“Yes, earlier. But I wasn’t the last to see her. I was with you when we found the body, remember?”
He thinks on it a moment. “You disappeared for a time. I was in line and you took off. Theoretically, you could have done this and then came back to get me. You led me right to the body.”
“What are you saying, Detective?” My voice grows with both panic and irritation.
“I’m saying exactly what Ivy will be saying once she hears of this.” He wipes his face down in frustration. “Look, I don’t think you’re a killer. But if you had an argument with someone, I would sure as heck like to know about it.” His voice softens. “It’s me, Lottie. You can trust me.”
“Wow”—I take a quick breath, stunned at the turn of events—“I guess I know how blindsided Scott must feel. I’m starting to feel the same way.”
“I promise, I’m not trying to blindside you. Two people think that you were the last to speak with Tamara. I’m sorry, Lottie, but I’m going to have to note it.”
“Don’t worry, Noah. I’m noting this myself.”
Right after I get to the bottom of why they believe it.
Chapter 8
Noah Corbin Fox.
I shake my head just thinking of the ornery detective. How dare he all but accuse me of murder.
Okay, so he didn’t quite do that. He was just doing his job—worse yet, following his instincts. And his natural instinct was to question whether or not I was a killer.
Everett is my alibi for that night.
Wait a second. I seem to remember I drifted from Everett at some point, too, and left him wading in the deep end of the Honey Hollow single ladies scene.
“Great,” I say out loud while standing in the middle of the kitchen of the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery.
“What’s great?” says a deep voice from down below, and I spot Noel scuttling his way into my line of vision. His little brass nametag swings back and forth, twinkling like a star.
“The fact that I’m moving up the suspect list in Tamara’s murder investigation.” I don’t mind saying it so freely since it’s just Lily and me in the bakery. We closed an hour ago and the rest of the staff already left to get ready for my mother’s mass dating debacle in the making. Apparently, all of Honey Hollow is invited, and every last single soul has accepted her invitation.
“You are a suspect?” Noel lets out an egregiously bark—so loud I’m shocked Lily didn’t hear it.
“But”—I hold up a hand—“I didn’t do it. I just need to know why two different people thought they heard Tamara talking to me that night. And they both claim I was the last person they heard doing so.”
Lily strides in while taking off her apron. “I’ll tell you why.”
I take a quick breath.
Okay, so I may not have counted on the fact Lily might have been listening in on my private, personal conversation—very personal if you count the fact I was basically talking to myself.
“What do you mean you can tell me why? Don’t tell me you heard Tamara talking to me, too.”
I know for a fact Lily was nowhere near the vicinity of the woods when Tamara was pushed to her death.
“I sure did.”
Noel barks up a storm. “Are you the killer, Lottie? Did you do this?” His mouth latches onto my heel and I quickly lift my foot.
“Lily, explain yourself before the dead themselves come back to haunt me—not that they haven’t already.” I make a face at the adorable pooch.
“Well, here, I’ll show you.” Lily leads me into the office and clicks on the ancient answering machine I keep around, only because I haven’t gotten around to switching to a digital service just yet. But in truth this is so much easier. “She called that night. I figured you knew. I heard her mention she just talked to you about it, so I went back to the registers.”
“Oh my gosh!” I dash over to the answering machine, but she beats me to it.
The sound of white noise rushing in the background fills the room with its static and sizzle.
“Hi, Lottie! It’s Tamara. I just spoke to you, but I thought it was best I call before I forget. I wanted to put in an order for enough of your chocolate walnut fudge to feed at least two dozen people. I have—” The sound of a muffled voice shouts something from a distance. Tamara says something unintelligible. It sounds as if the static increases. “I don’t have it, I said.” Tamara’s voice sounds strained as if she were pushing something—like an attacker away maybe? The sound of a female comes in clear, saying something at a quickened clip, her voice filled with annoyance.
Lily and I exchange a quick glance.
Noel leaps and pants. “It’s a woman, Lottie!”
I nod over to him just as both Tamara and the female speaking to her dive into a heated unintelligible exchange.
“Look wherever you want.” Tamara’s voice comes in clear. “You won’t find them because I don’t have them.”
The female with her says something garbled then something that sounds like did he sell our?
Tamara protests again, and the female shrieks and Tamara screams.
The sound of the phone dropping with a thunk takes over, and then it sounds as if it’s tumbling down the embankment right along with her before the line goes dead.
“Oh my God.” I can hardly breathe.
Lily plays it again for me, and this time I record it with my own phone. Both Noah and Everett are waiting for me at my mother’s, and I need them to hear every word.
Lily shivers. “Who do you think did this, Lottie? Who was she?”
“I don’t know, but whoever she is—I’m fairly certain she’ll be at my mother’s shindig tonight.” My own body shivers at the prospect.
Whoever killed Tamara is a woman.
I guess you could say it’s Scott Gray’s lucky day.
Chapter 9
My mother’s bed and breakfast is lit up like a frosted gingerbread house with the twinkle lights woven in soft waves around the eaves.
Snow softly falls to the ground as Lily and I make trip after trip to carry in all the sweet treats we’ve whipped up for my mother’s speed dating debacle.
We still have about a half an hour before the trauma and drama officially gets underway, and both Lily and Keelie help me put the platters brimming with my sweet treats into the conservatory where the dating deception will take place.
My mother purchased this B&B with the insurance money after my father died. And it’s been every bit another child to her as are my sisters and me. The B&B is a stunning old mansion with plenty of rooms upstairs to house the masses. Downstairs there’s a grand dining room, a great room, and, of course, the glass conservatory which she recently had constructed. The conservatory is a large hall that has played host to many events, and unfortunately a few murders as well. And hopefully tonight it will play a factor in closing out a homicide investigation as well.
I glance around the blooming crowd of well-coifed and polished men and women as I search for either Everett or Noah. They both assured me they’d be here this evening, and I can’t wait to share the information I gleaned on that answering machine. No wonder both Joyce and Scott heard Tamara having a conversation with me—it’s because she was doing just that.
The conservatory is sprinkled with dozens of small bistro tables with two chairs apiece. And on every table sits a cardboard stand with a giant number over it. I suppose that’s how it will work. Everyone will move up a number as the night goes on until everyone has “dated” everyone. Creepy.
The lively crowd is dressed to the nines, already mingling and lighting up the room with laughter. In the corner I spot a couple of ghosts looking pretty dolled up themselves—Greer Giles and her boyfriend, Winslow Decker.
I offer up a cheery wave in their direction before ushering us out of the conservatory and down a dark hall where I can speak to them without people wondering if I’ve gone over the deep end.
Greer is a girl who was about my age when she was murdered just last y
ear. She has on the very same white ruched gown she was killed in, and it’s still as stunning on her as it was the day she donned it. Her long dark hair and beauty queen features still serve her well on the other side as evidenced by the fact she scored a boyfriend not too long into her haunting stint here at the B&B.
Winslow Decker is a handsome twenty-something himself, with dirty blond hair and a toothy grin. Winslow used to have a pig farm out on the backside of Honey Hollow about two hundred years ago, and apparently he’s been haunting these grounds since he joined the great majority.
It’s funny how an age gap of just a few years can be cause for alarm among the living, but a couple hundred years aren’t a big deal once you cross to the other side.
Greer leans in. “There’s a ghostly little canine running around, and I’m madly in love. What’s he doing here, Lottie?”
Winslow grins. “Greer has asked to keep him.”
Greer nods furtively my way. “Oh, how I miss my purse puppies. Please, Lottie, please can I keep him?”
“I have no say over it. But his name is Noel and he’s trying to help me get to the bottom of a homicide investigation. A friend of mine was pushed from an embankment and I think they’re about to arrest the wrong person.”
Greer clutches at her chest. “That’s terrible!”
Winslow ticks his head to the side. “And that must mean that he’ll be returning to paradise upon the resolution of the case.”
I shrug over at the two of them. “I’m sorry. It always does. I’m not sure why the two of you get to remain, and yet those that come to help me always seem to get called back—but it just seems to work that way. Have either of you ever thought about moving to paradise permanently?”
They glance to one another and share a warm laugh.
“Oh, Lottie”—Greer fans herself a moment—“paradise is where you make it, and for me that’s with Winslow, right here at this beautiful B&B.”
Winslow nods in agreement. “Without my Greer by my side, I’m afraid that haunting this old place wouldn’t be the same. Sure, I could drop a few books from the bookshelf, but it’s so much more of a fright if she’s rattling the chandelier at the very same time.”
Now it’s me bouncing with a laugh. “I do know for a fact my mother’s haunted B&B tours have outstanding reviews and an even better referral rate. It’s safe to say you two are knocking it out of the supernatural park.”
No sooner do I get the words out than the aforementioned adorable French bulldog scampers up, panting with his little pink tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
“Lottie Lemon. Why on earth are you entertaining spirits when we have suspects to winnow out and a killer to catch?”
I reach down and scoop him up in my arms. “Noel, this is Greer and Winslow. They find you precious beyond measure, and Greer wishes she could keep you for herself.”
Something between a howl and a whine comes from him. “Well, hello, beautiful,” he practically purrs the words out.
She reaches over and offers him a scratch on the head. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” His tail wags so hard it’s swatting me on the arm like a punishment. “I certainly hope the two of you are in the mood to catch a killer. I’m anxious to be back to paradise before the big day. I’d love nothing more than to spend Christmas with my sweet Tamara. That is in fact the day we met. I was gifted to her by her father.”
Greer coos and looks as if she were about to cry all at the same time.
Winslow shakes his head. “I’m afraid we can’t help. There’s a haunting to be had.”
Greer waves him off. “We’ll be glad to help. But if you don’t mind biting an ankle or two, that would help us out, too.”
“Then it’s settled.” Noel jumps out of my arms and runs down the hall. “Let’s go, Lottie! It’s time to catch a killer.”
We head back out and the fun and games—or more to the point, the horrors and potential assaults have begun as the giant digital clock my mother hung for the occasion is already counting down. A buzzer goes off, and a man I don’t recognize leans into the microphone set up front and shouts, “Next!”
Bodies circulate and mingle, and among them I spot Noah and Everett talking to Detective Ivy Fairbanks. As soon as they spot me, they head in my direction, and I lead them to the mouth of the room.
“Lottie.” Ivy lifts her chin. She’s donned a red velvet gown and has her crimson hair pulled back into a chignon, looking every bit the glamour girl she is.
“Detective Fairbanks. It’s nice to see you here tonight.” I’ve already shared everything I know about Joyce and Bonnie with Everett and Noah. I supposed Noah has shared it with Ivy by proxy.
She sniffs. “I thought I’d jump in and try my hand at love.” She wrinkles her nose as if the thought were offensive to her on some level.
“Well, don’t go yet.” I look to both Noah and Everett who look equally handsome with their dark inky suits and their killer good looks—no pun intended. “It turns out, Tamara was speaking to me the night she was killed—moments before to be exact.”
“What?” Everett’s cobalt blue eyes widen a touch. “Lemon, I suggest we consult with an attorney before you implicate yourself in the presence of the law.”
“Honestly, I think it’s fine.” I pull out my phone. “Tamara left a message for me at the bakery.” I turn up the volume on my phone and play it as the three of them listen in. And as soon as it’s finished, they all lean back and take in a collective breath.
“Lottie”—Noah rakes his fingers through his hair—“this is big. That was a woman speaking to Tamara.”
I nod. “A woman who wasn’t me. And the only women in the woods with her that night were Joyce and Bonnie.” I shrug. “I guess Stacy was, too, according to Scott.”
Noah and Ivy exchange a knowing look.
Ivy pulls out her phone. “I’ll review the evidence. Lottie, send that to me right away. I need to have an analysis done.” She shifts her gaze to Noah. “I’ll be out front if you need me.”
Noah and Everett lean in, and we listen to the recording once again.
Everett’s chest expands. “She’s frantic. I’m sorry you had to hear that, Lemon.”
“I am, too,” I say. “But if it could help capture her killer, I’ll listen to it again every day of my life.”
The recording wraps up, and Noah shakes his head. “It sounded like whoever that other woman was said something to the effect of did she sell art?” He shakes his head baffled by it.
“Your interpretation is better than mine. I thought she said did he sell are. I guess we may never know what they were talking about.”
Noel barks. “Or who she is.” Noel runs into the conservatory and growls. “I see one of the suspects now, Lottie. Let’s attack!”
I make a face as I crane my neck into the crowd. “There’s Bonnie,” I say as I spot her blonde mane teased to the ceiling. Her lips are painted a caustic shade of pink, and she’s already chatting with a rather nice looking gentleman.
Everett nods to our left. “And there’s Joyce.”
I turn to find her laughing with a group of women. Each one looks more polished than the next. Joyce has a tight-fitting number on, a little black dress by every definition of the word, and she’s wearing a strand of garland around her neck like a scarf.
“They both seem to be in a good mood,” I say just as I spot Stacy standing with my sisters. “Ooh, look at that.” I point over to them.
Mom runs up before I can say another word.
“Lottie! Oh, thank goodness you came with a few good men. I’m down one man and I need to borrow from your surplus.”
My lips part as I look to Noah and Everett. I was never good at sharing my toys, and I have never entertained sharing my boys—but then again, neither one of them is officially mine.
Noah pulls out his phone. “Everett, why don’t you take this one? Ivy just texted and I need to confer with her abou
t something.” He takes off for the exit, and I look to Everett who’s busy twisting his lips in a knot.
“It’s fine,” I say as I hike up on my tiptoes and offer his cheek a quick peck. “That’s something to remember me by.”
He ticks his head to the side. “Not only are you unforgettable, Lemon, you’re all I ever think about.”
“Aw!” Mom melts at his sweet proclamation. “Now come with me, Judge Baxter. We need to get you officially registered for the event.” And just like that, they disappear into the crowd.
A bout of laughter garners my attention from the right, and it’s Stacy and my sisters having a good time.
Noel barks up at me before floating up around head height. “Let’s get moving, Lottie. There’s a killer in the room, and I’ve got one serious bone to pick with them.”
“Very funny,” I say, nodding to my right. “I think I’ll go join that conversation. Maybe Stacy or Lainey will remember something from that night.”
“Good thinking.”
No sooner do we arrive than Stacy looks my way. “Hi, Lottie. I was just on my way to the kitchen. The farm provided all the produce for the crudités and I don’t see any of it out. I have a feeling I’ll have to assemble it all myself.”
“Oh, I can help,” I offer.
Noel groans, “I forbid you to make a glorified salad when there’s a suspect to identify.”
“That’s okay.” Stacy shakes her head. She’s wearing a stunning gold dress and her red hair gleams in the light. I think it’s odd she’s here tonight, especially after she was with Scott at the tree lighting. “Hey, can I ask what those detectives wanted?” She glances to the door.
“I don’t know.” I bite down on my lower lip because it just so happens that I do know.
“I think I know.” Stacy’s left brow hikes into her forehead. “Scott told me someone called into the sheriff’s department and implicated him—said they were an eyewitness to the event. It looks as if tonight is Scott’s last night as a free man. He’ll be going away for a long time.” She offers a forlorn smile. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
Christmas Fudge Fatality Page 6
