Evie touches her fingers to her lips once she spots the depressed detective behind me.
“Oh, Uncle Noah, I’m so sorry you have to see this.” She gives her father the side-eye as if she means it. And if she does mean to disparage Everett for his public display of affection, it would be odd considering the fact Evie was heavily campaigning to get us back to together. “But don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll meet a nice young lady anxious to start a family with you asap. The entire conservatory is teeming with women hopped up on enough hormones to bring on a baby explosion that will make the boomers look like the DNA crumbs left over from humanity’s sandwich.” She links her arm to mine. Evie is just a smidge taller than me and it’s unnerving to look up at that girl I’m ready to reprimand. “Mom and Dad are working to give me a little brother or sister. Personally, I’m rooting for one of each. Do twins run in our family?” She blinks those long lashes at me, and before either Everett or I can dispel any baby rumors, an all too familiar face appears in the crowd.
“Bizzy Baker!” I cry out and lunge at my dear friend.
A few months back, Everett, Noah, Carlotta, and I went to Cider Cove for a little R&R and got waylaid with a murder investigation while we were there. It turns out, not only is Bizzy an amateur sleuth just like me, but she’s also transmundane—just like me as well.
It’s true. Both Bizzy and I harbor a supernatural quirk that can’t be denied. I happen to be further classified as supersensual, meaning I can see the dead. And Bizzy is further classified as telesensual, meaning she can read minds.
Believe me, it makes me edgy to know that every last errant thought I’m having is suspect to Bizzy’s busy mind, but I know that she can’t help prying into my thoughts no more than I can help seeing the ghosts of the dearly departed. But I don’t just see any willy-nilly ghost. Aside from the crew that haunts my mother’s B&B, I rarely see any, unless, of course, there’s murder afoot. It used to be that seeing one of those fantastic phantasms meant that the person they came back to visit was merely going to have a very bad day, but as of late, it almost certainly means a homicide is on its way. Typically, I see dearly beloved pets that have returned from the other side of the rainbow divide, but I see once-upon-a-humans now and again, too. Best of all, my grandma Nell and my adoptive father Joseph Lemon have paid me a few heartfelt visits. I’ve never been so happy to be supernaturally cursed or blessed—take your pick—than I have been when I’ve seen their beautiful ghostly faces.
Bizzy pulls back with a laugh caught in her mouth. “Lottie Lemon! I can’t believe we’re back in the same state, yours this time.” Bizzy has long dark hair and icy blue eyes. She looks as if she could be Evie’s mother far more than I could, but at the moment, Bizzy is engaged to a hunky homicide detective from Maine, Jasper Wilder, and they’ve yet to procreate.
A sharp bark comes from our right and I look down to see a medium-sized dog, white with red freckles strewn all over him, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Sherlock Bones!” His name bursts from me with marked enthusiasm. Alongside him, I spot Jasper Wilder with his dark hair and silver eyes.
Next to him stand two women. The older one is wearing a red, white, and blue kaftan while holding a black and white tabby. That would be Georgie Conner, the quirky artist that lives at the Country Cottage Inn that Bizzy manages, and the sweet cat is Fish, Bizzy’s fur baby.
The younger one is about my age or a little older, early thirties perhaps, with a blonde bob and a mischievous smile budding on her lips, and that would be Macy Baker, Bizzy’s older much more lust-driven sister who has already made it clear she’s coming to Honey Hollow in hopes to find herself a man. She’s specifically pinned Noah’s look-alike brother Alex as her primary target. She let me know so much when we left Cider Cove a few months back.
“Georgie! Macy! Fish!” I howl as the entire lot of us breaks into one big group hug. “Jasper.” I laugh as I see him buddying up to both Noah and Everett. “Welcome to my mother’s B&B!”
Evie wastes no time in taking both Sherlock and Fish from them and heads for the courtyard, while Georgie gifts Carlotta a matching red, white, and blue kaftan and they get right to scheming.
Georgie has a wild mane of scraggly gray hair, a bright red painted smile, and a dangerous twinkle in her lavender eyes.
She leans toward my wily bio mother. “I hear my favorite romance author, Ambrosia Whispers, is staying right here at this haunted B&B with me! First ghosts, and now the very presence of the woman who pens stories with more spice than nice? Life cannot get better, Carlotta. You might just regret inviting me to your neck of Vermont. I may never leave.”
The two of them head for the conservatory where a gaggle of bodies swarm in hopes to catch a glimpse of the writers that have congregated in there.
Everett, Noah, and Jasper have huddled together and seem to be carrying on a lively conversation that’s peppered with intermittent bursts of laughter and, believe me, it lifts my spirits to hear Noah laugh. The last thing I wanted to do was crush him.
“Come here, you two.” I pull both Bizzy and her sister Macy to the reception counter with me as we face my not-so-amused best friend. “Keelie, this is Bizzy and Macy Baker. They’re spending the next two weeks right here in Honey Hollow.”
Keelie glowers at the two women before her.
“Hello, ladies.” She forces a tight smile. “Bizzy”—she wastes no time to needle her with jealousy—“Lottie has told me all about the fact the two of you are fast friends. I bet you didn’t know that Lottie and Everett have gotten back together now, did you?” She sheds a smug smile. “No, I didn’t think so. Why, you might ask? Because it’s information only a true best friend would be privy to.” She waddles from behind the counter. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I hear there’s a group of romance authors congregating in the conservatory who can give me a pointer or two on how to navigate the last sexy mile of this nine-month fiasco.” Keelie takes off and Macy grips me by the arm.
“Tell me now if Noah Fox is single and ready to mingle.”
No, not Noah!
I cringe because I happen to know Bizzy was privy to that intimate musing.
Bizzy gently removes Macy’s death grip from my arm. “Down, girl. Noah Fox is still very much off-limits. You’re here for his brother, remember?”
I shrug over at Macy. “The good news is, you’ll get to meet him in just a couple hours down at Honey Lake.”
Macy hops on her toes before declaring she needs to retouch, recolor, and redress as she takes the key to her room and zooms up the stairs.
“Bizzy”—I say as I pull her in close by the arm—“I have so much to tell you.”
“I’ll say. So you’re happy with Everett?”
“More than happy.” A swirl of heat dances through me as the words leave my lips. “You know we’re married and we need to be until at least December, even though it was more or less a business arrangement so he could get the rest of his inheritance. And we share Evie. Everett and I just seem to make a lot of sense.” A part of me wanted to tack on the words right now because my heart still has very real feelings for Noah, but I resist the urge.
The sound of animalistic grunting comes from somewhere near our feet, and I look down to see the cutest little baby piglet I’ve ever seen in my life.
“You have got to be kidding me.” I bend over and give the sweet little thing a scratch on her forehead. “My mother is going to scream if she sees you in here.” I straighten to look at Bizzy. “I’m telling you just about everyone has come out to see these authors—and their cute pudgy piggies, too.”
Dear God, no.
Bizzy’s eyes grow large. “Lottie, I don’t see any cute pudgy piggies.”
I suck in a quick breath. “You mean?”
She gives a single nod. “You might just be seeing a precursor to murder.”
Chapter 2
Honey Lake gleams like the cerulean jewel it is on this toasty Fourth of July. It’s late afternoon, and I�
�ve just finished putting out over a dozen flag cakes underneath the dessert tent for the entire town of Honey Hollow to enjoy.
An entire gaggle of local authors stand under a tent dedicated for their signing as they zip around, making last-minute adjustments to their display tables. I spot Ambrosia Whispers with her red gleaming hair, along with a woman dressed in a red sequin dress that hugs her every curve. The woman has blue streaks in her hair and large rhinestone earrings that glisten in the sun like floodlights. She and Ambrosia seem to be having a rather heated conversation at the moment.
But before I can process another thought, Everett steals me away and ducks us behind my bakery van that sits next to the tent in question.
Everett wraps his strong arms around me and bears into me with those cobalt blue flames that have me melting like candle wax. There is a very real reason baristas the world over have uniformly written the words Mr. Sexy on his coffee cups. He’s just that, Mr. Sexy. Before Everett and I met, and perhaps right in the very beginning, Everett was a world-class womanizer. In fact, he’s bedded so many women it’s a shocker he doesn’t have more surprise children crawling out of the woodwork.
He leans in. “I’ve been waiting all day to give you something.”
I bite down on a playful smile. “If it’s a kiss, you’ve already gifted me one back at the B&B.”
“Not like this.” Everett lands his mouth over mine, and every last cell in my body responds with a firework explosion of its own. There has always been something animalistic between Everett and me. Something visceral that could never be denied. And despite his rough and rugged demeanor, he is very much all about putting my needs first and making me the center of his world whenever we’re together. And boy, does he ever put my needs first in the most spectacular way.
He pulls back with his lids hooded dangerously low. “I can park the van for you if you like.”
“I would love that. I have so many cakes to cut and serve. And I don’t know what I was thinking not bringing cupcakes.”
His eyes sparkle with a smile of their own. “Are you having fun with Bizzy?”
“Are you kidding? I’m in heaven. Is it horrible that I wish their inn would burn down and they would all have to move to Honey Hollow forever?”
A rumble of a laugh lives and dies in his chest.
“Lemon.”
“I know. It’s not nice to have disaster fantasies about other people’s lives. How’s Jasper? I heard he’s itching to get out on your new boat.”
“Our new boat,” Everett counters as he gives my waist a squeeze. “And we’re making plans for some time this week.”
“Sounds wonderful.” My mouth opens again, but I don’t have it in me to breathe the words that have been circling my mind.
Everett nods. “Noah’s okay. He told me to tell you so. He’s with his mother and keeping a loose eye on Alex right now just to make sure things with Macy don’t go sideways.”
“Oh, they will,” I assure him. “Macy has plans to go every which way with that boy.” Although Alex is no boy. He’s a finance guy just a smidge younger than Noah—early thirties—and he’s been in Honey Hollow for almost a year now causing a scene with his shocking good looks and ability to break a girl’s heart in a single bound.
Someone calls my name from afar, and I tick my head that way.
Everett jingles the keys to the bakery van in his hand. “I’ll get this monster off the lawn.”
“And I’d better get back out there,” I whisper. “Oh, before I forget—I may have seen a little cute piglet who is no longer among the living, but don’t you worry, Everett. I’m staying out of trouble,” I say as I head back toward the crowd.
“Lemon?” Everett’s eyes widen with worry, and I blow him a kiss.
Outside of Carlotta, who actually shares my ability to see the dead, Noah and Everett are apprised of not only the fact I can do it, but what it means as well. And it almost always means murder. Of course Bizzy, Jasper, and Georgie are in the know. It’s a little unnerving widening the pool of people I need to trust with my secret, but I’m confident my secret is safe with this crew.
I head back into the thick summer crowds in their half-dressed state as the patriotic festivities ensue around me. Colorful buntings decorate the booths that are set out, and the scent of the barbecues dotted around the lake enlivens my senses with fresh grilled hot dogs and sweet corn.
I spot Bizzy standing with Carlotta and Georgie underneath the tent Wiley erected to keep the bevy of local romance authors from getting scorched by the sun. Bizzy has a wide-brimmed sunhat on and a white crocheted cover-up wrapped around her waist, while both Carlotta and Georgie have donned their star spangled kaftans.
“The transformation into the Bobbsey Twins is officially complete,” I say as I come up on them.
Carlotta is quick to wave me off. “Don’t pay her any mind, Georgie. All sorts of crazy things have been popping out of her mouth ever since she did the boyfriend switcheroo.”
“I say good on you, girl.” Georgie gives a hard thumbs-up my way. “Just because you’ve got two muscle cars doesn’t mean you have to keep riding the same old, same old. Once in a while you need to alternate and take the judicial hot rod around the block before his batteries die out. You did the right thing, sister.”
Sherlock Bones, the cute freckled dog, lets out a bark as if agreeing with her.
Bizzy can’t help but laugh. “Sherlock says muscle cars are the best.” She gives a wink my way. Bizzy has the uncanny ability to read the animal mind, too, and I give the cute little pup a quick pat for his innocent thoughts.
“Hey, Lottie?” Georgie catches my attention once again. “Carlotta says there’s the ghost of a cute little baby piglet oinking his way around the shoreline. Do you know anything about this? It’s not that same piggy poltergeist you saw back in Cider Cove, is it?”
I shake my head. “No, this is a different one. Although it is an odd coincidence.” I glance to Bizzy. “And I haven’t had a chance to speak with him or her yet.” It’s true. About a year ago, my powers began to grow, and not only could I see the dead, but they garnered the ability to move things in the material world. Then they began to speak—thankfully in a language I can understand—and as of late they’ve garnered the ability to eat. Don’t ask me where it goes, or why, but every ghost that’s had the ability to wolf down a stack or two of my pancakes has been more than grateful to the gifts my strange abilities have afforded them.
“Well, I know if it’s a him or a her.” Carlotta cinches a tote bag over her shoulder that reads Reckless Fear and next to it my mother’s moniker, Mirandy Lemonade. Beneath it is written stories sizzling with sin. I can’t help but make a face. A part of me doesn’t want to admit that Wiley Fox just might be a good publisher for my mother after all. But with all the rabid romance fans lining up under the signing tent, the great advertising for my mother’s books, I guess it’s hard to deny.
Carlotta sniffs with a smidge of pride. “The portly piggy is a bossy little girl named Bingo, and she’s got the longest eyelashes you ever did see. Why is it men and pigs always end up with great lashes? What did women ever do to get the short end of the hairy-eyed stick? Aren’t we the ones that give birth? Are we the ones that have to put up with men and pigs alike?”
“Yeah!” a woman calls out from somewhere in the tent. “Men are pigs!”
“Good grief,” I say. “Keep it down, Carlotta. Men are not pigs. You’re about to incite a gender riot.”
Bizzy wrinkles her nose. “You would think romance readers would love men.”
Georgie pushes up the sleeves of her holiday-inspired kaftan.
“Not this one.” She hitches her head toward the literary battlefield at hand. “Just because I read about swoon-worthy men doesn’t mean I want to share the remote with them. Come on, girls.” She passes a matching Mirandy Lemonade tote bag to both Bizzy and me. “Let’s load up these bags with books the way the good Lord intended and find us the perfect man in t
he process—one who can be contained within the pages of a steamy read.”
We head on into the tent, where a long line of authors sits behind a series of tables stacked with books featuring saucy-looking covers.
Mom has positioned herself primarily right next to Ambrosia Whispers who happens to have a line fifty-deep filled with women just dying to get her autograph. And in contrast, Mom doesn’t have a single soul standing in front of her, not even that Wiley Fox who got her into this erotic debacle to begin with.
Carlotta and Georgie make Ambrosia’s line that much longer, while Bizzy and I head off to put my poor mother out of her misery.
“Oh, Lottie,” Mom wails as she spikes to her feet. “This is a disaster.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “What can I do?”
“I’ll help, too,” Bizzy offers. I introduced my mother to Bizzy and the rest of her new guests back at the inn.
Mom shakes her buttery curls. “That’s very nice of you girls, but there’s nothing either of you can do. I’m a louse of a writer. I’m nothing but a fake. I haven’t sold a single book since I’ve arrived. Not one person is interested in Reckless Fear.”
Bizzy quickly plops down a ten-dollar bill onto the table. “Congratulations, Miranda. You’ve just made your first sale of the day.”
“No.” Mom shakes her head. “That’s very kind of you, but I can’t take money from people I know.” She quickly pulls forth a book and proceeds to sign the interior. “Here.” She hands the book to Bizzy. “Consider it a gift from me to you.”
“Mother.” I frown over at the diminished book pile next to her. I caught a glimpse of the tower of books that were there when we arrived. “You haven’t been giving your books away, have you?”
“Of course, I have, Lottie. Like I said, I can’t take money from people I know.”
Flag Cake Felonies (MURDER IN THE MIX Book 23) Page 2
