Murder in the Mix (Books 1-3)

by Moore, Addison

“Oh? Is that what the psychiatrist you contacted suggested you look for?”

  A twinge of guilt erupts over his face. Everett knows I’ve got his number, and I’m petrified that I ever gave him mine.

  Noah crops up and saves both Everett and me from any further hostile aggression.

  “What’s going on?” Noah looks to the two of us with an affable smile, and I suddenly want to shake it right off his body.

  “Where’s the good detective?” I ask, looking past him and coming up empty of one redhead. “Off to interrogate the family, I suppose? She is a professional. I don’t see why the funeral should be off-limits.”

  Noah’s brows pinch together in the middle, forming a perfect V, and suddenly I’m hungry, but it isn’t for food. “She left. It’s not uncommon for a homicide detective to pay his or her final respects at a public memorial. Besides, you never know who might show up.”

  “Like you,” I muse, pulling him in and dotting his lips with a kiss. “I was just telling Everett about my little house hunt this afternoon.” I shoot a death ray over to the nosy judge. “I’m looking at two houses, and they happen to be side by side. You wouldn’t know anyone in the market for a rental, would you?” If Everett knows what’s good for him, he’ll go along with it. When he promised he wouldn’t tell a soul, that umbrella undoubtedly covered Noah. But in the event he needs a reminder, I covertly stomp my stiletto over his shoe.

  “Yes,” he says it curt and directed right to me. “I do know of a few people looking to relocate.” He looks to Noah with a glaring grin. “Lottie was kind enough to invite me to tag along. I’m ready as soon as you are.”

  “Great.” Noah glances around the vicinity. “My realtor gave me the combination to the lock boxes. Why don’t I meet the two of you out front and we’ll head on over?”

  “Perfect,” I say. “I walked from the bakery, so if I can catch a ride with one of you, that would be best.”

  Noah nods to his stepbrother in the way you do when you’re about to have an altercation. “You’ll ride with me,” he says before gifting me a kiss and speeding off in the direction of daylight pouring in from the front.

  “What are you doing?” I hiss to Everett as soon as we’re alone.

  “I collect payment prior to delivery of the goods. If you want me to go on some asinine undercover op, then you need to spill it, Lemon. I’m worried about you, and I don’t like that feeling.”

  “Why? Because you’ve never worried about anyone else before?” I’m betting not. But it’s sweet of him to venture into unchartered territories for me so soon into our questionable friendship.

  “Because I’m frightened for you.” It comes out kind, softer than any other words he’s ever spoken to me. “I’ll meet you out front.” Everett takes off, and I stand there trying to process how I landed in a vat of boiling emotional oil and how Hunter Fisher ended up in a casket.

  I step out into the straggling crowd and note a woman hunched over near the front. She looks about my age, for sure a romantic contender as far as Hunter was concerned. A young man about the same age wraps his arms around her in an effort to comfort her. Although, judging by the way she’s batting him away, she looks far more hostile than she ever does grieving. But that man, there’s something about that dark head of curly hair that seems more than vaguely familiar, and then it hits me.

  “It’s him,” I say under my breath as I speed on over.

  The girl is pretty, long, dark, wavy hair and long, thick lashes that are most likely not from nature, but she’s able to pull it off. Her lips are painted a bold shade of red-blue that my mother keeps trying to push on me, but I’ve tried it and, believe me when I say, it just makes me look like a clown, and a scary one at that. There’s something theatrical about the girl in general, like she just stepped off a runaway to attend the funeral.

  I hasten my way over, clearing my throat as I close in on them. “Excuse me,” I say as I step in close. “I remember you,” I say to the young man, and his expression irons out. “The bakery. You saved my life about a week ago. The scaffolding?”

  He ticks his head back. “That’s right. That was a close call. I’d say it was your lucky day.” His skin is slightly pocked around his cheeks, and he’s got a tattoo on his neck of a bird in flight that I didn’t notice before.

  “Well, it wasn’t really. Hunter was gunned down behind my shop later that night. So it was a terrible day, actually.”

  The girl looks to her phone and flicks on her sunglasses. “I gotta run.” She pushes past the crowd without so much as a goodbye.

  “I’d better get her home. Glad to see you’re safe.” He takes off after her, and I’m left in their wake.

  “But I didn’t get your name!” I shout and suddenly feel like an idiot. I don’t need his name. Most superheroes prefer it that way.

  Everett and that first encounter we had come back to mind, and a quiet laugh bubbles from me.

  He’s going to be my superhero, all right, and Noah isn’t going to know a thing about it.

  * * *

  Country Cottage Road is just as cozy as its moniker implies. The streets are narrow and heavily lined with liquid ambers and oaks in every spectrum of the citrine fall color spectrum. Each house has a cluster of pumpkins festooning its porch, and wreaths filled with fall leaves and acorns sit proudly against each and every door.

  Noah parks in front of two gorgeous homes, one with white siding and a wraparound picket fence porch and the other a blue split-level with a balcony off the second story just above the front doors.

  I take a step toward the white house and fall immediately in love with its bright red entry. “That door!” I coo. “And the banisters on the porch railing make it look as if it has a white picket fence. I think there’s a clear winner.”

  Everett scowls at my quick assessment. “The only practical thing to do is look at both of them.”

  “That’s just the logical side of you speaking,” I say as I look across the street. “So, which one is yours?” I ask, threading an arm around Noah’s waist.

  “Second from the left.” He points to the cabin-like home adjacent to the one I like.

  “Perfect. I’ll set my binoculars to look right into your living room window. I am prone to spy on occasion. I can’t help it. It’s the investigator in me.” I give his side a quick pinch, and he laughs.

  “Why do you think I brought these to your attention?” He waggles his brows. “I’m prone to do the same. I can’t help it. It’s the investigator in me.”

  We share a warm laugh before heading up to the white house, and Noah punches the combination to the lock box to let us inside. Immediately I’m taken.

  “I am head over heels instantly in love,” I say. “And that’s my logical side speaking, Everett.” I skip right out into the spacious living room with a custom cutout in the wall for a television that could fit the one I own perfectly. A large fireplace sits underneath with a stone hearth, and the room opens nicely to a decent-sized dining room. Then there is the pièce de résistance, a spacious kitchen with light granite countertops with enough white glazed cabinets to house everything I own in, an island with a genuine slab of white marble, and behind it sits a commercial grade high-end oven. “Where do I sign?”

  Noah rumbles with a laugh. “Let’s check out the bedrooms and make sure it’s exactly what you want.”

  “Are you kidding?” Everett balks. “She’s not signing anything until she thoroughly investigates option two. Never sell out before you have to, Lemon.”

  “I’m not selling out.” I’m quick to roll my eyes. But, my God, how I would sell out in a second if I had that contract in front of me. Noah already ran the numbers past me on the way over, and both are within my reach.

  We sail from room to room, and each inch of this cavernous well-lit place screams home to me.

  “Pancake is going to love this place. There’s so much for him to explore, to see, to do!”

  “Pancake?” Everett looks as if I’m abou
t to divulge the news of yet another supernatural wonder.

  “Her cat,” Noah is quick to divulge.

  “My friend. My very best friend. But don’t tell Keelie I said that. Pancake has been the dutiful man by my side ever since I brought him home.” I shoot a quick look to Noah, hoping he might offer up his services in that department. I’m not looking for a proposal for Pete’s sake. Just something to affirm how he feels about me.

  “He sounds lovely,” Everett says, pointing the way to the door. “Shall we inspect house number two?”

  The three of us head over, and I’m pleasantly surprised to see a far more spacious home than the one we just left, with an extra bedroom and bathroom attached.

  “It’s amazing.”

  “Told you.” Everett rocks back on his heels. “Always keep your options open, Lemon. You never know when you might be standing next to something better than what you have in hand.”

  Noah growls as if he were rabid. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means exactly what it says.” He cuts him a sharp look. “I’m taking off. Thanks for letting me tag along for the adventure.” He nods my way. “Lemon, text me when you’re ready to claim your prize.”

  My mouth falls open as he strides out the door, and I’m fuming he left us with such a cryptic remark.

  Noah ticks his head to the side. “Prize?”

  My mouth opens once again, and I beg for anything to stream out of it. I’d settle for a not-so-white lie at this point.

  “Coffee.” I shrug. “He bet I couldn’t go through the funeral without balling like a baby, and I managed to hold it together well enough, so he owes me coffee.”

  Noah inches back at the thought. “That’s a terrible bet.” He wraps his arms around me, and I rock steady in his arms.

  “Everett’s a terrible person.” I’m only half-teasing at this point.

  He belts out a laugh. “Go easy on him. He’s only rough around the edges because he was raised to be.”

  It never occurred to me that Everett’s tough persona was something inbred into him.

  “Fair enough. I guess you’re looking at your new neighbor. How fast do you think I can get the keys?”

  “I’ll talk to my realtor and find out asap. But let me be the first to welcome you to the neighborhood.” He lands a heated kiss to my lips, and a moan works its way up my throat.

  I pull back, nibbling on his lower lip playfully. “I’m thinking about hosting a housewarming party once I settle in, but since I’m on a strict budget, I’m only able to invite one person. Any idea who that should be?”

  A dark laugh rumbles from him as he presses me against his chest. “I have an idea.” His lids hood as he gets that naughty look in his eyes, and then just like that, he looks suddenly downcast. “But I have to ask. Are you and Everett hiding something from me?”

  “No, not at all. I promise. It’s not like that.”

  Did I just lie to Noah’s face? Oh my God, this is all Everett Baxter’s fault. If I lose the one good thing that’s happened to me in a long time—aside from the bakery, of course—I’m going to wring Judge Baxter’s illegally gorgeous neck.

  “Good.” He touches his forehead to mine. “Because I think we should start things off with open communication and one hundred percent honesty.”

  “Start things? Are we starting something?”

  His eyes bear hard into mine, and my stomach does that roller coaster thing that makes me feel about thirteen-years-old again.

  A crooked grin breaks out over his devilishly handsome face. “I think we’ve already begun.”

  “I think we have, too.”

  Noah crashes his lips to mine, and we indulge in a kiss far more daring than any of those shared before. Noah rides his arms up and down my back, along my hips before securing me tight in a warm embrace. Noah and I have started something. We are at the beginning of something that I predict will be spectacularly beautiful.

  Noah wants open communication and one hundred percent honesty.

  I can’t help but sigh as I indulge in everything he’s willing to give me.

  One out of two isn’t bad.

  Chapter 28

  It turns out, Martinelle Finance isn’t located in your routine run-of-the-mill bank, nor is it located in an offshoot due to the fact the loans department is under construction. As fate, a heck of a lot of googling, and utilizing Everett’s connections would have it—the two of us find ourselves seated in a holding room that happens to be in an underground gambling casino hidden behind your average strip club—if indeed the scandalous venue Everett and I walked through to get here was average. That’s yet to be determined, and not by me. I held Everett’s hand the entire time we were whisked through the place, and as soon as the bras came off those heavily made up dancing girls, I closed my eyes and let Everett lead me blindly through that den of depravity. Red Satin is a dicey establishment that I never want to set foot in again, let alone have an entire string of catcalls shouted at me as I strutted my way through it. Although, in hindsight, those catcalls were most likely for the topless girls dancing for their dinner.

  “We’re going to get shot,” I whisper directly into Everett’s ear.

  He pulls back and rolls his eyes as if it were an asinine thought while a man in a white suit clicks away at a computer monitor in front of us.

  If this seedy locale, and this dizzying cube of a room they’ve stuffed us in, didn’t ring any alarms, then his glaring fashion faux paus should have sent us running.

  The heavyset man seated in front of us chokes on a cough. His nose sits crooked on his face as if it were broken at one time and someone didn’t set it right. “You’re in luck, Mr. and Mrs. Essex. We’ve got a special lending program for folks such as yourself.”

  Yourself. That fake grin on my face expands once he lets that grammar offense fly.

  I give Everett’s hand a firm squeeze, and he gives a slight squeeze back. And in no way and at no time did it feel at all sexual holding Everett’s hand—more like self-preservation. I’m sure Noah would forgive me if he knew the circumstances. And yet, Noah can never ever know the circumstances—which, of course, completely dismantles all that whole open communication and one hundred percent honesty clause we hammered out the other night. But there are simply some things that need to be done for the greater good of the people—even if that particular person is dead. Hunter needed justice, and I’m not sitting on my hands—or baking a cake as Noah would have it—until Ivy Fairbanks decides she’s going to solve this mystery.

  “What are the terms?” Everett leans in, that serious expression still pinned on his face. He decided to eschew my fashion advice and wore a suit anyhow. And now that we’re in this hot box, I don’t mind at all that Everett looks so intimidating.

  The man in the white suit twirls the pencil in his hand while staring Everett down. There is definitely some male testosterone showdown going on that I want no part in. Thank God I dragged Everett down here with me. I can’t imagine how terrifying this entire experience would have been if it were just my butter knife and me. I really do need to up my game in the weapons department. The least I can do is carry around a bottle of pan spray so I can blind a perpetrator or two.

  “Now”—Mr. White Suit tosses his hands over his desk—“in no way am I a loan shark. This is a short-term small industry loan.”

  “Numbers,” Everett grumbles. “I need numbers.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll give you the full amount due on signing. Ten points for a six-month window with each month compounding. In other words, it would behoove you to pay it off in a month.” He blinks a quick smile. “It would behoove me for you to pay it back in six months or never—collateral being the house once you sign. Until then, I’ll hold the spare keys to the two a yous vehicles. You can bring those in when we do the exchange.”

  I lean in and clear my throat. “How fast can we get the money?”

  His chest bucks a few times with a dry laugh. “Honey, I got th
e money here today. Getting the money isn’t a problem. You’ll have your bank account filled legally. We write cashier’s checks. And lastly, we do a drive-by twice a week past your residence. Consider it an added layer of security you didn’t know you needed.”

  “We won’t skip town,” Everett notes, and I jump in my seat.

  My God, I didn’t even connect the mafia-inspired dots! And here I thought these nice men were looking to keep our shiny new neighborhood crime-free. Ha! And they’re the criminals!

  My entire body heats to unsafe levels, and suddenly I’m itching to get out of here. But what about Hunter?

  I glance around and spot a file cabinet that looks rusted shut, then another quick sweep for any evidence of security camera and an idea comes to me. That computer he’s tap-dancing on is my best bet.

  “Excuse me”—I lift a finger weakly as I interject—“would you mind giving us a moment together so we can process this? It’s a lot to take in and uh…” Boss Hog here looks as if his patience with me is dwindling. “Well, I’m just a little ol’ baker, and I need my big, strong husband to translate all those daunting numbers for me.” As if. I shed a wide smile. That was one lie I didn’t mind at all imparting.

  He gives a sober shake of the head. “Oh, I get it.”

  And I figured you would.

  He struggles to rise before hitting the door. “I’m gonna run next door and grab a cold one. Can I get you anything?”

  Both Everett and I decline his offer. No sooner does the door shut behind him than I bolt over and seal my body against it.

  “What are you doing?” Everett hisses, his eyes bulging with horror.

  “I’m shielding the door while you look for any files on Hunter Fisher on that computer!”

  “Geez.” Everett looks as if I’ve just threatened to run over him with a semi. “I’ll hold the door. I am not violating anybody’s privacy. I happen to make a living off of other people trampling over one another’s constitutional rights.”

  He trades places with me, and I bolt to the desk where a screensaver of a scantily clad woman with her thighs split open jars me before I hit a key and the dashboard loads before me. I click into finder and begin scanning for anything that might remotely get me to where I want to be. There’s a file marked Open Cases, and I quickly scan an entire roster of names, only to realize there’s enough to fill a phonebook.