“That would be it. Noah and I would be social media famous by now.”
“So now that you know you can’t change him, what are you going to do? I mean, therapy is mandated for just a few more weeks.”
She looks to Lily, her eyes slitting to nothing. “What she’s really asking is, when will the divorce be back on schedule?” She turns my way. “Are you planning my divorce party, too, Lonely?”
“It’s Lottie. And yes, I’ll throw you a party if you wish, and I will gladly arrange for the dessert to be there, too. But no, I do not relish your divorce. In fact, if you want to know the truth, I dread it. A part of me hopes it drags on forever because I don’t know what to do with myself anymore.”
Lily gasps. “You wouldn’t dump Essex for that cheating two-faced Fox, would you?”
“No. I’m in love with Everett.” A sigh expels from me as I watch a tourist bus pull up in front of the bakery.
Britney’s chest bucks with a dry laugh. “And you’re in love with Noah.”
Lily gasps again. “But you have to love one just a little more than the other. You can’t have two loves, Lottie. You have to pick one.”
“I have, and it’s Everett.”
Britney wags a long svelte finger in my face, her fingernail painted jet-black. “I picked for you, honey. And that, my dear, is exactly why you are not lonely, after all.” She scoops up her coffee and heads for the door. “I’ll see you ladies later at the ball.”
“Are you going with Noah?” I call out as she hits the exit.
“Cormack tagged him as her bodyguard. Who knows? Maybe she will die tonight. Wouldn’t that be something, Lucy? You finding a body at an event that you’re catering? What would the odds of that be?” She gives a little wink. “Of course, they would probably arrest one of us because we have the strongest motive.”
“You would have the strongest motive,” I correct. “I have a boyfriend.” My insides burn each time I refer to Everett as something so juvenile.
Britney bleeds a dark smile. “Maybe it will be me.” She takes off, and both Lily and I shudder.
Lily takes a ragged breath. “Did she just threaten Cormack?”
“Maybe. But I’m going to pretend that I didn’t hear it.”
“Lottie! You don’t really want Noah’s girlfriend dead, do you?”
“No, but I wouldn’t mind someone scaring her out of town.”
Lily shakes her head, and her dark hair falls over her shoulders in long, glossy waves. “If those death threats she’s been getting haven’t sent her packing, nothing will. If anything, they’ve glued Detective Noah Fox right to her side.”
“Just the way she planned,” I say.
Now I just have to prove it.
Chapter 20
The Honey Hollow Art Center sits high above the lake and affords a view of the water, the spectacular salmon sunset, the prairie and evergreens just beyond that, and if you look to the right, you can see the glittering lights of Main Street.
A pair of arms wraps around my waist as a kiss lands next to my ear. The thick scent of his expensive cologne lets me know exactly who this is.
“In a sea of desserts, you are the sweetest.” His deep voice rumbles over my back.
I twist in his arms and study those intense heavenly blue eyes glowing from beyond the black partial mask he’s donned.
“I don’t know who you are, but I have an empty bakery van out front we can get busy in before my boyfriend arrives.” I bite down hard on a playful smile because I darn well know that Everett just might take me up on it.
He swoops me around, and is just about to hoist me into his arms when a blonde in a shimmering pink Victorian era gown—her décolleté a bit too pronounced for my taste—gasps and pants dramatically. She holds a hot pink sequined mask to her face by way of a stick.
“Oh, Essex”—Cormack is quick to grab him by the hand—“you just have to be my protector until Noah shows up. He’s running late at the lab, and I can’t bear the anxiety of all these masked people surrounding me while I’m so helpless.” She scuttles him out of the makeshift kitchen of the art center, and he pauses at the door as if to ask permission.
I wave him off. “I’ll be out in a minute. I just have one more platter to put together.”
And I do just that.
This time Cormack, the mistress of the event, wanted to incorporate cookies and brownies to the culinary mix, and I gladly agreed. But in keeping with the making-lemon-bars-out-of-lemons theme, the lemon bars are still the star of this splitsville showcase.
Laughter ensues from a nearby pantry, then the whispering giggles of a couple who sounds as if they were looking for a little privacy among the masked men and women.
I pick up my emerald green gown—Scarlet Sage was fresh out of dresses, so I hightailed it over to the high school drama department and rented this regal beauty for less than ten bucks for the night—all of my proceeds go straight to the creative arts department of Honey Hollow High School, and I was so pleased with my own charitable endeavor, I sent my sisters and Keelie over as well.
The gown itself is a combination of satin and velvet, with a full skirt that splits open at my hips where two velvet curtains descend to the floor on my right and left, and in the middle is a puddle of frilly light green taffeta. The upper portion is more or less a satin emerald corset, low-cut with a laced bodice in the back. The entire dress is to die for, and if there is a killer here tonight, I hope I don’t end up doing just that. Lord knows I’ve interviewed every single suspect, and every single suspect will be present at this socialite soirée.
More giggling ensues.
“Oh, stop it! Never mind. Do not stop it!” The woman lets out an eerie laugh that echoes through the room, and suddenly it’s clear who I’m about to see when I open the pantry door. I swing it wide, and sure enough I spot Greer Giles, her legs in the air, and Max Finmore who looks as if he’s giving her a piggy back ride in reverse. They’re both fully dressed—thank heavens for accouterment-based mercies.
“Lottie.” Max stands up, and Greer engages in an unceremonious dismount that leaves her struggling to right herself.
“Maximillian Finmore,” I grit his name through my teeth like a threat. “You are to be front and center this evening. I need you—I need both of you. If this case goes on any longer, it’s going to grow cold. I need to know who framed me for killing Nessa St. James, and I need to know tonight.” I yank Greer out of the pantry and away from Max. “And why are you toying with Max? What happened to poor Winslow?”
“We’re still together. Relax, Mother.” She scoffs like a teen. “As soon as Max goes back, I’ll fix things with Winslow. He’s totally fine with me having a good time.”
“Why do I get the feeling none of this is Winslow’s idea of a good time? The repair bill alone at the B&B is proving your theory wrong.”
She shudders, and an aura of light illuminates around her. “So he’s a little angry. There’s nothing better than make-up sex, Lottie—you’ll see when you get back with Noah. Making up with Winslow is going to be hot. I just know it. It’s going to set the entire B&B on fire.”
“Let’s try to keep that figurative. And I won’t know how hot the make-up sex will be because I’m not getting back with Noah.”
“Lottie?” a male voice calls from behind, and I turn to find another black suit, another black partial mask hiding the eyes of the handsome man before me, but that ache in his voice—there’s no hiding who he is from my heart.
“Noah.” Of course. Who else would it be? I turn back to the hypersexual spooks. “Get out there and spy,” I whisper before speeding over to the handsome detective before me. “I can’t believe Britney dumped you because you wouldn’t flip tractor tires all day.” How’s that for evading my very charged and very cruel words that I’m praying he didn’t hear?
His dimples invert, no smile. “Why do I get the feeling you’re expertly dodging the fact you were having a conversation with someone on the phone regarding make-up sex. I
heard my name. And I heard that last part, which I won’t repeat.”
“Sorry.” I wince as I pull down my emerald green sequined mask with a peacock feather staked into the side. “I was just, uh—”
Noah looks down at my hands as I flatten the front of my dress. “You weren’t on the phone, Lottie, were you?” His tone is morbidly low and filled with concern.
“No, I wasn’t,” I say as I reach back and hand him a giant platter of cookies enwreathing a heap of golden lemon bars. “Now let’s get these out to the party.”
We head out into the bustling crowd as a quartet of violins play melodiously in the background. The lighting is dim save for the spotlights set on the plethora of work on display this evening. I know for a fact both Lindie’s art and Nessa’s is showing this evening because I strolled through the installments as I was setting up the dessert stations tucked around the labyrinth of this building.
The grand room is where the real party is taking place, and it’s where I hope to glean something new on the killer.
“Cormack said you were working late at the lab,” I say as I spot Greer and Max hanging around with Rich Dallas—Greer is tugging at his tie, and Max is spilling Rich’s drink onto his dress shirt while Carlotta Sawyer is carrying on a full-blown conversation with the both of them right in front of him.
In the distance, I spot my mother—mask or no mask, I’d recognize that woman in the dark—with her arms around a tall stately fellow with a slightly barrel chest as they dance to the music. Mayor Nash, I’m assuming.
Rich Dallas is going to bust a gasket if he catches wind of it, and I shudder at the thought.
“I was at the lab,” Noah confirms as I point for him to land the tray of goodies onto a barren table we come across. “The coroner’s report is complete, and I wanted to read it as soon as possible.”
I suck in a quick breath, pull him in close, and the lithe movement looks as if it could have been a complex ballroom dance move.
“Tell me everything.”
Everett pops up by my side, and I pull him in as well.
“Noah was about to give me the dirt on the deceased. Anything new that might shine a light on the investigation?”
His dimples sink in. “Only that she was expecting.”
“Expecting what?” Everett glances past Noah at a small crowd as if he were only paying half attention to his former stepbrother.
“Expecting a visit from you,” Noah grunts. “A child. Nessa was pregnant.”
I suck in a sharp breath so loud and long, half the room turns my way.
Everett looks to me and lifts a brow. “This adds another dimension to the investigation.”
“You’re right. An entire new slew of motives could be at hand.” I lean in toward Noah. “I guess it’s up to us to figure out who the father was.”
Everett scans the crowd a moment. “Whoever he was, I’m betting he has a tattoo on his left forearm.”
“I bet that’s true,” I say. “Now if we can only get every man here to roll up their sleeves.”
A hot pink hurricane scuttles in this direction. “Noah Corbin Fox!” Cormack squawks. “How can you possibly leave me alone in a room full of potential killers?” She’s quick to wrap her arms around him. “Now get out there and dance with me.” She shimmies her chest over his, and Noah does his best to tuck and roll.
I can’t help but avert my eyes at the sight. “Word on the street has it that you received the most deadliest threat of them all.” Twice, but I doubt Cormack could keep any of the threats straight.
Cormack glowers at me, and it’s evident despite the efforts her mask puts forth in hiding half her face.
“Yes, I did, Lolly. And if you had half a heart, you wouldn’t be so glib about it. I bet if you were receiving these threats, you would demand that both Noah and Essex strap themselves to your side.”
“Not true. In fact, I did receive a note with your poor penmanship scrawled across it, and I did nothing more than laugh at it.”
Everett rumbles low like intimidating thunder indicative of an impending storm.
“Lottie?” Noah takes a step forward. “When did you get this? What did it say?”
“I don’t remember what it said. Something silly, like you’re about to bite the big one, or you’re next.”
Noah tips his head back and groans, his eyes still very much peeled to mine in a show of disdain.
“Lemon”—Everett pulls me in close, his jaw tense with both worry and fury, and it’s a darn good look on him—“you’re not leaving my side tonight.” His lips curl with devilish intent, and I wholeheartedly approve.
“The hell she’s not.” Noah swipes me away, and I gently remove myself from his gorilla grip.
Cormack tosses her hands in the air. “What did I say?”
“I’ll be fine.” I fluff my skirt out and straighten as I glance out at the dapper crowd. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a murder to solve.”
I step out into the grand room with Everett by my side. Noah is being expertly deflected from me by Cormack and her Krav Maga-like takedown of the good detective. And for once, I don’t mind.
The last thing I need is Noah breathing down my neck while Cormack breathes down his. I don’t want to be a part of his traveling circus tonight as I move my way through the crowd of suspects. And, per usual, Everett is the perfect partner to have by my side. Maybe that’s fate’s way of suggesting he’s the one. I reach up and give his scruff a light scratch because he certainly is the one right now.
A woman in yellow dashes our way, her sugary perfume clotting the air before she ever gets near us.
“Lottie”—Landon lifts her mask a moment as she swoops over in a delightful sunny yellow gown and a mask to match. Her smile looks just as sunny as her accouterments, and she’s grinning ear to ear. “Did you hear? The Ashford Sheriff’s Department is back to ruling Nessa’s death an accident. We can all breathe a sigh of relief.”
I glance to Everett, surprised to hear such a silly thing. “Wow, I didn’t know that. They’re not back to pointing the finger at me, are they?” Please, God, don’t let it be so. I’ve already invested way too much energy in loathing whoever would stoop so low as to poison Nessa. And quite frankly, I don’t have the energy to hate myself that much.
“Nope.” She lifts the hem of her dress a notch and does an odd little tap dance. “It turns out, a gardener was using peanut butter to set mouse traps around that mangy bed and breakfast, and he left the jar kicked on its side next to the door. Someone must have fallen on it or he touched a doorway with some of it still on his hands which, in turn, Nessa must have touched.”
“I see.” But I really don’t see. Didn’t Noah say there was about at least a half a teaspoon in her system? Not to mention Nessa would have noticed something sticky on her hands. I shake my head as if openly refuting the idea. “That’s great news, I guess. Where did you hear this?”
Landon glances back at the crowd and cranes her neck. “That redheaded detective. She told a couple of people. Clayton and Ryan, I think.”
“Ivy?” This flummoxes me. And sure enough, I spot the fiery-headed, stone-cold detective laughing it up with Noah and Cormack as if they were suddenly Honey Hollow’s hottest threesome. “Huh. Well, thank you for sharing that with me.”
Landon dances off toward Jenson and Lindie, and I scan the crowd and spot the exact person who can shed a little more light on this new, rather bombastic theory.
“Come.” I thread my arm through Everett’s as we make our way through the heavily perfumed crowd until we’re standing square in front of Miranda Lemon and Mayor Smashed—okay, fine, Nash, but he is looking red-faced and tipsy as if he’s pounded back one too many dry martinis like the one he’s holding in his hand. “Mother, Mayor Nash. Good evening.”
“Lottie, you look lovely tonight.” Mayor Nash nods my way, his mask partially dislodging from its proper position. Mayor Nash is a decent looking older man, and I’m guessing would be a hottie if
you’d subtract a few decades and pounds, but my mother doesn’t seem to mind the geriatric mathematics.
Usually, this would thrill me. My mother making eyes at anyone but Rich Dallas would feel like a win, but her best friend’s ex-husband? A philandering ex-husband no less? It doesn’t thrill me in the least.
Honestly, my mother’s new lineup of suitors is making her old kinky beau Brad Rutherford shine a little brighter. Where’s good old Brad when you need him? Most likely in the Jungle Room down in Leeds.
My mother waves a red and black lace fan in her face as she bats her lashes up at Everett. Her dress is black with red peek-a-boo lace in all the right places, and it really does give off a merry widow kind of a vibe.
“My, Judge Baxter”—she closes her fan abruptly and covers her lips with it—“you look arrestingly handsome with that near-blindfold you’re wearing. I’m sure my daughter appreciates the appeal of a good blindfold or two herself.”
“MOTHER!” If there is a killer in the room, I hope he or she comes up behind me and thumps a shovel over my head. I clear my throat before getting back to the task at hand. “You wouldn’t happen to have a gardener at the B&B, would you?”
Her mouth squares out in horror. “Lottie Kenzie Lemon. You have two perfectly good suitors with professional careers. Must you really go looking for a manual laborer to add to the mix?” She stomps her foot and whines as if the thought were more than she could bear.
“What? No. I don’t need a date. I need to know if you’ve hired anyone to take care of the grounds recently. I thought you did all the maintenance on your own.”
“Oh, I do. I have my horticulture club out once a week as soon as the snow thaws right up until the first snowflake falls. It saves a ton of money, and since I don’t have a stitch of lawn to mow, I’d rather putz around in the garden myself.”
“I thought so.” I shoot an accusatory look at Ivy as she shimmies the bustle of her dark crimson gown into Noah’s hips, much to Cormack Featherby’s chagrin. “Thank you,” I say as I pull Everett in close, and we’re off to break up their hip-grinding good time.
Lethal Lemon Bars: MURDER IN THE MIX 9 Page 16
