Murder in the Mix Boxed Set 8

by Addison Moore

Both Ridge and Kent buck with a laugh.

  Kent holds up a finger my way. “But not a boring one, I bet. And I do remember something about that from the night at the awards ceremony.”

  Ridge waggles his brows. “Too bad we don’t make those kinds of movies. I’m afraid we’re into the macabre.”

  “I’ll say.” I shudder. “What drove you in this direction? Was it Dane?”

  Kent glances to Ridge. “No, it’s wasn’t Dane. But Dane did have a good eye for what the public would go for—and, boy, have they gone for it. Not to toot our own horn, but we’re eating our way up the rankings. We’ve gone international, and there’s talk of a major network spinoff.”

  “That’s fantastic,” I gush. “Too bad poor Dane wasn’t here to see it.”

  Kent bows his head. “Dane always did have lousy timing.”

  Ridge glances his way. “With women and in business. I’m telling you”—he looks to Noah and Everett—“Dane never could catch a break. Was he that way in high school, too?”

  Noah looks to Everett. “I thought he had it together. He was involved with films even back then. You couldn’t go ten steps without him recording your every move. He was one person who knew what he wanted out of life.”

  Everett twitches a smile. “Not to mention, Dane was the life of the party. It doesn’t surprise me in the least he was getting behind all the good projects. That guy never made a bad turn.”

  Kent averts his eyes. “I don’t know about that one.”

  Someone calls for Ridge in the sound room and he sighs in that direction before looking our way.

  “I’ll be back in a second.” He offers a sinister smile my way. “Don’t you go anywhere.”

  A tiny giggle rides through me and both Noah and Everett glance my way.

  Kent ticks his head in the direction of the sound studio. “Don’t tell Ridge I said so, but he’s a virtual genius when it comes to electronics. He’s not just the brawn around here; he’s the brains, too. He could rewire a ticking bomb if he needed to.”

  “That’s quite a talent.” I clear my throat. “So Kent? You think Dane made a dicey move?” I happen to know that Dane acquired a string of mystery movies from a local studio but wasn’t convinced of the quality and wanted to back out. Ridge Porter told us that himself.

  Kent nods. “Oh, he made more than a few.”

  Noah looks his way. “So what was this big pickle he was trying to get you to help him with?”

  “I’m curious, too,” Everett adds. “It was essentially the final topic of conversation we had with him. “It would be nice to know.”

  “For closure,” I add.

  Kent glances back to the sound studio where Ridge took off to.

  “There were more than a few pickles, I can assure you of that. But one of them—” He looks genuinely hesitant to finish his thought.

  I lean forward. “Did it have something to do with a string of low quality mystery movies?”

  Kent’s brows furrow as if he hadn’t the foggiest idea of what I was talking about just as Ridge steps out of the sound room.

  “Yes.” Kent gives a frenetic nod. “That’s exactly it.”

  Shoot.

  I gave him an out. I can tell by that strange expression of his something else is going on.

  Ridge offers a mournful smile. “I’m afraid Kent and I are needed to finish some dubbing work. But I guess we’ll see you all at the B&B for the taping of the finale.”

  “Yes,” I say. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world. In fact, half of Honey Hollow will be there. Everyone is so excited. Especially the women.” Both Noah and Everett look mildly amused, and yet mildly irritated all at the same time. “But not this woman.” I wince over at him. “I mean, I am, but I’m not. Am I still talking? We’d better go now. We have leftover pizza growing old in the car. And it’s a new car with new car smell. You can come and sniff it if you like. But then, that might be weird.” I cower. “I’m weird, aren’t I?”

  Ridge laughs. “You, my dear, are adorable. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Noah, Everett, and I take off and land back in my pizza-scented new car.

  “I can’t believe I botched that,” I say as I snap my seatbelt angrily. “I ruined everything by feeding him the answer. It’s clear he was going in another direction. Now we’ll never know what pickle Kent was trying to get Dane out of.”

  Noah rumbles with a dull laugh. “Don’t get down on yourself, Lot. You were doing fine. But you’re the baker and I’m—”

  “The detective,” I say, lackluster. “Noah, that man was holding back from us. And now we may never know why.”

  “Don’t worry, Lemon,” Everett says as he drives us back to Honey Hollow. “I have a feeling you’ll figure it out on your own. Having someone hold back information has never stopped you from getting to the truth. I’ve got faith in you—as both a baker and a detective.” He glances back at Noah in the rearview mirror and a sly smile flinches on his lips.

  We get back to Country Cottage Road where the three of us happen to live. Noah lived here first, and then I moved into a rental across the street. And, well, Everett wanted to be close to me so he bought the house next to mine.

  Noah kisses my cheek as he says goodnight and heads off to his place. Everett lands a wet one to my lips as we say goodnight ourselves.

  Everett’s lids hood dangerously low. “Should I come by and tuck you in?”

  My lips knot up. “You know what? My stomach is still playing topsy-turvy. I think I’m going to get some shut-eye and see if I can’t get this tummy ache to disappear before I need to open the bakery.”

  “You bet.” He dots another kiss to my lips. “I love you, Lemon. If you need anything at all, call me.”

  “You bet.” I poke him in the chest and wink.

  He takes off, and I run into my rental house.

  “Carlotta?” I call out as I scoop up Pancake and Waffles into my arms. Both of my sweet cats are far too fluffy for their own good this time of year. At this point, with all that fur, they’re more pillow than they are pet.

  “What is it?” Carlotta staggers out of the hallway holding a bottle of whiskey with a white face mask on, her hair in rollers, a ratty old pink bathrobe on, and cotton balls wedged between each of her pink painted toes. “Is it time? Are you having the baby?”

  “You wish,” I growl over at her. “I’m having an investigation. How about you and I take that Green Greased Lightning of yours out for a spin?”

  She shuffles her way over, doing her best rendition of Frankenstein’s creature.

  “Where are we going, Lot?”

  “Fallbrook. Kent Noble’s house—his office to be exact.”

  A dark laugh strums through her. “Why do I get the feeling we’re not inviting guests?”

  “I think you know me.”

  “I think I made you.” She starts plucking those cotton balls out from between her toes, and it suddenly looks as if it’s snowing in here. “I was breaking and entering long before you were a glimmer in Mayor Nash’s eyes. Face it, Lot, my affinity for burglary is in your DNA. And it only gets worse from generation to generation. I think you’ve got a felon brewing in your belly.”

  “You mention my belly again and I’m going to commit a felony before we ever leave the house.”

  “I’ll get my shoes and keys. I’ll leave my whiskey at home as a treat for when I get back. If I’m headed out with you, I’m going to need it.”

  “And I’ll leave my sanity at home.”

  I’m headed to Fallbrook.

  Noah and Everett would never approve.

  But what they don’t know won’t hurt them.

  Most of the time.

  Chapter 15

  Green Greased Lightning is only a few hours old and has already garnered a shiny new nickname, the Greedy Green Speeding Machine.

  I’ll be the first to admit this green bullet sure does have some serious get up and go. Lucky for Carlotta and me, there’s not a soul on the highway
with us.

  Carlotta was able to figure out Kent Noble’s address fairly quickly thanks to public records and the clincher was seeing the name Noble in copper lettering underneath his address right there, out in the open, on his mailbox.

  We drove a block north to a public park before we trek back on foot. The moon is just a shadow of its former self, the night is dark as navy velvet, and the air is scented with rosemary and lavender.

  “Carlotta,” I hiss as we tiptoe our way up the street. “Why did you have to put on that face mask? Your face is glowing like a full moon.”

  “Excuse me for not being on Lottie-Dottie-might-rob-a-house detail. I was getting ready for some lovin’, I’ll have you know. Harry will be stopping by in a few hours, and I was spit-shining myself for him.”

  “A few hours?” I balk. “Carlotta, it’s already eleven at night.”

  “Love knows not the season nor the hour. Don’t you read poetry? You’re acting like you were raised by wolves.”

  I pause a moment to frown over at her. “I was raised by people who imposed a strict nine o’clock curfew.”

  “I’m sorry, Lot. If I knew it’d be that hard for you, I would have dropped you off in the woods in hopes the fairies would have gotten you. Instead, you got those monsters. Who knew their last name said it all? You really did end up with a couple of lemons for parents.”

  “I did not end up with lemons.” I pause once again to glare at her. “The Lemons were good people. What am I saying? I am a Lemon. My parents are great. And I’m not even going to ask about the fairies.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t get it.” She pokes me in the side with her finger. “Only a movie buff like me understands the ugly truth about the changelings.”

  “Carlotta, a changeling is a myth propagated by the Scottish.”

  A small titter escapes her. “What do you think the fairies say about the transmundane?”

  “Nothing,” I snip. “Because they’re not real.”

  “You can take the changelings, the vampires, and the werewolves, but I won’t let you take my fairies.”

  “Fine,” I hiss. “You can have at all the fairies you like, just keep your pie hole shut until we get back in the van. We need to keep quiet or someone might wake up and call the sheriff’s department.”

  She holds up a finger, but in this murky darkness I’m not sure which one. I’m betting it’s the dicey one in the middle.

  “Hey, Lot,” she whispers as we come upon the Noble home. “Did you know nymphs are fairies? And male nymphs are the most beautiful male creatures in all existence?”

  “Stop talking about fairies,” I whisper right back as I lead us up alongside the property. “We’ll continue this conversation later.” When I have a pillow around to shove over her face—preferably one with a fairy stitched over it.

  “I just thought you of all people would want to know about the nymph men, seeing that you like to fornicate with the finest male creatures of all Honey Hollow. Back in my day, they had a name for girls like you, and it wasn’t very nice, Lottie.”

  “I’m sure you’re familiar with that name because you heard it quite a bit.”

  She pulls me back by the elbow. “You take that back. I am not a tart.”

  “Well, I’m not a tart either.”

  “Yes, you are,” she whispers as loud as she can.

  “Then you are, too!” I whisper-shout right back.

  Carlotta wraps her hands around my neck and begins to throttle me, and, like a reflex, I do the same to her. The two of us stand in the shadows of the hedges, strangling one another until we both burst out laughing at the very same time.

  “Shhh!” I mean to quiet her down, but it just morphs into choo-choo train laughter instead.

  Carlotta slaps her thigh as nothing but air comes out of her mouth she’s wheezing so hard with laughter.

  She wipes her eyes down with her pinkies. “I think I just peed my pants.”

  “That makes two of us.” I shudder. “Come on. We’d better hurry before things go from wet to worse.”

  “That’s how I know we’re related, weak Sawyer bladders.”

  We traipse our way to the back of the property, and thankfully I don’t see any signs that alert us to a home security system. Although, I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.

  The house isn’t too expansive—maybe two thousand square feet, one story, brown brick façade with a wraparound border garden.

  Carlotta gives my sleeve a tug and points to a partially open window that looks no bigger than two feet wide and one foot tall.

  I shake my head. “I don’t think I can fit.”

  “That’s what you got me for. You don’t see me noshing on donuts all day long, do you? And this is why.” She pushes a large rock underneath it and hops on up.

  “I don’t know, Carlotta. That’s an awfully small opening. Let’s check the other windows and get back to it.”

  “Nope. I’m doing it.”

  “Carlotta, I forbid it.”

  A glint of defiance lights up her eyes, and for a second, I feel bad for Grandma Nell who had to raise her, especially now that I can see what she was up against.

  Carlotta all but growls at me. “I’ve been on this planet a heck of a lot longer than you have, missy. Out of my way.” She scampers up the wall like a spider monkey, plucks off the screen, and launches half her body into the house, leaving her bottom wedged in the opening while her legs flail wildly.

  I grunt, “I knew this would end badly. Me and my big ideas. And you and your big behind.” I head over to a back porch slider and, sure enough, it’s unlocked. “Good grief.” I enter into the house to the sound of Carlotta’s desperate pleas for help. “Hello? Is anyone home?” I shout.

  Rule number one when breaking and entering: DO NOT SHOUT TO SEE IF ANYONE IS HOME!

  I’m about to exit the room when I note the wall-to-wall bookshelves, a couple of tall wooden filing cabinets, and a desk.

  “The office!” I gasp with unmitigated delight.

  Carlotta yelps so loud I’m truly concerned she just accidentally sawed herself in half. I don’t think we’re that far away from it becoming a reality, so I run down the hall and follow her screams until I hit the bathroom and find her beating the shower wall with her fists.

  “Carlotta,” I hiss. “Are you okay?”

  “Do I look okay? Sometimes I wonder about you, Lot.”

  I head over and try my hardest to pull her in, but she’s wedged in so tight she might as well be encased in concrete.

  “Oh dear Lord,” I pant. “Don’t panic.” That was more or less me talking to myself. “The office is right next door. I’ll do what I can, and then we’ll bust you out of here.” I take off and quickly text Everett.

  911! Come to Kent Noble’s house quick! Carlotta is stuck in the window!

  He texts right back. Lemon.

  The dancing ellipses start up again. Be there fast as I can. If you’re in the house, get the hell out. And I know you’re in the house.

  I certainly will get out, Judge Baxter. Just as soon as I get what I came for.

  A tiny giggle lives and dies in my chest as I text back once more.

  Bring butter.

  I traipse back into the office and a spray of tiny red stars appears as Collette Jenner materializes before me in all her hip-hugging crimson dress glory. Her hair is down in luscious auburn waves, and her lips are glossed with the same cherry hue.

  “Boo!” She blows me a kiss in the process of trying to scare the pants right off of me.

  “Boo to you. I just came from the bakery where I ate my previous weight in cobbler. Would you mind throwing in a few blueberries once in a while? I’ve been craving a variety.”

  “Duly noted.”

  Carlotta yelps for Collette, and it only incites the cobbler-laden poltergeist to giggle.

  “I’m sorry I can’t help you, Carlotta,” she trills so loud the house vibrates with her ghostly wail. “But not to worry. I have a feeling
you won’t grow old while stuck in that wall. So hush up. Lottie and I have some serious investigating to do. Now, whose house are we in, and more importantly, do you think they have ice cream in the fridge?”

  I make a face at her. “Kent Noble. He seemed to be holding something back when I met him earlier at the studio and Jade mentioned this is his primary office. Let’s look around. Everett is on his way to help with the screaming banshee stuck in the bathroom wall, and I figure he’s going to zip over in a flash, so we only have minutes to find something incriminating.”

  Collette lights up the room with her dizzying display of stars—enough to light up an entire solar system—and I get right to work, taking pictures of files after files, the inside of the desk drawer, the books on the shelves, the calendar on the desk, the large plaque that reads Unsolved Mysteries Tonight Best in Entertainment Award, and just about anything I can. I’ll have to sort out all the details later.

  Collette tries to smack me on the arm, but her hand slices right through me.

  “Lottie, look at that.” She points to the floor where a small chest sits near the trash can. “I bet that’s where the evidence you’re looking for is stored.”

  I avert my eyes. “More like his girly magazines.”

  Regardless, I get on my knees to check it out.

  It stands about a foot and half tall and is just about as twice as wide. It seems to be made of weathered wood and looks as if someone plucked it right off a pirate’s ship. A rusted lock secures it shut, and I give it a wiggle and giggle but nothing exciting happens.

  “I can’t open it. It’s rusted shut,” I grunt while struggling with the lock.

  “Well, don’t just sit there, get a paperclip or something.”

  “Good idea.” I motion to the desk. “Hand it to me, would you?”

  Collette quickly retrieves a paperclip and I try my hardest to pry the dang thing open, but it won’t budge.

  Carlotta yelps and I can feel my body heat rising. I stand and kick my heel over the rusted lock three times hard and, sure enough, the entire metal clamp holding the lock on falls right off.

  Collette shrugs over at me. “That works, too.”

  “I’ll say.” I fall back to my knees and open the chest. Inside sits a plethora of items, odd things like a couple of pieces of cloth, a dark blue handkerchief or pocket square with gold triangles dotting it, and a small plastic bag with something long and stringy in it. I reach in to pluck the bag out. I shine my flashlight over it and a small scream works its way up my throat.