Red, White, and Blueberry Muffin Murder, Page 2

  Noah and Everett head our way, along with the winner and another man with dark curly hair.

  “Lemon”—Everett pulls me in—“I’d love to introduce you to Bridger Douglas.” He slaps the dark curly haired man on his back. The man looks classically handsome and stands a few inches shorter than Everett. “Bridger and I used to hang out back in the day.”

  Bridger laughs as he ticks his head back. “By hang out, he means barhop. I watched Everett pick up more women than should ever be legal. It was like watching a master at work. I was in awe. I could only hope to be so proficient in the female anatomy as this one.”

  Noah leans my way. “Precisely why you should dump him, Lot.”

  I laugh it off. “Nice to meet you, Bridger. I’m Lottie Lemon, Everett’s wife.”

  The man’s mouth rounds out. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.” He smacks Everett’s arm. “You’ve finally been reeled in, huh? I’d say I was sorry to hear it, but it looks as if you caught a good one.”

  Noah nods. “She’s smart as a whip and she bakes.” He pats the winner on the back. “Congratulations, Clark. It’s been a long time. Lottie, this is Clark Willoughby. He’s the one responsible for the garage sale madness taking place at the lake.”

  Clark, the blond king, gives a jovial laugh. He’s about the same age as Noah and Everett. I’m guessing mid-thirties. He has a kind look about him and a calm demeanor despite his ability to pack away an entire hog’s worth of hot dogs.

  “It’s been a long time indeed, Noah. And yes, I’ve got a license to host the Garage Sale at the Lake event for the entire month of July. If it’s a hit, I might extend the event through August. This character right here is helping me out.”

  Bridger nods. “That’s right. I’m his partner in crime.” He winks over at Clark. “I manage the Willoughby Antique and Thrift Shops. He’s got three in the neighboring towns.”

  “Ooh, I love antiques and thrift shops,” I say. “I’ll have a brand new home to furnish soon. I might just stop by.”

  It’s true. Last October, my house burned down, along with Everett’s, and since we were next-door neighbors, we’re building one big mega house over both properties. And I’m happy to say construction is about halfway finished.

  Clark pats his belly as he looks to Noah. “And if I remember correctly, it’s your girlfriend who owns the bakery.”

  “That’s right,” Noah says, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Lottie owns and runs the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery. And this is our daughter, Lyla Nell.”

  I nod. “I have a booth set up right behind me. If you can squeeze anything else into your stomach, you should try one of my patriotic blueberry muffins. They’re turning out to be quite the hit.”

  Clark laughs as his crown sits askew. “I sure can, and I’m off to do that right this minute.” He takes off and I note Everett’s friend, Bridger, is looking at Noah and me with a look of morbid confusion. I’m guessing that confusion has to do with that whole wife-girlfriend thing. Believe me, it confuses me, too.

  “You know”—Bridger lifts a finger—“I’m in the mood for a muffin myself.” He zips off with a wild look in his eyes.

  I’m about to suggest we join them just as Carlotta and Mayor Nash join us.

  “Good show, gentlemen.” Mayor Nash gives a mock bow our way before looking at me. “The Garage Sale at the Lake looks as if it’s going to be a great hit. Just so you know, your bakery is welcome to keep the booth open for the rest of the month and sell those blueberry muffins if you’d like.”

  Mayor Nash has light hair, mostly gray, light eyes, and a mischievous smile he wears nonstop. Now that he’s officially divorced from his wife, he and Carlotta have had a thing. It’s sort of an open relationship that for some reason works for the two of them. It’s a little strange knowing my biological parents are essentially together now—even if it does involve a third party on occasion.

  “Thank you,” I tell him. “The booth at the lake was such a hit last month, I don’t mind taking you up on it.” Last month, Honey Hollow underwent a beautification project that essentially shut down all of Main Street for thirty painful days and caused a financial pickle for almost every one of the businesses on it, including mine. But Mayor Nash allowed us to set up booths at Honey Lake, and that more than helped take the financial sting off. Having both my bakery and a booth at the lake would be a win. I don’t think the staff will mind since it’s temporary.

  Mayor Nash nods to Noah. “Detective, there hasn’t been a homicide in weeks here in Honey Hollow. Any hope of keeping things that way for the foreseeable future?”

  Noah winces. “I’ll do my part, but I can’t control the world.”

  “So what keeps you busy down at the precinct when business is slow?” Mayor Nash says the word business with air quotes.

  “There has been a string of ATM robberies all around Vermont for the past six months. It’s very strange. The security footage always seems to malfunction when this person steps up to the plate. He or she is heavily disguised, baseball cap, dark jacket, nothing that isn’t worn by every third customer. We can’t seem to catch them. But we’ve been marking bills as of late, and hopefully we’ll make some headway soon enough.”

  I consider this a moment. “Noah, those bills are destined to get back into circulation. How are you going to trace them?”

  “When they make their way back to the banks. It’s been hard for the banks to log the numbers, but at this point it’s a necessary evil.”

  “Well”—Mayor Nash flashes his pearly whites—“I’d better go mingle.” He winks. “I love it when all of my constituents are in one place. After an hour or two of power schmoozing, I can take the rest of the month off.” He dissipates into the crowd just as a large spotted cat leaps from behind Carlotta and lands on Everett’s shoulder.

  A wild yelp shrills from me as I quickly give Lyla Nell to Carlotta.

  “Get her to safety!” I shout as I give Everett a few smacks on the chest, trying to scare the spotted beast away. It’s at least twice the size of my own cats, a couple of sweet Himalayan brothers named Pancake and Waffles, and it looks ten times as ornery as they could ever be.

  “Lemon?” Everett twists his head as he offers a curious look my way.

  “Don’t stop, Lot,” Noah says. “I’ll join in on the beating if you want.”

  “Please do!” I howl as I give Everett a hard shove to the arm, trying to knock that prehistoric looking feline off of him. Everett is playing it way too cool if you ask me, but then, that’s Everett’s modus operandi in life—he’s cool as a cucumber no matter what the circumstances. “Go away!” I shout at the steely beast with hard yellow eyes. “My word, you probably have rabies!”

  “Lemon?” Everett’s brows furrow as he examines me.

  Noah laughs so hard he’s in stitches. “I don’t know what you did to tick her off, but keep up the good work, Everett. Don’t worry, Lot. I’ve got a great divorce lawyer who can untangle this knot he’s roped you into.”

  I spot a shovel leaning up against the stage that was built posthaste over the weekend, snatch it up, and swing it at Everett. He narrowly ducks out of the way in time to evade a decapitation, but I come at him again and knock him right over the top of the head this time.

  “Oops, sorry!” I shout as Noah breaks out into a spontaneous applause.

  “Don’t be afraid to aim below the belt, Lot.”

  “Judas Priest,” Everett says as he comes up from his fancy duck and evade maneuver. He grabs the neck of the shovel, so I drop it and try to grab the cat with both hands, but it disappears into thin air, and I end up inadvertently strangling Everett instead.

  Noah shakes his head. “I take it the big wedding is off, too.”

  “Lemon?” Everett grabs ahold of my wrists and kisses each of my hands. “Are you having an allergic reaction to something you ate?”

  “No, I was trying to get the cat off your shoulder. It about scared the living daylights out of me.”

 
“What cat?” Everett asks, glancing behind him.

  A horrible moan evicts from my throat. “You didn’t see it either, did you, Noah?”

  He shakes his head.

  “That can only mean one thing,” I pant as I look out at the murky crowd. “Murder is afoot.”

  Lottie

  The sun sears us one last time as it begins to sink behind the evergreens in the distance.

  I dust off poor Everett and haul him back to my booth where I’ve procured an icepack for his head.

  Noah just finished telling Lily and Suze, his mother, all about my shovel swatting ways. Of course, he left out the tidbit about the long deceased cat. Not many people know about my ability to pry into the afterlife, and I’d like to keep it that way.

  For as long as I can remember, I’ve been seeing the dead—mostly tiny furry creatures that have come back to help their old owners. They used to be a sign that nothing more than a sprained ankle would befall the person who cherished them, but for the last couple of years it almost always means death. And now, either the ghost of an animal or a person comes back to help me solve the murder of someone who loved them very much.

  Suze shakes her head at Everett after hearing of the flat nose travesty.

  “You should run, Essex,” she tells him.

  Everett typically goes by his middle name because he’s more comfortable with it, but the women he’s bedded have taken to calling him by his first name as if it were a door prize. Although Suze doesn’t qualify for that door prize herself, it’s never stopped her from utilizing his proper moniker.

  He should run?

  I shake my head at her not-so sage advice.

  Suffice it to say, Suze Fox has never been a member of the Lottie Lemon Fan Club. Suze is a larger woman with short blond hair that swoops low over her eyes. She’s been helping me out at the bakery and, along with Lily, she’s become a star employee.

  Suze is also transmundane, although she’s loath to admit it. She’s what’s called a beguiler, a person who can entice both the elements and people into doing her bidding—albeit she has no interest in utilizing her powers. Either that or she’s not very good at it. Probably both.

  “You should run, too, Noah,” she tells him despite the fact he’s happily bouncing Lyla Nell in his arms. Coincidentally, Suze has about as much interest in her granddaughter as she does with me. “It’s just a matter of time before she clobbers you both in your sleep. And then she’ll hire that fancy lawyer that spared you a prison sentence, Essex, and she’ll get away with murder. It’s her specialty, you know.”

  “She’s got your number, Lot,” Carlotta says, poking around at the bevy of desserts I’ve brought along for today’s festivities. Mayor Nash is picking up the tab, so everything is free to the general public while they last. Mostly I’ve brought chocolate chip cookies, brownies, and those frosted blueberry muffins. There’s a huge vinyl banner hanging above the booth that reads Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery, best cakes and cookies in town! I just had the banner made last month after Mayor Nash had the sidewalks on Main Street dug up and nearly buried my finances.

  “I haven’t gotten away with murder.” I roll my eyes. Okay, so to the untrained eye, it might seem as if I’ve done just that. I’ve run into a rather large number of corpses over the last two years, and suspiciously each one happened to have one of my desserts on or near their person.

  Carlotta snorts. “And not only will Lot off Foxy and Sexy, she’ll stuff one of these blueberry muffins into their pie holes.”

  Lily and Suze laugh it up.

  Suze leans toward Carlotta. “She’s not only a master serial killer, she’s a master at marketing her bakery as well. I believe they refer to that as killer marketing skills.”

  The three of them share another set of wild cackles. I’m about to say something when I spot the hot dog king himself arguing with that man I met earlier, Bridger Douglas, the manager of his shops.

  Noah and Everett step my way as they look in the same direction.

  Everett nods to Noah. “Do you think we should head over and break things up?”

  Noah blows out a breath. “I’d hate to see a fistfight break out.”

  “That’s right,” Carlotta says. “If it’s not you and Sexy exchanging blows, then it’s not all that entertaining.”

  Lyla Nell slaps Noah on the cheeks with both hands and I laugh at the sight.

  “Easy, you,” I say, pulling one of her tiny hands my way and kissing it.

  “On second thought”—Carlotta says as she narrows a mean stare at someone or something over my shoulder—“I might be moved to kill myself.”

  I glance back just as Charlie and Rooster pop into our midst.

  “You are a liar and a thief!” Charlie shouts right into his face. “Go on and head to the police. See if I care. But let the record show, I will find a way to put you six feet under if you so much as try to take me down. Carlotta and I are starting a new life in Honey Hollow. Why don’t you find a cliff to swan dive off? We don’t need you hanging around and making noise.”

  Rooster chuckles, and it only seems to infuriate my sister all the more.

  Shelby Hardy Tuttle, aka Rooster Puddin’, is tall, barrel-chested, has salt and pepper hair, a maniacal look in his eyes, and he also has one of those pointed, twirly mustaches that gives him a classic villain appeal. Somehow he’s gotten into bed with Manny Moretti of the Moretti crime family.

  The Morettis hail from New Jersey, and they’ve been poking around Vermont, causing trouble for the two crime families we already have to put up with here, the Canellis and the Lazzaris.

  Fun fact: Carlotta is intimately familiar with both heads of those families, Jimmy Canelli and Luke Lazzari.

  What can I say? The woman gets around.

  “Call me every name in the book.” Rooster rocks back on his heels and laughs.

  “I’ll call ya heartless,” Carlotta shouts over at him. “You’re a monster.”

  Rooster has donned a black and white striped suit and has on a pair of patent leather shoes to go along with it. He reeks of new money from head to toe, which doesn’t surprise me seeing that he stole a briefcase full of money just a week ago.

  Apparently, when Everett went to Luke Lazzari for protection from the hit Jimmy Canelli took out on him, Luke wanted him to wash a suitcase full of money as a litmus test of some sort. They’ve already given him a few terms. And Everett has already said he’d think about going easy on any mobsters who passed through his courthouse. But knowing Everett the way I do, he isn’t going to go easy on anyone.

  Rooster points down at a platter of my sweet treats and looks at Suze. “Box up one of everything for me, Sweet Cheeks.” He pulls a hundred dollar bill out of his pocket and hands it to her.

  Suze scoffs. “You don’t have to pay. Everything is f—”

  “For sale,” Lily says as she takes his money and proceeds to box up a bevy of cookies and muffins for him.

  I’m not saying a word. That briefcase of Everett’s that Rooster stole just so happened to be laden with one hundred dollar bills like the one he produced.

  Last month when I found out that Noah and Everett were not only flirting with the mob but about ready to be indoctrinated into their crooked club by way of those nefarious briefcases, I was furious that they had kept things from me for as long as they did. So I stole their briefcases and locked them in the yacht Everett has parked in the marina.

  But unbeknownst to me, Carlotta had given Rooster a copy of the key to the boat and he had been spending the night on The Lucky Lemon. Yes, as fate would have it, that’s the name of the luxury yacht.

  Anyway, not only did Rooster swipe Everett’s briefcase full of cash, he stole the one that Noah had full of coke—as in cocaine. I guess Jimmy Canelli wanted Noah to make a delivery to one of his men. Noah knew moving drugs was enough ammo for Jimmy to blackmail him into doing his bidding forever so he never did the deed. And Everett never washed the money for Luke Lazzari either.

>   Once Rooster got ahold of both briefcases, he took off for his new pal, Manny Moretti, and I’m not entirely sure what happened after that.

  Manny was arrested and made bail just as fast, and he didn’t have the briefcases when the cops came looking. It’s all sort of murky from there.

  One thing that’s clear as a bell is that the hits are back on for Noah and Everett unless they can get the mob bosses their pricey loot back—or meet the terms as far as the washing and the delivery go. Things could get very ugly if one of those two things doesn’t happen.

  Hey? I bet that’s how Everett ends up taking three bullets to the chest at some point this month.

  Suddenly, the vision Nell gave me makes perfect sense.

  Rooster sheds a greasy smile my way. “Don’t you worry, missy. Your sister and your mama aren’t gonna hurt a hair on my chinny chin chin. They’ll both be too busy getting processed by the Ashford County Sheriff’s Department.” He crows out a laugh that sounds suspiciously like the animal whose moniker he’s borrowing.

  “I’m not doing any time,” Carlotta bellows at him. “In fact, I’ll do time over your dead body.”

  “You’ll be serving life when I get through with you,” he shouts right back. “You’re a mean witch, Carlotta. Sorry, Charlie.” He winks over at my sister. “But you’re both going to pay in spades for what you’ve done to me.”

  “Done to you?” Carlotta’s face turns tomato red. “You mean what you’ve done to us. Get out of this town, you two-bit moron. I hate you, Rooster. And I hope you die!”

  He laughs in her face. “I’ll be headed down to speak to the sheriff myself come morning.” He winks over at Carlotta and Charlie just to add kindling to the fire. “Have a great time tonight, little darlings. It’s gonna be your last night of freedom. Your sins have come home to roost, ya hear?” he shouts over at them before taking the box of my sweet treats that Lily gives him, and I watch as he heads right over to where my mother, the saint who raised me, and her boyfriend Wiley stand.

  Wiley just so happens to be Noah’s look-alike of a father.