Murder in the Mix (Books 1-3)

by Moore, Addison

  A knock erupts on the door, and I glance through the peephole in the event it’s Mora Anne who, ironically, I’ve grown to be deathly afraid of in a span of less than forty-eight hours. But it’s not Mora. It’s a face I don’t even recognize. A tall, dark-haired woman who looks like she could be Merilee if Merilee actually smiled and had a mild flirtation of joy in her eye.

  I hope to God this isn’t the new and improved post-mortem version of Merilee. The last thing I need is another fantastic phantasm in my life. Not that there was anything particularly fantastic about Merilee in general, and that’s not a quip. It’s merely a fact.

  Have I mentioned that I’m beyond tired and cranky? My sanity came apart ten times while cleaning out my bathroom. How in the world did I end up with three trash bags full of things I absolutely cannot part with? Lainey is right. I am a hoarder. A horrible hoarder at that because I haven’t even amassed that much junk yet. But now that I’m living with Lainey for the foreseeable future, I might just splurge and make up for lost crap.

  I swing the door open, and my stomach drops at the sight of her. There is something decidedly Simonson about her, it’s haunting.

  “Can I help you?”

  She’s dressed head to toe in a navy velour duster with blanked silver buttons running along the length of it, and this seemingly Simonson detail alarms me.

  “Just looking to see what I’m up against.” She plucks off her black fitted gloves as she strides past me. Her eyes never once meet with me. It’s as if I were invisible, or the help. “Lowered ceilings in the hall?” She gags on sight as she does a quick loop through the small space before her. “I’ll obviously have to downsize.” She nods to the fireplace. “How quaint. I’m used to bigger, of course. My fireplace back in Connecticut could roast a deer.” Her head lolls lazily in my direction. “I’ll need you out by noon. My movers are paid by the hour, and I’m not looking to part with my inheritance so early.”

  Inheritance? That about says it all.

  “Well, um, hello. I’m Lottie Lemon.” I squeeze Pancake to me as if protecting him from the onslaught. Usually I would introduce Pancake as well, but something tells me this Simonson knockoff wouldn’t appreciate the energy spent to do so. And for the record, anyone who doesn’t appreciate Pancake doesn’t appreciate me.

  I hold my hand out between us, and she stares at it as if it were a novelty I was showing off.

  “Cascade Montgomery—relation to Mora and the late Merilee.” She twists her lips as if she didn’t morally approve of Merilee’s passing.

  “Cascade?” Like the dishwashing detergent, I’m tempted to ask, but I value Pancake’s life, and something tells me she’s not above swinging a tail or two if she gets thrown in a tizzy.

  “Yes”—she takes a menacing step in—“is there something you find offensive about my name?”

  Real world translation: you got a problem with that?

  It’s quickly becoming evident Cascade isn’t from anywhere near the real world. I’ll bet every last wobbly box in this place that the mother ship dropped her off.

  “I think you have a lovely name. But the fact is, there’s only an hour left to meet your deadline, and my best friend hasn’t even shown up with the sweet treat and coffee she swore up and down she was scouting all of Honey Hollow for. I’ve still got a bedframe to dismantle and a bookshelf that will need to be tied twelve ways to Sunday on top of my poor Honda, not to mention the mattress, sofa, and dresser—all of which I pray can fit into my sister’s garage. Have you seen the prices they want at these storage facilities? Highway robbery at knifepoint would be more painless.” No sooner do I make the violent analogy than a visual of Merilee lying in a pool of her own blood flits through my mind. “I apologize. That was terribly insensitive of me. I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m sure your entire family misses her deeply.”

  She sniffs at the thought. “They’re all dead now, except for Mora.” She averts her eyes as if that were the real tragedy brewing. And, sadly, for the two of them, it might be. I doubt either Mora Anne or Cascade here gets along with anyone, let alone each other.

  “So you see”—I quickly change the subject as I motion to the carnage around me—“I can’t possibly be out in an—”

  The door bursts open and in spills Keelie with two cups of coffee and a grinning Noah Corbin Fox on her tail. “I’ve got coffee and one big sweet treat for you just like I promised.” She bumps her hip to his, and he keeps on grinning my way as if he knew a secret. I bet he knows just how much it annoys me to see him. “Noah brought his truck, so you’ll be out in an hour!” She buzzes past me, and a breath hitches in my throat as I’m about to say something.

  Noah Fox looks alarmingly comely in his orange and black flannel, his dark inky jeans, and worn looking leather work boots. Men in uniform hypnotize some women, but it’s always been men in flannel who have taken my breath away—sort of the way Noah Fox is doing now.

  I turn back to Cascade and manufacture a quick smile. “I’ll be out in an hour.”

  It takes exactly that long for us to fill both my car and Keelie’s, not to mention Noah’s truck. Lainey had to work this morning or she would have gladly been here, too. For a fleeting moment this morning, I had considered calling Bear and breaking my vow of questionable silence in exchange for some transportation capabilities his flatbed would have been able to afford me, but it turns out, Noah’s shiny new ride is far more roomier.

  “Well done,” I pant as I take in the miracle he’s managed in the back of his truck. He’s layered my mattress, box spring, bookcase, sofa, and even tucked my coffee table in the back of the puzzle-like lair. “I think you’re ready to level up in Tetris.” I hold up Pancake and wave at Noah with his paw as if he were agreeing with me.

  “That I am.” He laughs while leaning in, touching his nose to Pancake’s. “I think your mom is officially delirious. She’s actually spoken a kind word to me.”

  “You got the delirious part right.”

  His hair catches the light, and under those chocolate brown waves there’s a hint of fire in them, and it only intrigues me more. Who knew I’d be so shallow as to be entranced by hair of all things? Okay, so it’s not just the hair but the biceps I’ve watched bounce for the better half of the last hour, the way his tongue slips to the side of his mouth when he’s in deep concentration, and the way he looked morbidly determined while dismantling my bedframe. I especially liked how kind he was while pretending not to see the bevy of wadded up panties under my bed. I swear, while I’m changing into my PJ’s, laundry is the last thing on my mind, but I blamed the whole thing on Pancake just to be safe.

  “You know you didn’t have to do this.” It comes out soft, less abrasive than anything I’ve said to him before.

  Keelie pops up with her bandana slipping into her eyes, her blonde curls twirling every which way. “That’s what boyfriends do, hon. They help you move.” She takes an earnest swig from her coffee. “That’s what took me so long in getting here. I had to search high and low before I could chase this fox out of his hole.” She leans in with a devilish look in her eye. “He lives in the housing track just above the Evergreen Manor. Second house at the end of Country Cottage Road.”

  My stomach sours when she mentions the Evergreen Manor. That means his house is just a hop and a skip away from Naomi’s stomping grounds. I’m sure just one look at Noah and she’ll have her claws sunk a shade too close to his family jewels. Naomi is infamous for grabbing men by the collar and stealing them away. She’s beautiful—as is her twin standing in front of me—most men don’t put up much of a fight.

  “I wanted to,” Noah adds. “You helped me out the other day. It was the least I could do to return the favor.”

  “Yes, well, your favor far outweighs mine by a three quarter-ton mile.” I give the side of his truck a quick pat. “There has to be some way I can repay you.”

  His brow lifts, and he doesn’t miss a beat. “There is.”

  Keelie hops behind him and
puckers her lips suggestively before snatching Pancake from me and heading to her car.

  Noah rests his arm along the side of his truck and leans in, boxing me in, and it feels warm, intimate. “I’m heading over to the orchard tomorrow to take another look at the scene of the crime. Join me.”

  My mouth falls open as I inspect him in this close proximity. Of all the men I’ve dated, this unofficial boyfriend of mine takes the cake for most handsome and simultaneously irritating on some strange, primal level.

  “I’ll be at the orchard tomorrow afternoon. I have to pick apples for the pies I’ll be baking.”

  “Good.” His eyes squint out a smile all their own. “It looks like we’re going apple picking.”

  “I guess we are.”

  Noah helps offload everything into Lainey’s garage and takes off while Keelie and I watch his truck drive out of sight.

  She sinks her elbow into my rib. “I guess you really do have a boyfriend.”

  “Please. I hardly know the guy, Keelie. He could still very well be the murderer.”

  “You’ll get to know him plenty tomorrow. I heard that whole let’s load up on some apples while we load up on each other spiel. Open up to this one, would you? Maybe this time it won’t end up biting you in the behind.”

  I look to the empty road in front of us as the dust settles from his wake.

  “Lately everything has been biting me in the behind. I don’t know why this would be any different.”

  And then something Cascade said hits me from left field, and my mouth falls open.

  I think I just solved a very murderous mystery.

  Chapter 8

  Cider Grove Orchards gleams like a jewel under the autumn sun. The fields are golden, and the verdant trees are loaded with amber, green, and ruby red apples. There’s a chill in the air that holds the light scent of cinnamon and spices as we pass the cider press. The ground is peppered with maroon maple leaves that stamp against the hillside like hands. And the birch trees rise high into the sky around the periphery, shimmering golden in the crisp breeze.

  “It’s beautiful here.” Noah scoops a basket out of the reserve as we head deep into the orchard, and I lead us toward a bumper crop of Pippins, Pink Ladies, and Honeycrisps.

  “It is beautiful,” I say, tossing a Pink Lady into his basket. “That’s why I never want to leave again. Honey Hollow is home. There’s not another living soul I’d give the power to chase me out of here again.”

  “Again?” He tips his head my way, amused. Noah has a charm about him, something disarming that makes you trust him far too soon. Maybe he is cut out for the PI business after all. “Ah, yes. New York. I thought you went for school?”

  “I did, but I stayed for me, or so I thought. I never really belonged there, but a part of me never wanted to come back.”

  He drops the basket between us and begins plucking the rose-colored apples clean from nearby limbs. “So what, or should I say who, chased you out?”

  I give a wry smile as I toss an apple to him and he catches it close to his chest.

  “You first. What happened in Cincinnati? Let me guess, you’re wanted in Ohio?”

  He barks out a short-lived laugh. “Believe me, I’m not wanted in Ohio. I’m not sure I’m wanted anywhere at this point.”

  “Is that where you’re originally from? Ohio?” I’m still curious how he seemed to know Everett. But then, Everett is a judge, and Noah is in a quasi-law enforcement field himself.

  “Nope.” He tosses in another several apples, and our basket is already filled a good foot. “Vermont born and raised. Grew up in Hollyhock, moved to Fallbrook when I was in high school.” His affect hardens. Whatever happened in Fallbrook wasn’t a good thing.

  “Wow, we were practically neighbors.” I toss another pink apple his way. This time far softer, more as a peace offering than a taunt. “So, did you move to Cincinnati for work? Or love?” A handsome man like Noah couldn’t possibly stay single for long. And that pained look in his eyes when he spoke of no one wanting him in Ohio was a glaring arrow toward a broken heart. A part of me hurts for him. I know that pain, and I wouldn’t wish that kind of agony on my worst enemy.

  Noah blows a breath through his cheeks as we pick up the basket and move to the next tree over. “Both I guess. Honestly, it was just for love. I had a pretty great job in Vermont. Had a great one in Ohio until I didn’t.”

  “Did they let you go?” I head over to a stepladder and hike up on the first rung before reaching for the highest fruit I can.

  “If let go is the same as being fired, then yes.”

  I turn my full attention to him once again and suck in a quick breath. “You were fired?” My mouth falls open with a smile.

  “Does this please you in some twisted way?” His brows do a little dance before narrowing into a V, and something deep inside of me wholeheartedly approves of that vexingly handsome look.

  “Only because you seem so perfect.” Now it’s me scowling at him. “But I’m sorry to hear it. Can I ask—what in the world did you do to deserve the chopping block?”

  Noah purses his lips as he looks to the east, and the sunlight cuts through his eyes making them glow like emeralds on fire.

  It occurs to me that Noah might not be up for sharing—that he might not have ever shared the dark circumstances that surround his time in Cincinnati. Whatever happened there was bad. I already know that.

  “It’s okay”— I reach out and brush my fingers against his chest—“you don’t need to go there.”

  “No, it’s fine. Really.” He winces into the sun a moment, and I can’t help but note that standing on this first rung puts us eye to eye. My gaze dips to his mouth a moment, and I admire how perfectly formed his lips are. “I was a homicide detective on the force. Found my wife with another man and my temper got away from me one night. I shot out the back tires of his car with my weapon, and that was that. Had my badge suspended indefinitely.”

  “Oh, wow.” My heart thumps wild at the visual. Noah doesn’t strike me as the angry type, but under those circumstances, who could blame him? “I’m sorry to hear it. That must have been very hard for you.”

  “Getting fired? Yes, it was.” He slaps the back of his neck and gives it a scratch. “The breakup was a little tough, too. Didn’t see it coming.”

  I let go of a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I didn’t either.” The words string from my lips before I can stop them. It was never my intention to say it. I have no plans on extrapolating on what went on in New York. There are some wounds that feel raw long after they should have healed. Mine was one of them, and judging by that look in Noah’s eyes, so was his.

  He takes up my hand and pulls me to him by my fingers. His eyes stay trained on mine, sincere and serious. “I’m sorry to hear that, Lottie. I would never want you to feel that.”

  “It wasn’t fun.”

  The two of us sway toward one another, and my eyes expand as he comes in close. Noah Fox has a way about him that is larger than life. For sure he’s far too handsome for me to comprehend that he’s standing here with me on purpose. There is not a planet in the solar system that I would think a man like Noah would be interested in someone like me.

  A blustery wind picks up and sends me toppling onto his chest, and I freeze. Noah’s lips flicker with the faintest smile, and he ever so carefully bows his head toward mine.

  We’re going to do it. It’s going to happen. Noah Fox is going to go for the gold and is about to grace my lips with his. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to stop him. What’s a simple kiss going to hurt? But I think we both know there’s nothing simple about a kiss.

  A small crowd moves in and starts to liven up the vicinity, filling it thick with bodies.

  I pull back as Noah and I share an uneasy glance.

  “We should finish up—” I shrug.

  “With the apples.” A slight dimple goes off in his left cheek, and my insides dissolve at the sight of it. So not fair.

&nbs
p; Noah and I fill that basket to the brim and each grabs a handle to take back to the barn.

  “Hey, Holland,” I say, breathless as we come upon my old friend. “Got a bushel of apples ready to go. How much do I owe?”

  Holland cuts his hand through the air. “You just keep turning those apples into caramel gold. Those pies were a hit with both the staff and family.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” I take a step toward the counter. Holland is a tall man with red curly hair and perpetually tanned skin. He’s a sweetheart and easy on the eyes. It’s exactly why Meg fell so hard for him.

  “Sorry about Merilee.” He shakes his head while looking from me to Noah. “But it wasn’t your pie that killed her. Your pies are welcome at the Apple Festival, and I have no doubt they’re going to be a big hit.”

  I glance to Noah for a moment, and he gives a subtle nod.

  “Say”—I start slow—“you wouldn’t happen to know what Merilee was doing here that afternoon, would you?” I seem to vaguely recall something about a craft booth, but there’s a murderer on the loose and I’m hoping Holland might know something.

  He tips his head back a moment while tossing his gaze in the direction of the spot we found Merilee. Correction—I found Merilee.

  “She and Mora swung by to speak with my sister, Tara.”

  “About a booth for the festival?” As soon as I give him the out, I regret it. There’s a look in his eyes that suggests it was a little more complicated than that.

  “No, they’ve already paid their table fee.” He looks to Noah. “Tara’s an attorney. They said they wanted legal advice.”

  “Legal advice? We had gone to court that morning. They lost the verdict. The judge said they didn’t have a case. I can’t imagine what they could have wanted to discuss with her.”

  Holland shakes his head. “I can’t answer that. Tara’s in Ashford today. I can tell her to give you a call if you want.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Holland picks up the apples. “Is that your truck out there?” he calls out to Noah as he makes his way toward the parking lot.