Murder in the Mix Boxed Set 28-30: Cozy Mystery

by Addison Moore

“Don’t worry, Sexy!” Carlotta jumps into motion, snapping up the bills like a pigeon diving for crumbs. “I’ll do the dirty work for you—for a small fee, of course. Sixty-five percent commission. Heck, make it an even eighty.”

  Noah steps into the center of the room and flashes something in his hand out at the crowd.

  “Ashford County Sheriff’s Department,” he bellows, and the crowd quiets to a hush. The backbeat of a whole new song begins to belt out from the speakers.

  A hard groan comes from me. “Everett, I thought they took away his badge,” I whisper.

  “They did. He’s holding his driver’s license.”

  Noah points my way. “You’re coming with me.”

  Carlotta lets a couple of whoops rip. “Go on, Lot. You can’t leave Foxy high and dry.” She plucks me from Everett’s arms and lands me right back in the middle of ground zero once again. “Hashtag hot cop!” she shouts, and soon the entire room is chanting hot cop, hot cop!

  Noah does his thing in time to the music, swiveling his hips, unbuttoning his shirt, pulling off his belt at an alarmingly slow pace, much to the crowd’s approval. He’s practically a seasoned professional with those wicked moves, and it begs the questions how and for whom has he done this before. Come to think of it, I seem to recall a few steamy nights with the hot cop that started off something like this.

  His shirt falls off, and he’s dirty dancing up and around my body as the amped-up crowd howls as if their hair were on fire.

  Before the song is through, he’s sniffed my hair, nuzzled my neck, and I’m not quite sure, but I think he stole second base.

  But before long, the fire department steps in to regale the crowd with their own steamy moves, and Noah and I head over where Everett is standing. I’m about to suggest we hitch a ride home when Greer Giles descends from the ceiling in all her ghostly glory. Her dark hair shimmers like a sea of onyx stars and floats as if she were under water. So I do the only thing I can think to do—I take up both Noah and Everett’s hands so they can listen along.

  “Lottie Lemon!” Greer snaps. “Winslow and I just witnessed the entire spectacle. How dare the three of you play along with the bawdy reindeer games those putrid new owners have dreamed up. You’re supposed to be working to get rid of them, not joining their twisted fantasies. And don’t for a minute think they’re not fantasizing about your hot judge and hot cop. I’m privy to all of their conversations, you know. They’re so steamy I’ve forbidden both Lea and Thirteen from going anywhere near those two deviants. Do whatever it is you need to do to get rid of them.”

  “Me?” I ask as I blink back. “What happened to you and Winslow scaring the pants off of them? That sounded like a solid plan just a week ago.”

  Greer frowns at someone across the way, and I follow her gaze to see those two blonde bombshells of destruction.

  “It didn’t work,” Greer growls it out. “It only made things worse. They’ve doubled the tours. Winslow and I hate that they’re quickly raking it in while we’re quickly losing our sanity.”

  Everett nods. “It’s because you’re too nice. You’re just knocking a few books off the shelves and rearranging some furniture.”

  Noah glances to the general area where Greer is. “He’s right. No more Mr. Nice Poltergeist. It’s time the ghostly gloves come off, Greer.”

  “I agree,” I say. “You have my blessing to take this haunting to the next level. Do whatever you have to do to get those nitwits out of here.”

  Greer doesn’t waste a moment to respond. Instead, in record time, all four ghostly residents of this once sweet little B&B are shaking the walls, knocking furniture over, tearing chandeliers right out of the ceiling, and filling the reception area with a wild and violent wind.

  But instead of chasing every last patron right on out those doors, it only seems to add that much more excitement to the party.

  So much for amping up the haunting.

  The night wraps up, and Everett and I are finally alone in our bedroom where I do my best to reciprocate those sultry moves he showed me.

  But come tomorrow, I’m going to implement a whole other set of moves when I scour Vermont to track down the woman who just may have fed Verity Prescott that poisoned tart.

  Watch out, Bambi Bailey.

  I’m coming for you.

  And if you’re the killer, I’ll sic a hot cop on you, too.

  I’m saving the hot judge for myself.

  Noah

  “Hot cop?” Ivy Fairbanks looks a touch amused. “Now there’s a hashtag I can get behind.” An impish grin plays on her lips.

  But I’m not smiling back.

  The last thing I want to do is send Ivy the wrong message. Which is exactly why when Ivy said she wanted to meet for coffee to see how things were going, I suggested the bakery. I figured that way Lottie can see that nothing is happening, and Ivy will understand where my loyalty lies.

  “I didn’t think of the hashtag,” I tell her.

  “No, the masses did once you took off your shirt.” She frowns over at me and her skin pulls in odd directions from the strain of that bun she’s trapped her hair in. “What are you and Everett thinking? You’re both on suspension. And you’re not in the clear yet. The State may have put off pressing charges against you, but it doesn’t mean it won’t. Noah, you need to keep your nose clean. You can’t go stripping in nightclubs while teenage girls chant for you to take it off.”

  Lottie comes our way and sets a platter of her treats on the table along with two cups of coffee.

  “By the looks of it, I’ve interrupted something.” Lottie’s upper lip flickers when she says it. I recognize that look because it usually signifies she’s not too happy with me. And believe me, I’m more than familiar with it. Unfortunately, I’ve upset her more than I care to think about.

  Ivy pulls a tight smile her way. “I was just reprimanding Noah for his misconduct last night. Neither he nor your husband is in any position to put themselves in a negative light. But I’m sure you’re well aware of that.”

  “I’m all too aware,” Lottie says, rubbing her belly before taking a seat next to me.

  The scent of warm vanilla floats from her, and I take it in.

  Lottie Lemon is intoxicating in every single way. I can’t get enough of any single part of her.

  And don’t think I didn’t notice the fact Ivy pointed out that Lottie already had a husband. I know what Ivy is up to. Not only does she want to drive home the point I shouldn’t be doing any extracurricular activities, but she wants to drive home the point that Lottie is taken.

  Lottie tips the platter of desserts toward Ivy. “Raspberry tart?”

  “Are you trying to poison me?” Ivy doesn’t miss a beat.

  “Not while you’re in my bakery.” Lottie blinks a smile her way. “So what’s going on with the case? Have you questioned Bambi Bailey yet? Did you know that Verity had a shouting match with her the night she died? She threatened to get a restraining order against her. What did Bambi have to say about that?”

  Ivy gives a solid blink. “Since you asked me and not Bambi herself, I’ll go ahead and tell you what I know as a reward. But let’s be clear. This is my case, Lottie. You’re not to interfere with my suspects.” She pulls a raspberry tart onto a napkin. “Are we clear on that?”

  “Clear as day,” Lottie says just as a rumble of thunder goes off outside from the storm percolating up above. “Now spill it.”

  Ivy takes a moment to frown at the two of us. “Bambi Bailey said she didn’t know what that restraining order threat was about. She said that the two of them weren’t on the best of terms as of late, but that most of that fell on Verity’s shoulders. Apparently, Bambi stopped acting like her personal henchman, and Verity wasn’t all that pleased. She mentioned that Verity said she’d ruin her. As I see it, that little stunt about needing a restraining order could have very well fit the bill.”

  “And?” Lottie doesn’t look satisfied in the least with that explanation. “You’re
still digging into this, right?”

  Ivy tips her head back as if Lottie struck her. “I’m digging into a lot of things at the moment. The operative word being I. You, on the other hand, have a bakery to run, a husband to keep busy, and a baby to prepare for. There’s no need for you to worry about Verity Prescott’s killer. I have it handled.” She takes a sip from her coffee. “Delicious,” she says, toasting us both with it. “But I’m afraid I have to run. I’m meeting with Chad Harris this evening to have a few more words regarding his late girlfriend.”

  “Ooh”—Lottie perks up—“where did you hunt him down? I know nothing about him.”

  A dull laugh bounces from Ivy as she stands to her feet. “And that’s exactly how we’ll keep it. Stay out of trouble, the both of you. Noah”—she nods my way—“we’ll keep in touch. Perhaps next time we can do dinner across the street at Mangias? I hear they serve impeccable Italian food.”

  Lottie grunts as Ivy stalks off into the snow.

  “I swear that woman just likes to get under my skin,” she growls. “And believe me, she wants to get under the sheets with you. I don’t need a road map to know where she’d really like to go with you. I’ve told you for years that she has the hots for you.”

  “And apparently you’re right.” I tip my head toward the door. “What did you think of what she said?”

  “Regarding the case? Pfft. She’s clueless. Personally, I think Bambi fed her a load of bull and Ivy opened her mouth all the wider while it was shoveled in.”

  “So what’s our next move?”

  Her lips twitch back and forth as she tries her best to restrain a smile.

  “You know that asking to help me on a case is tantamount to shamelessly flirting.” She gives me a cheeky wink.

  “And you can’t stop me from the effort. I mean it. Who’s next?”

  “Do you have to ask? I think Bambi Bailey has some serious explaining to do.”

  I nod. “I say we don’t waste any time. Let’s go find her.” I hold a hand out her way. “Team?”

  Lottie places her hand in mine and gives me a squeeze. “We’ll always be a team, Noah.”

  “Now that is music to my ears.” I kiss the back of her hand before she can protest. “Hot Cop and Hot Baker on the case. For life.” A smile rides on my lips as I say it, and a laugh bubbles from her.

  But she doesn’t shoot the idea down.

  And I’m betting that’s because she knows it’s true.

  Lottie

  It doesn’t take long to track down Bambi Bailey. Being the social media maven she is, she leads us straight to her doorstep—or more to the point, the coffee shop in which she’s currently taking up residence.

  Lava Java is located in downtown Leeds on a ubiquitous corner in this seedy town that looks as if you could get shanked just walking through. Usually this end of town is reserved for drug lords and porn pins, and outside of that it’s typically a ghost town, but tonight there’s hardly any parking for blocks. Which is the exact reason Carlotta, Noah, Everett, and I landed and parked and trekked a million miles in the snow uphill both ways until we finally get to the door.

  We come upon the coffee-inspired establishment and a sharp gasp circles the vicinity as the women get a gander at both Noah and Everett. Not that I can blame them. Noah and Everett look particularly sharp tonight with their dark hair slicked back, dark wool jackets, and those cuttingly handsome faces. It’s unfair that they’ve both landed in my life at essentially the very same time. But I’m not exactly knocking fate either.

  A big sign on the window reads Slam Poetry Night! Open mic! Bring us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses of angst.

  Inside the Lava Java the walls are dark gray, the floor and furnishings are comprised of dark wood, and the scent of heavenly coffee lights up our senses. There’s a makeshift stage up front to the right of the coffee counter, and a young girl stands with a spotlight on her, talking about global warming with enough angst to fuel a rocket to the moon. That must be the slam poetry in action. It’s kind of catchy, and I can’t help but get sucked right into the world the girl is weaving with her angsty words.

  Bodies are everywhere you look, but there are plenty of tables set out to accommodate, and we find one in the middle of the melee where we take a seat.

  It’s mostly teenagers and twenty-somethings in the crowd tonight. Each table is brimming with people, coffee, and desserts. But it’s the desserts that catch my eye, especially the ones consisting of heavenly looking thumbprint cookies and thick fudge brownies, and I think I see a slice of triple layer chocolate cake that looks tempting enough to dive into and never come out of.

  A spray of pink and red stars ignites, and Teddy materializes in all of her furry, fuzzy, adorable glory.

  “Carlotta, it’s about time you arrived. The case is really heating up,” she trills in her ghostly warble. “Bambi is set to take the stage soon. You won’t want to miss it. Everyone here is buzzing and on the hunt for Bambi, or so they say.”

  I make a face because I’m pretty sure Carlotta is getting the lowdown because Teddy is convinced she’s driving this investigative train. It would figure that stealing my mother’s limelight just wasn’t enough. Carlotta is after mine, too.

  “Good to know, cute stuff.” Carlotta gives a hard sniff. “Foxy, why don’t you go up and fetch us some of that magic brew they’re doling out? My pecker’s starting to pucker.”

  “Ooh”—I whisper his way—“pick up some of those cookies and brownies for us, too, would you? And don’t you dare come back without a slice of that triple layer chocolate cake. It looks so rich and moist, I might need to shake someone down in the back until they fess up the recipe.”

  Everett’s lips twitch. “Make that two slices of chocolate cake.”

  Carlotta shakes her head. “Make it six. One for each of us and three for the munchie monster.”

  I scoff at the thought. “That would be seven slices. And I am not a munchie monster.”

  Carlotta shrugs. “I was talking about Teddy, but if the munchies fit.”

  “Funny.” I scowl her way as Noah takes off.

  Everett scoots in next to me. “I might need to make a quick stop somewhere after this.”

  “Not a problem,” I say. “Full disclosure, I was thinking we should stop off at Pickin’ Lickin’ Chicken and hit the drive-thru. I have a sudden craving to lick your fingers clean.” I give a cheesy wink his way. In my defense, all of my come-ons have been food-related as of late. I can’t help it. Everett and food are my twin cravings.

  “It’s like you read my mind. I’m in the mood for a little pickin’ and lickin’ myself. I’ll aim for far more interesting places than your fingers, cupcake. But they’ll make for a fine appetizer.” His brows pinch and he looks decidedly handsome, but it’s those blue eyes of his that shine bright in this otherwise monochromatic world we’ve stepped into. “I’ll even get you your own bucket tonight.”

  “Now you’re just flirting shamelessly with me.” I lean his way. “And don’t think I’ll forget about that pickin’ lickin’ threat. I’m holding it to you.”

  A smile plays on his lips, but he’s too stubborn to give it. “I’ll be holding you to a lot of things.”

  A sigh of satisfaction strums from me. There’s nothing like Everett Baxter in his carnal prime. A part of me wants to haul us all back to Honey Hollow, pronto.

  The audience breaks out into applause as the young girl takes a bow and jumps off the stage. The room quiets down again and I hold my breath, hoping Bambi will come out of the woodwork and take the stage, but she’s still nowhere to be seen. Instead, a dark-haired girl hops up wearing a skintight black sweater, black tattered jeans, and combat boots. The room breaks out into another riotous applause. A group of girls start screaming their heads off, and half the room has jumped to their feet as they cheer the girl on before she ever says a word.

  That slinky sweater, those ratty jeans—funny, that’s exactly how Evie was dressed as she left the
house. My eyes sharpen over the girl as her features come into focus and I take in a hard gasp.

  “That’s Evie!” I whisper as loudly as I can and Everett lifts his head a notch as he looks her way.

  “Sure is.” Everett’s chest inflates, and I can tell he’s ready to storm the stage if need be to protect our feisty little girl.

  “They call me Evie Stevie,” she says as she adjusts the microphone and the crowd goes wild once again.

  Carlotta smacks me as she belts out a cackle. “That’s what I call her, Lot. Evie is famous, and now I’m famous by de facto!”

  The crowd doesn’t let up with its applause and Evie does her best to wave them down.

  “This is live on my Insta Pictures account, so if you’re here or watching this from home, this is for you.” The crowd howls with approval. “They call me Evie, but for so long my name was forgotten, nothing, worthless, invisible, the girl that nobody cared about. My life was unsettled. I was hidden from the world and locked up in a preparatory cage, left to rot while the world moved on without me.

  “No family, no fame, no memories of holidays, or hugs from those who love me to keep me warm at night. I was dust in the universe, floating off farther than I ever wanted, far faster than ever deemed safe. I was alone. In insolation, the darkness, the taste of solitude my only friends. But the gangsters rolled in like they always seem to do in the movies, but my life was no movie.

  “I expected the worst, but got the best. Found out I had a family. They were looking for me. I got a Cray Cray, Glam Glam, and a hotel heiress to call my own. I’ve got a hot cop in my pocket who looks after me like I was his own. You think that’s great? That it would be enough? The universe wasn’t done. I’ve got parents, two of a kind. You know him as Hot Judge”—the crowd screams as if the building were on fire—“but I just call him Dad. He makes sure I know I’m special, safe, and best of all wanted. He says he’ll never let go. He won’t let me go back. He won’t let me be forgotten. Those days are through, and when he holds me, I know this much is true. And I’ve got me a mother—no, not the nutburger that pushed me out into this world and locked me in a box—a real mother who wraps her arms around me and tells me how much she loves me.