Pumpkin Pie Parting

by Addison Moore

  Ha! And Ivy can’t do a thing about it because this one just so happens to be teaching a class on all things—murder.

  A familiar brunette looks up on the other side of Carlotta, and I do a double take.

  “Meg?” I trot her way and land the cookies in the center of the table, inviting everyone to partake, and soon enough ten hands have already dipped into the tiny pink box.

  Carlotta scoots over a notch, and I land between her and my sister.

  “Meg, what are you doing here?” I whisper.

  “Mom inspired me to write a murder mystery of my own. I’m thinking strippers who kill bad tippers. Then I can move on to waitresses and parking valets who kill the cheapest of the cheap. I’ll call it the Tipping Point Series.”

  “It sounds riveting,” I say as Carlotta sticks a finger down her throat behind my sister’s back.

  Carlotta looks startlingly like me in this soft light, and a part of me wants to tell her to knock off the bad attitude. I’m an ardent encourager of both my sisters’ hopes and dreams, be they wrestling in an oil pit or teaching dirty dancers their night moves. I would never vomit on their big ideas.

  “Am I late?” a shrill female voice warbles from somewhere up above, and I turn to find Gemma in all her luscious llama glory clip-clopping her way over. Her neck juts back and forth with her every step, and those extreme lashes of hers instantly mesmerize me. She’s such a cutie and a hoot to boot. I’d like to keep her around forever. Come to think of it, I always say that about the ghosts that visit, but it never happens—with the exception of Greer. For reasons beyond my control of understanding, the ghost of Greer Giles lives on to haunt my mother’s B&B. And believe you me, my mother’s bottom line is grateful.

  I shake my head over at Gemma and she offers an adorable wink.

  “Ooh”—she moans with glee—“look at this one, Lottie.”

  Leo stands for a brief moment and bows to all the faces rapt at attention. His silver hair is thick and cropped short. He has a leathery look about him, deeply tanned as if he spends most of his time outdoors. And that peppering of silver stubble over his cheeks gives him a rugged appeal.

  “Welcome, everyone.” He falls back into his seat with a grin blooming on his face. He’s affable, I’ll give him that, and if I’m not mistaken, most every woman here is swooning in his direction.

  “My name is Leo Workman, writer of mystery—lover of murder.” His grin broadens as a quiet round of titters circles the table. “My critically acclaimed series Killing Your Darling has become an international bestseller, and I’ve been nominated for three Silver Hatchet awards, the highest accolade in the mystery writing world.” A light applause breaks out. “Let’s do a quick round of introductions. Tell me your name and a little about the book you’re working on.” He nods to the lady on his left, and Mom openly frowns.

  Seeing she’s on his right, she’ll be last. I’m learning a bit more about my mother as time goes by and, I’ll have Leo Workman know, my mother doesn’t like playing second, third, or fifteenth fiddle to anyone. Let’s call a spade a spade. Had he nodded in her direction first, he might have gotten lucky.

  Gemma scoots in across the table from me and sits on the ground. Her long neck dips between the two women on the end as if she were a student.

  One by one each woman introduces herself, and, sure enough, we hear every outlandish plot idea under the terrifying sun. Looking for a meals-on-wheels murder? We’ve got one. Death by ice cream? It’s happening. An icepick wielding serial killer who stalks men who have recently been paroled for traffic tickets? It’s on.

  Soon enough, it’s Meg’s turn and she unleashes her killer strippers into the wild and is met with a murmuring round of approval.

  Leo nods my way. He’s smiling so hard, rows of laugh lines heavily embed themselves around his eyes.

  “And you?”

  “I—uh…” I glance around and every pair of eyes here is feasted upon me, waiting for me to regale them with my murderous work in progress.

  Carlotta jabs me hard in the ribs. “Lottie and I are co-writing a book together.”

  “Oh!” Mom jumps in her seat. “That’s so wonderful.” She claps hard as if it warmed her heart a thousand degrees to see the two of us collaborating on anything, which makes me question whether or not she’s met the real Carlotta yet.

  A dark laugh pumps from the demon to my left as Carlotta leans in. “It’s about a baker who can see the dead.”

  She couldn’t have surprised me more if she kicked me in the gut. I roll my eyes at her lack of creativity.

  The table lights up with a round of oohs and ahs, and it sounds as if a ghost were already among us—Gemma withstanding.

  “Yup”—Carlotta is proving to be unstoppable—“and get this! She sees pets that have come back from the other side, and they’re always a bad omen for their previous owners.”

  A woman on the end clutches at her chest. “What happens to the previous owner?”

  Carlotta runs her finger along her neck, pretending to slash it, and the entire table gasps.

  Insert eye roll number two.

  “I see.” Leo sounds markedly impressed. I swear, if he steals our idea, I’m suing and maybe siccing a ghost or two on him. “And what’s the plotline of your current work?”

  Carlotta leans in. “It’s about a murder mystery writer who shot his girlfriend in cold blood at the Evergreen Inn.”

  “Oh God,” I groan. Kill me.

  Leo closes his eyes a moment. “Ah, I do see where this is going.” His affect changes on a dime. “Why don’t we get this right out in the open?” He offers Carlotta an affable smile. “Yes, I was dating a woman who was recently killed. No, I did not commit this crime. The sheriff’s department is working very hard to locate the person who is responsible for this heinous atrocity. In fact, I was contacted just yesterday afternoon and told they have a very strong lead in the case. Since I was familiar with the person they were implicating, I provided all the information they needed on the perpetrator. So, as you can see, I am in full compliance with the investigation, and I’m certain the killer will be apprehended shortly.” He nods to Carlotta. “Rest assured, you are not in the presence of someone who could do such a terrible thing. The only killing I ever get around to is strictly on paper.”

  Honestly? Me thinks the award-winning novelist doth protest too much.

  Gemma bats her lashes my way. “What do you think, Lottie? Has that detective got a serious lead?”

  I shrug over at her. Ivy won’t tell me a thing. But why would she confide in Leo? It doesn’t make sense.

  He finishes off the getting-to-know-you circle with a nod to my mother.

  “Miranda Lemon.” She gives a cheeky wink to the crowd. “Some of you might know me. I own and operate the Haunted Honey Hollow Inn.” She chortles his way as if this were a selling point in their budding relationship. And, judging by the way his brows just hiked up a notch, it might be. “My novel is about a woman who hacks to pieces all the philandering boyfriends in her life. And there might be a control freak in there, too, for good measure.” She bubbles with a quiet laugh, and Meg kicks me from under the table.

  “Knew it,” she whispers my way. “Mom has been knocking off her plus ones and you’ve been covering for her. Good work, Lot. If Hook ever wanders, I’ll know who to come to for help.”

  Good grief.

  Leo starts in about the writing craft in general. He teaches us how to outline, set manageable goals for ourselves, and how to delve deep and uncover the complex motives for murder.

  He generously dissects his latest novel in which a woman by the name of Trista, a volunteer at a woman’s shelter, is gunned down in an alley after threatening to leave her boyfriend of one year.

  Huh. That doesn’t sound so complex. In fact, Trista sounds a lot like Trisha—who happens to be a volunteer at a homeless shelter. I knew Leo would prove to be fishy. This has truth-is-stranger-than-fiction written all over it.

  An ho
ur drifts by and the group disbands, leaving only crumbs in my little pink box of goodies.

  Bodies drift from the table as Gemma walks right through it, only to stop in the middle, and it’s an unnerving sight.

  Carlotta knocks me in the ribs with her elbow. “Get a load of this one.”

  “Would you hush? Gemma is a sweetheart.”

  Gemma brays out a gentle laugh. “I think very highly of you, too, Lottie. But I can’t say the same about Leo the Liar. He’s a killer, Lottie. He’s practically laid out how and why he slaughtered poor Trisha in cold blood. How could that bumbling detective look at anyone besides him?”

  “Maybe she really does have hard evidence on someone else?” I shrug over at her. “I’ll see if I can find out.” I tick my head his way.

  Gemma scoffs. “I don’t think he can spell it out any clearer if he tried. And no offense to this scholastic environment, but I much prefer dancing. Here’s a thought. Try to corner your next suspect in the vicinity of some good music. I always did like to shake my tail at the boys in the barn.”

  Carlotta leans in. “Sounds like you and Lottie have a lot in common.”

  “Oh hush.” I all but swat her.

  Leo is quickly packing up, and my mother is bending his ear at the speed of light so I head on over in an effort to ironically save him.

  “Great class,” I say enthusiastically. “You really gave some good insight on how to write a novel. I especially liked the part about creating our own Kanban boards. I’m a big list maker, so that only seems like a natural progression.”

  “Oh, you’ll love it then.” His eyes widen a notch, and I note they’re an arresting shade of silver. I can see the appeal that would draw my mother like a fly to Honey Hollow Honey, but this silver fox just might happen to be a murderer. And a murderer who specializes in killing ex-girlfriends? Some might say he and my mother are the perfect murderous pair. But given the choice, I much prefer her with a philandering cheat looking for a naughty good time like Topper. At least I know the worst Topper can do is break her heart—not stop it.

  “Oh, wait.” I stretch the words out a little too long. “I think I met you the night of the charity event. You were standing with Trisha.”

  His lids lower a notch. “Ah, yes, the baker. The one who sees the dead, I’m guessing?” A dry laugh pumps from him.

  Funny. For a guy who just lost the love of his life, he sure is in a great mood.

  “That’s right,” I say and his expression sobers up on a dime.

  Carlotta calls my mother and she quickly excuses herself.

  I lean in and whisper, “So, who does the sheriff’s department think did this? I mean, you’re obviously not a killer. You’re a fiction writer. And Trisha adored you. I could see it in her eyes.” Nothing like an ego stroke to bring the suspects to the yard.

  His own eyes twinkle at the thought. “She did, didn’t she?” He gives a wistful shake of the head. “And I adored my Trish-Trish. We had plans to travel to the Mediterranean this summer. I was set to propose, but she’ll never know that. I gave her daughter the ring. I couldn’t keep it. And, in my heart, it already belonged to Trisha.”

  “Her daughter? Was that the young brunette? Jade something?”

  “No.” He shakes his head quickly. “Jade Pope was her assistant. Her daughter’s name is Chanelle Maples. I’m afraid they were estranged. But, oddly enough, that’s how I met her mother. Chanelle and I were going through AA together a little over a year ago and Trisha showed up one night to support her. The two of us just hit it off. And, for the record, I haven’t hit a bottle in going on thirty-two months.”

  “Congratulations,” I say it low and quiet because it doesn’t feel right congratulating him on anything.

  “I appreciate that.”

  I suck in a contrived breath as I do my best to feign surprise. “Is that who they think did it? Her estranged daughter?”

  “No.” He glances around before leaning in so close I can count the whiskers on his chin. “They think this was all brought about by a falling-out she had with her friend Gerrie.”

  “The older woman? The volunteer from the shelter?”

  He nods.

  “Why in the world would she gun down Trisha in the parking lot? And for some reason, I can’t see her with a gun at all.”

  He shrugs. “I’m afraid I’ve said too much already.” He takes off after my mother and he has her giggling like a schoolgirl before they ever hit the exit.

  Trisha has an estranged daughter. Huh.

  But Leo says that the sheriff’s department is sniffing around Gerrie.

  Interesting.

  However, he’s the one who wrote a how-to book on how to slaughter an ex.

  I really do think he’s deflecting too much.

  For my mother’s sake, let’s hope she isn’t getting involved with yet another monster.

  And if she is, she can kill him in her very next book.

  Or I can kill him.

  I’ve done it before.

  Chapter 11

  Later that night, Alex lets me know that he and his mother will be having dinner at my mother’s B&B where she’ll be staying, and he kindly invited both Everett and me to join them.

  The B&B is adorable and homey inside. It houses a number of rooms upstairs and has been steadily filled with tourists thanks to the pack of ghosts haunting these halls. The entry is huge and expansive, and you can see the fireplace roaring in both the dining room and the grand room from that vantage point. My mother recently had a conservatory tacked onto the back, a large glass room that’s played host to many gatherings. And, unfortunately, many a murders, too.

  Everett and I arrive together, and I must say he looks particularly handsome tonight. His hair is getting a little longer in the back, his eyes look brighter, and I think there’s a spring in his step.

  “Everett, you not only look amazing tonight, but I feel like your energy is different. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a man with a secret.”

  The tips of his lips curl with satisfaction. “I am, Lemon.” He leans in and brazenly lands a kiss to my lips. “We both have a secret.”

  I nod up at him, tears sparkling in my eyes at the thought of this baby putting a spring in Judge Baxter’s step.

  “Our baby,” I whisper. I did say our and I meant it. I know that Everett will be in this child’s life in a very important way whether or not Noah pulls through. But Noah is pulling through. I’ll find a way to make that happen if I have to.

  A brilliant spray of stars appears before us with the power of a supernova, and soon enough Gemma is standing before us.

  “Did you say our baby?” Gemma’s mouth opens wide and her prominent bottom teeth buck in all sorts of crazy directions. “Lottie, are you and Everett having a baby?”

  “Ooh”—a dull moan comes from me as if I’m about to be sick and I might—“you can’t say a word about the baby to Noah. This might actually kill him.” I don’t know why I didn’t deny it, but a part of me doesn’t have the heart to lie to the ghost of a llama—mostly. And, technically, this very much is Everett’s baby, too.

  “Oh, Lottie.” Gemma does a little tap dance, her neck bobbling back and forth. “This is fantastic news. A baby is the best of the best. I’ve had twenty-three of them myself.”

  Carlotta pops up like the ghost of mothers past. “Who’s having a baby?” She gasps as she glances down at my stomach, and I follow her gaze, only to find my hand absentmindedly strapped to my belly.

  “Not me!” I’m quick to shout it out like a war cry. “Everett? Why don’t you head into the conservatory to see if Alex and Suze are there? I’ll be right over.”

  He leans in. “Good luck putting out this fire.” He dots my cheek with a kiss before taking off.

  I turn to Carlotta and pull her in by the sweater. “Lainey is having the baby and don’t you dare ruin this. She hasn’t broken the news yet to Forest or my mother.” GAH! Mother of all lies! But, it wouldn’t be the fi
rst time I’ve accidentally on purpose started rumors about my sweet sister.

  She squints over at me. “She didn’t tell the hubby? And yet she told the one sister who she thinks is a broken mirror personified?” Carlotta inspects me with a scrutinizing gaze. “Interesting.”

  The ghost of a little girl stalks up with her long, stringy hair combed over her face, a dirty pinafore paired with a scruffy pair of Mary Janes on her feet, and a bloody hatchet dangling from one hand.

  “Lea!” I perk up at the sight of her. Little Azalea, Lea, had her family slaughtered right over the grounds of the B&B many, many moons ago, and she’s been haunting the area ever since, right along with her adoptive parents, Greer Giles and Winslow Decker.

  “Lottie, is that you?” Lea hitches her hair behind her ear, and her pretty dark eyes stare up at me. “I’ve got big news for you. A real surprise.”

  Carlotta lets out a husky laugh. “Lottie’s got a pretty big surprise, too.” She scowls over at me. “I’m not buying that knocked-up sister story of yours. But don’t worry. I’m really good at singing the baby blues. It’s a tune I’m all too familiar with.”

  Dear God. Carlotta is like a walking minefield with this delicate information.

  “What’s this?” Little Lea magically appears on Gemma’s back, and she kicks her heels into the fuzzy girl’s sides. “Lottie, are you having a baby? Let it be known, I hate the wailing creatures. I simply loathe them.”

  I make a face at her. “Nobody hates babies, Lea. They’re adorable. And you’re going to love mine because it will be the most precious thing you’ve ever laid your dead little eyes on.”

  “Ah-ha!” Carlotta claps her hands together. “I knew it! Miranda is gonna be a granny!”

  I roll my eyes because Carlotta conveniently left herself out of the granny equation.

  “Don’t worry, Lot.” She pats me on the back. “I won’t tell many people.”

  Mayor Nash walks in through the door and offers a cheery greeting just as Carlotta zips off in his direction.