the group, Clayton already had Sund
ay brunch with Nessa so, thank God, I didn’t have to go through with that. But poor Blythe. As Landon likes to point out, she was really Blythe-sided.” She makes a face at Landon’s immature analogy. “She’s from a prim and proper family. And, of course, before it happened, Clay and Ryan were still undergraduates. They had no clue they’d eventually venture into political careers. But Nessa was real good about keeping quiet regarding it anyway. And my God, if she wasn’t, Clay would have killed her himself to keep her mouth shut.” She pants as she stretches her arm behind her back as if she were a human windmill. “Kidding, sort of.” She grunts into the next body warping position. “Nessa’s father is a very powerful man. He owns a majority of shares in just about every Fortune 500, oil fields, a diamond mine in Canada—you name it. You’ve heard of the Wolf of Wall Street? He’s the piranha. Anyway, as fate and misfortune would have it, all of our fathers are somehow tied to Nessa’s. It would be impossible not to be. She could land any one of them in the unemployment line. And she liked to wield that power.”
“That’s terrible. Has anyone ever said no to Sunday brunch?”
“Two people. Grace Navarro would rather gouge her own eyes out than pimp out her boyfriend Roger. Both Grace and Roger’s fathers were canned the next week mysteriously. We’re not talking from janitorial positions either. Grace’s dad was the CEO of a major corporation. Even Grace thought he was untouchable. And Roger’s dad not only lost his senior standing at a prominent law firm, but he was forced to sell off commercial property he owned in Arkansas. Who knows what lies Nessa told her father. And then there was Joselyn Montclair. Joselyn took her boyfriend and hightailed it out of Nessa’s cult in style.” She leans in with her lips pressed with a feverish grin as if she were about to let the juiciest morsel fly. “She set a torch to Nessa’s walk-in closet.”
My lids fly back like roller shades. “I’m almost afraid to find out what happened to her.”
“In one week, her father lost his license to practice medicine, her mother was disbarred, her brother was arrested for grand larceny, her big sister mysteriously had her invitation to attend Aimsley revoked, and she, herself, ended up on a locked psychiatric ward for six months. When she was released, the entire family moved to Europe. They didn’t even feel safe on the same continent as Nessa and her all too real threats.”
Lethal Lemon Bars: MURDER IN THE MIX 9 Page 12
