Chapter 4
Honey Hollow is in the thick of autumn—i.e., leaf peeping season.
The entire town is bursting at the seams with tourists who have come up to witness the autumn wonderland our little corner of Vermont has transformed into. My mother’s B&B is booked solid, but the ghosts have more to do with it than the leaves.
However, I have no idea how the Evergreen Manor is doing now that there’s been another murder on their grounds. The only person happy about that grisly fact is Naomi. Keelie let me know this morning that Naomi won’t have to worry about another district manager for a while. The company is in the middle of a hiring freeze. I’ll have to stop by some time and talk to Naomi about what happened—get her take on things.
If Ivy thinks she’s pushing me out of this investigation, she’s as delusional as Cormack is with Noah. I need to start compiling my suspect list and I’ll need Naomi’s help with that.
Lily leans in with a carafe of our pumpkin spiced coffee in her hand. “I think Naomi did it.”
I roll my eyes.
“What?” She decides to play coy. “I could tell you were thinking about it. I’ve known you long enough to recognize that look.”
She’s right. There’s no way I can fight her on that.
It’s just past noon and the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery has already had its fair share of customers. Lily and I have been working nonstop for the last four hours, so this tiny lull in confection-fueled traffic feels like a respite. And, of course, she’s using it to implicate her ex-best friend in a murder. Things really hit the fan between the two of them once Naomi discovered that Lily is actually bedding their shared boyfriend.
“Lily, we both know Naomi didn’t do it. She doesn’t know how to fire a gun, let alone own one.”
“We don’t truly know that about her. I didn’t know you owned a gun up until a few weeks ago, and here you’ve been harboring a concealed weapon all along.”
“That reminds me. I need to make a trip to the sheriff’s department to pick her up. Boy, do I ever miss Ethel.” Ethel is the Glock that Noah and Everett teamed up to buy me. Noah also gave me shooting lessons. He has such a big and thoughtful heart and all he ever wanted to do was give it all to me.
I press my lips tight to keep from spontaneously weeping—a phenomenon that Lily is all too familiar with by now.
“Lottie”—Lily rubs my back—“go see him. That always makes you feel better.”
“Wow, you really do know what I’m thinking. You can’t read minds, can you?”
A laugh bubbles from her. “Only your face. You’re like an open book.”
“Well, you’re wrong about me feeling better when I see Noah. I feel worse. I don’t know what I’ll do if he dies, Lily,” I whisper the words in the event Noah’s ghost decides to pop up at an inopportune moment.
“If he does kick the bucket, it’s probably in an effort to get away from Cormack.”
“Do you know she’s been there every single day?”
“So have you.”
“Yeah, but I’m not posting selfies of us to every social media site.”
She whips out her phone. “Huh. Looks like Cormack hasn’t hit the hospital yet this afternoon.”
“Give her time.” My lips twitch because I happen to be holding back some serious Featherby gossip.
Lily’s eyes grow large. “What is it, Lottie? It looks as if you’re about to explode if you don’t tell me what’s on your mind.”
I make a face. I’m still not ruling out the mind reading thing.
“Fine. But don’t say a word.” I lean in. “Cormack was spotted trotting off into the woods with that weirdo my mother was seeing.”
She gasps. “Brad Rutherford? Rich Dallas? Mayor Nash? Pastor Gaines? Which weirdo, Lottie? Which one?”
“I’m staggeringly impressed that you’ve memorized my mother’s lineup of weirdos. But none of the above—and besides, two of them are dead.”
“That’s because you killed one.”
It’s true. Last month I was forced to do the unthinkable and I cracked a stick over Pastor Gaines’ temple and killed him. I’d like to think it wouldn’t have happened if he weren’t trying to kill me first. But then, he was doing some pretty shady things, and my mother was next in line to get a full serving of shady dished out by the dicey pastor.
“It’s Topper Blakley,” I whisper and Lily sucks up all the oxygen in the room.
“Oh my God! How could you have kept this from me? This is too good.” She whips out her phone and spins around as she begins manically typing away.
“Lily! You just said you wouldn’t say anything!”
“I’m not saying anything! I’m writing.” She trots off to the kitchen just as the door chimes and another slew of customers head in.
“You were saved by the bell, Lily,” I say as I quickly help every last one of them out.
The pumpkin spiced cake, pumpkin cheesecake, pumpkin cinnamon rolls, and, of course, the pumpkin pies have been flying off the shelves. I don’t know how the farmers on this planet produce enough pumpkins to satisfy everyone’s cravings this time of year. And I’ve already had enough advanced pie orders, both pecan and the aforementioned peachy globe, to keep me busy the entire week leading up to Thanksgiving—that is, if I bake nonstop.
I steal a moment to look around.
The Cutie Pie has been mine now for one solid year. I take in the butter yellow walls and the pastel mix and match tables and chairs. There’s an opening on the left side of the bakery that connects us directly to the Honey Pot Diner. And in the middle of the Honey Pot, there’s a large resin oak tree whose branches crawl up over the ceiling and expand all the way into the café portion of my bakery. Each and every branch is intertwined with twinkle lights, and the effect provides a magical appeal. There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing, not one other job on earth that I’m more suited for than this one right here.
A couple of familiar faces walk through the door, and I cringe, hoping this conversation doesn’t take a turn for the cheating.
I force a smile in their direction. “Hey, Mom—Carlotta.” For once I’m thrilled to have Carlotta here as a buffer. If my mom brings up Topper, we can deflect and change the subject. Carlotta’s favorite topic is herself, so that should be easy enough.
“Hello, Lottie.” Mom shoves a fistful of dollars into my tip jar because she knows it’s against my policy to accept any form of legal tender from her or my sisters.
Instead of a purse, she has a bulky tote bag cinched over her shoulder and I’m mildly curious as to its contents.
“Don’t you fret.” She waves another fistful of dollars she plucks from her purse and repeats the action. “And don’t you deny me the pleasure of being a mother. It’s a mother’s job to spoil her children. You’ll see when you’re a mother one day, Lottie. The minute you look into your beautiful baby’s eyes, you’ll see the reward of a lifetime.”
“Hey, Lot.” Carlotta smacks her lips. “You’re the reward that keeps on giving. I’ll take my pumpkin pinwheels for free, thank you very much.”
“I’m keeping a running tab for you,” I tease, quickly handing her a pinwheel.
Carlotta offers a smarmy grin and every alarm bell I have goes off at once. “Your mom and I were just taking bets on who Topper is cheating on her with.”
I suck in a quick breath and shake my head at her.
Mom rolls her eyes. “We were not taking bets, Carlotta. I simply said I bet it’s not someone I know.”
Carlotta grunts, “It’s always someone you know. Ain’t that right, Lot?”
My mind rifles back to high school where I just so happened to know each and every girl Bear cheated on me with. And let’s not forget Curt, my short-lived college fiancé who helped himself to my roommate of all people.
“Maybe, maybe not. Besides, what’s the big deal?” I shrug over at my mother. “It’s not like you were with him. Chalk it up to a bad date and move on.”
“Mo
ve on?” Carlotta looks incensed by this. “And who do you purport she moves on with? My Harry?” Her voice hikes a notch as she turns to my mother. “You can’t move on with my Harry.”
Harry as in Harry Nash, my bio dad. It’s sort of an anomaly that he’s seeing Carlotta again after all these years. Most kids would be thrilled to have their parents back together, but since I didn’t grow up with either of them, I’m completely indifferent to the situation.
Mom scoffs. “I’ll have a pumpkin spiced latte and a chocolate croissant, please.”
Lily lifts a hand. “I got this, Lot.”
“Double for me,” Carlotta shouts.
“Mom, you’re not still seeing Topper, right?”
My mother’s shoulders pin to her ears. “Don’t judge me. He invited me to dinner and, of course, I said yes.”
“Of course?” I balk. “Mom, I’m baffled by this. Why in the world would you go out with a man who you’re certain has already cheated on you?”
Her pretty blue eyes widen. “How else am I supposed to win him back?”
Carlotta and I exchange a quick glance.
Anytime Carlotta and I appear to be on the same page about anything, I realize all is not right with the world.
Mom waves the two of us off. “I’m heading to the Scarlett Sage Boutique to pick up a snazzy little number that he won’t be able to resist.”
“Mom”—I choke as I try to get every protest out of me at once. “It’s not you he has a problem resisting. It’s other women.”
She looks to the ceiling for a span of three seconds, something she would do when I was growing up just as she was about to change the subject. I always wondered if the ceiling gave her a clue on what to say next.
“Anyway”—she begins—“I hope you don’t mind me being here for a while. I’m working on a book. And like every good writer, I must find a café to be my muse. I choose this one, Lottie. So, keep the tackling fuel coming.” She lifts her latte my way and gives a sly wink.
Carlotta takes a breath. “Why in God’s name are you taking pen to paper?”
“Oh, I brought my laptop. Nobody writes a novel on a legal pad, Carlotta. You might as well be writing hieroglyphics in a cave somewhere.”
Speaking of caves, I wonder who’s minding the haunted inn? Most likely a skeleton crew, and let’s not forget the ghosts.
Mom leans in. “Before Stephen died”—her hand flies to her chest—“God rest his soul. He encouraged me to write my heart’s song.”
“I remember,” I say. “He encouraged you to write a murder mystery on how to kill your boyfriend because he was trying to pin you for his supposed death.”
She waves me off again. “I’m writing a murder mystery on how to kill your boyfriend because I’m working through some heavy distrust issues right now, Lottie. And they do say writing is cheaper than therapy.”
Carlotta sniffs. “When you get to the part about cracking the dirty cheat’s skull with a tree branch, be sure to ask Lottie to check for accuracy.”
Mom gags on her words before gathering her coffee and croissant and speeding to a corner by the window.
Carlotta postures. “Do you think I should head down to the Scarlett Sage Boutique and pick up some snazzy duds myself?”
“Why? Do you want to date Topper, too?”
She makes a face. “Because I plan on having Harry and me bump into those lovebirds tonight, and I want to look good for our surprise double date.”
“Good idea. Make sure to irritate Topper good and hard so that he’ll want nothing to do with my mother and her nutty friends. The nerve of that moron for ditching into the woods with Cormack Featherby of all people. She’s like a plague on our family.”
Carlotta sucks in a breath at the revelation, and I do the same, realizing my grave gossip-based Featherby error.
“Don’t you dare,” I hiss at her, and her eyes light up like pinwheels on fire.
“I’m always up for a good dare, Lottie.” Carlotta trots off to the table with my mother and I keep an eye on them for the better half of the afternoon.
A part of me keeps watch at the door, too, just hoping Noah will walk right through it. Or I suppose he could walk right through the window or the wall.
How I miss him—even if I have seen him in his ghostly form.
God, I miss him so much it hurts.
Chapter 5
Lainey’s new house on Maple Leaf Drive is exactly two blocks east from where I live on Country Cottage Road.
When Noah and I were seeing one another, I just fell in love with the street he lived on. So, when I was in need of a rental, and a house came available across the street from his adorable little cabin, I quickly snapped it up. And as fate and Everett’s wily ways would have it, he purchased the house next to mine and we’ve been a happy little trifecta of angst ever since.
The house that Lainey and Forest bought is gorgeous. It’s been newly renovated inside from top to bottom and has a cheery red front door to greet guests like me. She’s hung a gorgeous fall wreath on it with artificial citrine-colored maple leaves and tiny little pumpkins dotting its surface.
How I love this time of year and all its spectacular décor. I’ll be the first to admit, I’m a sucker when it comes to buying up all the fall-inspired decorations, and don’t get me started on the nineteen boxes marked Christmas up in my attic.
Lainey opens the door before I can knock and pulls me into an enthusiastic embrace as I head on into her toasty warm home.
“Oh, it’s heavenly in here,” I say, taking off my heavy pea coat and scarf. “It’s about to hit freezing tonight. Can you believe it? At this rate, we’ll have snow for Thanksgiving.”
Lainey groans as she leads me to the kitchen. “I know. And Forest is at the firehouse, so I don’t have anyone to keep me warm tonight. But don’t worry. I’m not afraid to crank that heater when Forest isn’t around.”
I can’t help but laugh. Our dad was notoriously known as the heater police. It sounds as if Lainey chose a man just like dear old dad. And if she did, she’s lucky. Other than the heating offense, Joseph Lemon was a saint.
Lainey’s new house boasts an open concept floor plan with a great room that flows right into a huge kitchen, complete with a marble island and top-of-the-line appliances.
Her hair is in a perky ponytail and she already has an apron strapped to her chest that reads A Woman Belongs in the House—and the Senate.
“I can’t do an early snowfall, though.” She shudders at the thought. “You know how much I hate it when it gets icy.”
“You’re not alone in that. I nearly broke a leg on my own porch last winter. So how is it working out with Forest at the firehouse on and off?”
She makes a face. “I never thought being married to a fireman would be this hard, Lot. Our own dad was a firefighter for Pete’s sake. We never missed him so much we thought we’d go crazy. But that’s exactly how I feel. I have no idea how I’m going to get through a lifetime of this.”
“I’m so sorry! If it helps, I’ll come over every now and again and we’ll have slumber parties.”
She tosses an apron my way. “Thanks for the offer, but you snore.”
“Very funny,” I say, tying on the bright red Mrs. Claus apron she just chucked my way. “Remind me to get you a few plain aprons for Christmas. I have an entire box at the bakery.”
“I don’t want a plain apron. I like my fancy aprons. And back to your snoring. You should really do something about it. I’m surprised your boyfriends haven’t complained.”
“Now you’re pushing it,” I say, pulling forward all the ingredients she’s already set out. The entire island is cluttered with everything we’ll need to make the perfect pumpkin pie. I’m so thrilled to be teaching my big sis how to bake, I could just cry—or gloat. It’s not often that I’m better at something than Lainey. “Go ahead and preheat the oven to four twenty-five. We’re going to make up the crust and I’ll teach you how to blind bake it, which just means baking
it a bit so it doesn’t get mushy.” I set my purse down and put my hair into a quick ponytail myself. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to run to the restroom real quick. All those pumpkin spiced lattes are catching up with me.”
“Sure thing.”
I speed off for the restroom just outside the grand room. Lainey’s new house is the perfect home to build a family in. It has more than enough bedrooms to hold as many kids as they could want. And seeing that my mother badgers my poor sister for grandkids every chance she gets, I’m not even going to broach the subject tonight unless she brings it up first. Lainey mentioned to me a few weeks back that they weren’t necessarily trying to have a baby, but they weren’t stopping it either. Selfishly, I can’t wait to hold Lainey’s little cherub in my arms. It’s going to be a real treat having a baby in the family.
The bathroom is just as beautifully remodeled as the kitchen with its matching marble countertop and gold-framed mirror. She even has it decorated for fall with auburn towels and a tiny pumpkin dotting the sink. I’m about to get down to business when I see there’s no toilet paper.
“Nothing to bother Lainey about,” I mutter as I open the cabinet under the sink and spot several new rolls calling my name. I pluck one out and knock down a stack of lavender boxes, spilling them at my feet. I pick one up. “At home pregnancy test. Early response.” Oh my goodness.
I quickly restack the boxes where they belong, only to find out that there’s a virtual sea of them in here. Lainey must have bought out an entire big box store. She must really be going through these if she felt she needed this many. By the looks of things, Lainey is trying a little bit harder than she’s letting on.
I’m about to put back the last box when I pull it forward to inspect it instead.
“Look at this,” I whisper as I open it up to find a foil wrapped test kit inside.
When was my last cycle? I mean, Noah and I did take our surprise marriage pretty seriously no thanks to all that closure talk Everett pushed on us. Okay, so it wasn’t entirely Everett’s fault.
And Noah and I weren’t always that careful either. Noah was insatiable—okay, so I was a bit insatiable, too. But only because my body happened to miss his body due to the unexpected hiatus his wife forced us to take.
Pumpkin Pie Parting Page 4