I bite down on the inside of my cheek. It’s hard to keep my emotions in check.
“Great news? He’s still my boyfriend,” I say, shaking my head as if it wasn’t great news at all. It’s confusing news is what it is. I’m not even sure it’s true.
A thin-framed girl with blue hair pulled into a ponytail, holding a megaphone waves from the front in an effort to get everyone’s attention.
“That’s her,” Bizzy whispers, and I nod in confirmation.
“Hello, everybody, and good morning!” The chipper girl bounces as she strides back and forth shouting into the apparatus in her hand.
Good thing there isn’t a residential housing tract for miles or I could imagine this would be a rude wake-up call.
“My name is Tallulah Velvet, and not only am I a super sensational yoga monster, but I am an awesome author as well. If you’re angry, frustrated, or an overall irate person, you’ve come to the right place. Rage yoga is all about exerting raw, unfiltered emotions through balanced and controlled exercise paired with your ability to shout your rage into the void of the universe. Are we ready to get started?”
“I’ll say!” Georgie barks. “Let’s get this screaming party started!”
A wild cheer ignites as Georgie commandeers the troops, and before we know it, Tallulah lands us in what she calls a meditative pose, sitting straight up with our legs folded, arms out on our knees.
Bizzy sucks in a quick breath. “I think everyone is giving the one finger salute.”
I take a look around and, sure enough, that special finger I’ve seen waved my way every now and again on the interstate is being held high by the plethora of women. Something tells me this isn’t their first rage rodeo.
Carlotta honks out a laugh. “Look at that, Gray. They’re freely giving the bird. Let’s join in on the fun.”
“I’m not joining in on the fun,” Bizzy says, leaning her back into the sun.
“Me neither,” I say, mimicking her relaxing move.
Carlotta grunts, “That’s because neither of you are fun. Come on, Macy. Pick up the slack.”
I peer over to confirm she’s doing just that.
Tallulah groans as if she were giving birth. “Okay, ladies. Now it’s time for our very first cry of fury for the day. I want you to dig deep. Hone in on your biggest frustration, your sharpest grief, and let it all out via your vocal cords. On three!”
As if we were being attacked by an entire herd of hungry vultures, every woman in the vicinity belts out a wild cry that stretches to the sky.
“Come on, Lot Lot!” Carlotta screams through her own grunts. “Give us what you got!”
I start out low with sort of a yelp as if someone stepped on my toe, and Carlotta gives a disapproving shake of the head my way.
Even Bingo has gotten into the action, snorting her ghostly furry head off, and it almost sounds as if she’s trying to harmonize with some of the other women.
Tallulah leads us into another pose, the downward dog, and it feels good to stretch my legs out while my hands are pressed to my mat.
“Got your bum in the air, girls?” Georgie shouts.
“Yup!” Bizzy shouts back.
I catch Macy looking my way.
“Page sixty-seven,” she calls out and all five of us break out into cackles.
Tallulah gives us instructions on letting out our ferocious feelings, and, I’ll admit, it’s much tougher to scream while in this contorted position, but I give it my best shot anyway.
The next few poses come at us fast and furious as we perform warrior pose one and two. Finally, I’m getting the hang of it, stretching my body while stretching my soul, and soon I’m howling with the best of them. I belt out all of my frustrations regarding my feelings for Noah and Everett, my frustrations that the universe gave me two gorgeous men on a platter, and my anger toward myself for not being able to choose. I scream and howl so loud that my vocal cords feel as if I’m shredding them to pieces.
A hard tap lands on my shoulder, and I pause momentarily to find Carlotta standing over me.
“You can stop with the shouting now. We’ve been done for close to five minutes.”
“What?” I cower a moment as I note the eyes of every woman, and one ghostly swine, in this field are pinned on yours truly.
Tallulah makes her way over with a laugh in her mouth.
“Don’t worry about a thing. Every now and again, we get someone who needs a little more time to unleash their frustrations. I’m just glad you didn’t clam up. We get women who can’t even squeak out a hello. I’ve even had a handful ask for their money back. You’re not going to ask for your money back, are you?”
“What? Heck no.” I quickly traipse off my mat as Bizzy and I head over to her.
The rest of the crowd has broken out into social circles as a happy hum of voices surrounds us.
“I’m Lottie Lemon. I think we met at that author signing on the Fourth.” I figure we should get right to the nitty-gritty.
Bizzy nods as if affirming the fact. “My sister is still raving about your book, Love’s Resurrection. And as soon as I can pry it out of her hands, I’m reading it next.”
Tallulah belts out a friendly laugh. She’s shorter in stature but full of spunk and life. The blue highlights in her hair show she’s got a bubbly personality that can’t be contained.
I lean in. “How on earth did you get started in this?”
She nods as if she’s been asked that a thousand times.
“My therapist suggested it. In fact, she’s become a regular here. It’s safe to say she’s a fan.” Her smile fades a touch. “So you were both at the signing that day.” She shrugs. “Well, I hope you had a great time.”
“Oh, we did.” I block her path in the event she’s thinking of bolting. “But did you hear? There was a murder that took place.”
Her jaw clenches as if the thought enraged her, and judging by Bizzy’s quarter-sized eyes, she’s picking up on some less than savory thoughts.
“I know all about it.” Tallulah exhales as if she were breathing her way through the trauma. I bet she’s reliving it. That might explain why Bizzy is cringing just a bit.
Bingo lumbers her way over, batting those extra-long eyelashes our way.
“Is the angry one the killer? Fancy that. A woman who profits off rage can’t control her own.”
“Good point,” I whisper without meaning to, and Tallulah looks my way.
“Yes, well, it’s over now and we can all move on with our lives.”
Bizzy offers a puzzled glance her way. “Did they catch the killer?”
Tallulah shrugs. “I doubt it. And I doubt they ever will. Ambrosia made so many people upset, the poor sheriff’s department would have to question the entire Western Hemisphere to get to the bottom of it. Some cases simply grow cold. And unfortunately for Ambrosia, she’s growing cold, too.” She shudders. “Sorry, I’m sure that sounded insensitive. Ambrosia wasn’t exactly my favorite person, but then neither was I to her. There was no love lost between us. And apparently, there’s a killer out there that I’m betting feels the very same way.”
Bizzy and I exchange a quick glance.
“Tallulah,” I say her name softly and yet my voice still feels strained. “Can I ask why you felt that way about each other? She really did seem like a well-loved author. My mother is one of her biggest fans.”
She nods. “She has a rabid fan base. Believe me, I know all about them. Ambrosia and I started out as genuine friends, much the same way all of her present enemies did. In fact, we had a shared friend named Ronald Stigman. We met ages ago at a café where Ambrosia and I used to meet up and write side by side. Anyway, long story short, Ambrosia had a boyfriend at the time so I went for Ronald. He was smart, funny, handsome, everything a girl could want. Little did I know that what I had mistaken for friendly behavior on Ambrosia’s part was actual flirting. I guess she was on the prowl and I didn’t pick up on it until it was too late. Not that I was about to
hand Ronald over on a silver platter. Ronald and I dated. We got serious. We talked marriage.” Her chest bucks. “None of that made any difference to her. She saw how happy I was—and how miserable she was with Henry—and she sabotaged both of our relationships. Her boyfriend cheated on her and she exposed him to his whole family. I told her that was a lousy thing to do. I didn’t know she was about to do something even lousier than that to me.”
Both Bizzy and I lean in at the very same time. I can’t imagine what could be lousier than that, but then Ambrosia did have a wild imagination.
“What did she do, do, do?” Bingo oinks out that last word three times straight.
Tallulah leans in a notch herself. “Ambrosia took advantage of the fact Ronald and I were at a rocky point in our relationship. She broke into my apartment and boxed up all his things and then scattered them around town. She wrote up this insane treasure hunt and gave it to him to perform in order to get his things back. Of course, his valuables had been stolen by then. Ambrosia made it look as if I did it. She even swiped my phone and texted him a nasty note about it. At the end of the day I tried to let him know it wasn’t me who did it, but it was too late. He was done with me, and that was the end of it. And ironically, that day at the signing, Ronald proposed to his new girlfriend. Ambrosia made sure I saw the entire thing unfold. Apparently, she still maintained a friendship with him, and I learned after the fact that it was Ambrosia who put the idea in his head to propose to his new girlfriend that day. It was terrible.” Her voice breaks as she looks to the ground.
Bizzy sighs. “I’m so sorry. That must have been painful.”
“It was. But, on the bright side, I sold a record number of books that day,” she says, wiping tears from her face.
“I guess that part of Ambrosia will be missed by her fans. I mean, she did contribute to the literary world no matter what kind of a person she was.”
Tallulah huffs at the thought, “All Ambrosia contributed to the world was carbon dioxide. Yeah, she wrote some books but not that many. Someone was feeding her manuscripts. And I’ll be the first to say, I can tell a stark difference between the two.”
“The two?” I ask.
“Yup. There are two clear voices in her work. The crappy one is hers, and the sublimely written pieces, well, those are a true mystery.”
Bizzy and I glance at one another for a brief moment.
Didn’t Jackie mention something about that? Wait, it was Henry who said Jackie has accused Ambrosia of hiring a ghostwriter.
“Tallulah,” I catch her gaze, “do you think Ambrosia hired a ghostwriter?”
Her mouth opens. “You know, I don’t know about a ghostwriter, but she definitely has her hands on someone else’s work. Even some of her fans have called her out on it. The difference is night and day.”
“I wonder what was going on with that?” I shake my head. “I guess Ambrosia may have taken that secret to the grave with her.”
“Jessie Lane might know more,” Tallulah offers. “She was actually Ambrosia’s only friend standing that I know of. Pardon the pun, but everyone else wanted to kill her.” She warms her arms with her hands as if a chill just ran through her despite the fact thermometers all over town are ready to burst. “Anyway, Jessie was the event coordinator along with Wiley Rose Publishing. Jackie Hart, another author who attended the event, had a similar problem with her. I guess you could say Ambrosia was a bit of a book thief when you get down to it. I know she’s not here to defend herself, and if she were, she’d deny everything I’ve said, but it’s true. Ambrosia didn’t write all those books. So great news for your mom. Her favorite author might just be somewhere out there, alive and well.”
She gives a friendly wave and thanks us for coming out before taking off.
Bizzy pulls me in close by the arm. “That was wild.”
“Did you get anything from her thoughts?”
She nods. “She said she hopes Ambrosia is rotting in hell. She said if she can’t have Ronald, Ambrosia got exactly what she deserved—a knife to the back just like the proverbial one she delivered.”
“Dark thoughts.”
Bizzy winces. “They usually are. I’ve learned not to hold them against people. They don’t know they’re being judged.”
“Do you think she killed her?”
“I honestly don’t know.” She blows out a breath as she looks in the direction Tallulah took off in, and I spot Bingo following along, grazing over the field as she goes.
“I think we need to go back to the beginning and talk to Jessie.”
Bizzy nods in agreement. “And in the meantime, I think we need to head back to the library and check out every book they have of Ambrosia Whispers.”
“We should scour the internet to see if anyone else has accused her of hiring a ghostwriter, too.”
“It sounds as if we have a lot to do,” she says.
“Let’s get Bizzy,” I tease and she gives a sarcastic laugh.
“It never gets old.”
Chapter 12
Yellow cake is my preferred delicious base when making a traditional flag cake.
The miniature versions are selling out, too, and just about everyone who takes a bite comments on how moist the cake is. My secret is simple. In addition to the usual sinful amount of butter, I throw in just a dollop of sour cream to keep the cake from drying out.
“Oh, Lottie,” Bizzy moans through her next bite. “I’d ask for the recipe, but I think both my taste buds and the Cider Cove Fire Department wouldn’t approve if I made it.
I can’t help but laugh.
Bizzy asked for a large serving of my flag cake and I quickly complied with a slice that could qualify as a cake all on its own. Bizzy has made no secret about the fact that despite her surname, Baker, she’s pretty much a hazard in the kitchen.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’ll be glad to be your supplier.”
The bakery just finished up with a rush, and since Lily asked for the afternoon off, Bizzy was kind enough to jump behind the counter and help me out.
She points her fork my way. “It’s no wonder your bakery is the busiest bakery I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, I can actually explain that odd surplus of anxious customers. About a year ago, my mother had a brainstorm and decided to profit off all those not-so pesky poltergeists. Believe it or not, she charges eighty bucks a pop to tourists willing to brave her haunted halls. And once they’re done with their Haunted Honey Hollow B&B Tour, she sends them by the busload in my direction for what she’s billing as The Last Thing They Ate Tour. It’s virtually a free tour. That is, unless they purchase the sweet treat the poor unfortunate soul happened to be noshing on when they bit the big one. And it has been an awful strange string of coincidences that each time I find a body, I also find one of my desserts on or near the deceased.”
Bizzy’s mouth falls open. “That brings a whole new meaning to the fact your desserts really are to die for. But I don’t want to die. At least not yet. I have a wedding to tend to in September.”
“That’s right. You and Jasper are tying the knot. I bet you’re over the moon.”
“More like overwhelmed. You wouldn’t believe how much planning goes into one of these events.”
“Oh, I would. Keelie just got married last month.”
As if on cue, my bestie waddles in through the walkway from the Honey Pot Diner. Her blonde curls look a bit wild and unkempt, she’s donned a pale blue dress the exact same hue of her eyes, albeit the dress has a few red stains running down the front, and her belly looks as if it’s grown twice in size since I last saw her a few days ago.
“Lottie Lemon,” she grouses. “I see you judging me. Don’t say a word and hand over whatever she’s having.” Keelie plunks herself down on the stool next to Bizzy.
I quickly oblige and set Keelie up with a slice of flag cake that rivals the one I gave Bizzy.
“I can’t believe your baby shower is coming right up.” No sooner do the words leave my m
outh than the bell on the door chimes and in comes my mother.
“Lottie!” she trills in a panic. “Oh good, you’re here, too, Keelie. We need to shore up the menu for the baby shower. Lainey says all she’s craving is your peach cobbler.”
Keelie grunts, “There’s nothing like your peach cobbler, Lottie.” She lifts her chin as she scans the vicinity. “You wouldn’t happen to have any around, would you?”
“Ooh”—Bizzy’s shoulders bounce—“and peaches are in season, too.”
“I don’t have any at the moment, but consider it a done deal for the baby shower. In fact, I’ll order up a fresh bushel from the local farm. They’re organic, too.”
Keelie makes a face. “Who cares about organic? All I care about is getting their sugary sweetness in my belly.”
Mom gives Keelie’s tummy a pat. “You’ve already got something sweet inside your belly. And I just can’t wait to squeeze those chubby little baby cheeks.”
“Keelie?” Bizzy offers an affable smile. “Do you know what you’re having?”
“A baby,” Keelie snips.
“Keelie Nell Turner,” I say. “Bizzy Baker is a good friend of mine.”
Keelie’s nose twitches in the exact way it’s prone to do when she’s upset.
“You used to consider me a good friend, Lottie Lemon.” Her lower lip quivers and a ripe terror grips me, because I swear on all that is holy, my best friend is about to lose it.
“You are my good friend,” I insist as I make my way around the counter.
“Good friend?” she fires off the words as if they were expletives. “We used to be best friends.” She starts in on a wail that reverberates off the walls like an echo chamber, chasing off what few customers I had left from the afternoon rush as they quickly find the exit.
“Oh, Keelie.” I wrap my arms around my bawling bestie. “I love you so much. Nothing or anyone can ever change that.”
Keelie pulls back, red-faced with her eyes swollen with tears.
“Actions speak louder than words, Lottie. Who have you been investigating with all this time? Has it been me or her?”
Murder in the Mix Boxed Set 8 Page 29
