I’m about to head for Keelie, who happens to be giggling up a storm while not one but two marble statues come to life are currently assisting her. One beefcake has his arms wrapped around her legs and the other around her arms. It looks as if Christmas came early for Keelie after all.
A familiar pixie-haired brunette zips by and heads down the corridor toward a sign marked women’s locker room and I don’t hesitate to follow.
It’s her! Dr. Feel Good! I bet she needs to keep toned and trimmed to seduce all her patients. I can’t believe she’s having an affair with a very married, very creepy might I add, Ned Sweeny. I bet they do it on that sofa in her office while Darjeeling and his lookalike ogle them with those creepy side-eyed gazes and those perverted open-mouthed smiles.
I speed my way right into the dressing room, snapping up a towel as I enter and quickly wrapping it over my shoulders, mopping my face with it, mimicking her every motion as I take a seat beside her on the bench.
“Dr. Ferdinand!” My voice booms cheery as I work to take off my shoe just the way she’s doing now.
“Lolita!” She comes back at me with just as much enthusiasm. “How are you doing? With two capable studs at the ready, I’m surprised you have any use for a gym.” She offers a congratulatory chortle, and I laugh right along with her. Little does she know that I haven’t had all that much action from either of them. I have no idea what to do with one of them, let alone two together. For a moment, I envision the three of us tangled in a mass of flesh and am quick to blink the mouthwatering malfeasance away.
“Yes, well”—I clear my throat—“a girl has got to have her me time. You certainly get that, don’t you?” I work off my right shoe, but she’s already down to her bra and panties, and I hope to God she’s about to either pop on a muumuu or employ that towel next to her. God knows I’ve seen enough flesh at the Ashford Hard Body Gym to last a lifetime.
“Oh, I do.” She flicks her wrist as if it’s a given before whipping off her bra, and my head drops down as I pretend to struggle with my sock. “In fact, I’ve cut back on my own suitors. I think I’ll limit myself to two or three. Quality over quantity.” Her underwear hits the floor, and she thankfully picks up the bath towel next to her. I lift my head, fully expecting to find her comfortably wrapped in the makeshift robe but, unfortunately, she’s taken a cue from me and wrapped it around her shoulders.
Just great. But hey, if this therapist gig doesn’t work out, she can always get a job at Bazingas. Just sayin’.
“Quality is quantity.” I grimace through the disjointed statement. Honestly, there’s nothing more distracting than having a pair of nipples staring right at you.
She laughs at my misnomer while pulling her towel out at the ends, her body on full display, and now all I want to do is run screaming.
“Lolita, you are a mighty lucky lady to have two handsome men. I don’t think I’ve ever been envious of anyone before, but I’m certainly envious of you. Keep up the good work. It’s quite impressive.” She starts to take off, and I panic.
“That dummy in your office”—my hands flail a moment—“I was thinking of getting one for my mother for Christmas. She’s obsessed. It really takes a particular kind of person to have an affinity for them.” My lips smack as if I were about to be sick. A particular kind of person? Read insane.
“It sure does. The client who gifted it to me is also one of the suitors I felt the need to cut back on. But I think he mentioned they were passed down to him generationally. So I’m afraid I’m of little help.”
Figures. Ned’s entire family line is creepy.
“I see. Sorry about the breakup. Was it mutual?” I shrug as if a mutual parting might be a consolatory prize of sorts and, believe me, it would be. I’ve been through my fair share of messy breakups and received no prizes, unless of course you count the biggest prize of them all—my freedom.
“Heavens no. If he had his druthers, we’d be wed in the spring. But he’s also quite content in his current arrangement. I’m afraid the relationship was deadlocked.” Her eyes flit to the side when she says the quasi-morbid word.
“Can I ask you something, off topic?”
“Anything, shoot.”
“The night Tanner Redwood died, did you notice anything suspicious?”
Her body goes rigid, and she looks at me as if I’ve just held out a pair of handcuffs and asked for her wrists.
“My sister’s ex-boyfriend is a suspect.” I scoff as I say it—but conveniently leave out the fact that my sister is, too. “Which is ridiculous because he wouldn’t hurt a fly. And really? An icicle? If my sister’s boyfriend were to take down Tanner, I’m sure things would have gotten a lot more physical than a frozen spear of water.”
“I quite agree. Male aggression on that level is usually expressed through their fists.”
“Men.” I roll my eyes as if playing along, but I’m actually right there with her. “So, in your professional opinion, do you think that rules out a man altogether as a prime suspect?”
Her mouth opens and closes before she expels a sigh. “Would you look at the time? I’d best be heading to the shower. I have a home visit later tonight.”
I bet you do. Someone is about to get their sexual appetite satiated in thirty minutes or less.
She bolts for the shower, inadvertently mooning me in the process, and I’m forced to look away.
Kelly Ferdinand all but said she didn’t think a man stabbed Tanner with that icicle. But she sure was quiet when asked to admit that a man didn’t do it. Maybe there’s something I’m missing here.
Mason sure doesn’t think Tanner died from that puncture wound. But Tanner was indeed wounded with the icicle.
Unless—oh my God, unless…
Chapter 14
“Two killers?” Everett shovels another bite of steak into his mouth and chews on both it and my theory.
“Think about it. I mean, how can we be sure he died of that neck wound?”
The low lighting in Honey Hollow’s premier Italian restaurant, Mangia, gives Everett an otherworldly appeal. The small votive candle flickering between us contours his features until he’s monstrously handsome. Everett ran into the bakery just before it closed and picked up a box full of Christmas cookies for the holiday party down at the courthouse tomorrow. He asked if I wanted to grab a quick bite across the street and discuss the case, and of course I couldn’t say no. And, believe you me, I know what Noah would be thinking about our little tête-à-tête. But I really do appreciate the fact Everett doesn’t seem to mind me bending his ear over Tanner’s murder investigation. In fact, I find it refreshing. I guess in a way he is giving me something that Noah isn’t, and the realization makes me grieve a little. It’s not Noah’s fault he can’t share details of this case.
Dutch—who I’m quickly discovering is the loyalist Golden Retriever on all the planet—lands his paw over my shoulder, over and over, until I give him a little scratch between the ears. If he had his way, I’d be scratching him twenty-four seven.
Everett lifts his wine glass my way. “Only the coroner knows for sure how Tanner died. Lemon, you’re petting that dog again, aren’t you?”
“He’s irresistible. Believe me, you would be doing the same if you could see him. And how I wish the whole world could see him. He’s a magnificent creature. So, how exactly do I go about speaking with the coroner?”
He shakes his head. “You’d have to be in tight for him to say anything to you. They don’t share information to the public. Or you need to be a member of the victim’s family to get information.”
“I bet the coroner loves cookies.”
“Lemon.” Those cobalt blue eyes hood over.
“What?”
“No cookies. Bring it up to Noah. Focus on getting through the Christmas season. Have you decorated your tree yet?”
“Have you decorated yours?”
“Touché. But in my defense, the lights are enough, and it’s a small holiday miracle it’s up at all.
”
“Duly noted. I like my lights just fine for now as well. And if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were changing the subject. I was wooed here with the prospect of discussing a certain homicide investigation. Don’t tell me you’re going soft and following in your stepbrother’s footsteps. The next thing you’ll be telling me is that you forbid me to continue with the investigation.”
“First, I will never go soft on you.” His lids hood a notch as if he were trying to seduce me. “And second, I will not follow in Noah Fox’s footsteps in any capacity. Rest assured. Feel free to talk about the Redwood murder all you want.” He leans in, that serious gaze pressed into mine. “But let it go as far as your lips. Lemon, you have put yourself in risky, life-threatening situations, and because of that, I can’t be a cheerleader to you digging any deeper.”
A thousand words want to stream from my infamous lips all at once, none of them good. “Everett, you’re my partner in crime. What am I going to do without you?”
He takes an angry bite of his steak, his steely gaze still pinned to mine as he quickly washes it down with his port.
“So, you’re saying despite my words of caution you’re still willing to pursue this?”
“I happen to have an incredible thirst for justice. I believe we share that on some level.”
His lips twitch with a smile. “That we do. And because I appreciate you in one piece”—he lifts his glass and offers me a toast—“you just got your partner in crime back. Might I suggest the next time we hit up Dr. Ferdinand’s office we leave the dead weight at the door? I think she’d have us doing some pretty interesting things on that sofa of hers if Noah wasn’t haunting the room with his presence.”
“Yeah, and I bet that dummy would love to watch.”
“You shouldn’t call her names.”
“Very funny.”
He shifts in his seat until he’s leaning over the table a bit. “You know what else is very funny? What I did for you this afternoon.” He’s right back to being stone-cold. He can’t help it. It’s a part of his charm.
“What pray tell did you do for me?”
He glances to my right as if he could see Dutch drooling away for a slice of my lasagna. “I met with people—interesting people, on your behalf.” His head circles toward Dutch as if alluding to something.
I take in a quick breath. “Please tell me you didn’t go see some medium or psychic. There all charlatans, I tell you.”
“Are you?”
“I’m neither a medium nor a psychic. I just have—amazing vision. Twenty-to eternity.” It certainly doesn’t sound good any way I spin it. “So, what did they say? Did they read your palm? Let me guess. They offered to give you a full body reading. Was she cute at least?”
“No and yes. I might have a whole new ex brewing thanks to you. But from what I gleaned, you might have a permanent poltergeist on your hands.”
“Says the charlatan. And if she’s right, I’m not sure I’d mind too much. But I imagine if this keeps up, I’ll have an entire spiritual menagerie to contend with. That could prove disastrous to both my sanity and my love life.”
“You have no love life.”
“Thank you for pointing that out.” I scowl over at him and don’t mind one bit.
A pizza box lands at the lip of the table, and we look up to find Noah blinking a short-lived smile our way.
“Hey, Lottie.” He nods to the space in the booth next to me as if asking permission.
“Please, yes!” I pull him down next to me with a hearty embrace as Dutch quickly ambles next to Everett. I take in Noah’s spiced cologne, and it feels like a salve after a long, tiresome day. “You smell amazing.” I land my lips to his, and my stomach dips as if we were on a roller coaster.
“As do you.” His smile fades as he narrows his gaze at Everett. “Evening.”
Everett lifts his fork before digging back into his meal. “You’re just in time. Lemon and I were discussing your love life.”
“We were not,” I’m quick to refute the idea.
“You’re right.” Everett points his fork my way. “We were discussing your lack of a love life.”
Noah’s chest thumps with a dull laugh, but he’s not happy. And those death rays he’s shooting his former stepbrother aren’t too reassuring that this night won’t end with a good old-fashioned fistfight—or another Honey Hollow homicide.
Noah and Everett stare one another down a disconcerting amount of time. Dutch looks to the two of them and barks as if trying to break their ocular stronghold on one another. He really does have my back.
Noah purses his lips. “Lottie and I are happy. I’d like to think I’m enough for her. She’s doesn’t need anything you might be peddling.”
Everett leans in. “She needs more than you know. But the irony is that you don’t even know why.”
“Everett.” I pull his name out as if it were a threat, and it just might be. “You have no right to even hint.” My blood boils at not only Everett’s implication, but the one I just let slip out as well.
“Lottie?” Noah inches back, his eyes examining me in a whole new light. “Are you and Everett hiding something from me?”
My mouth opens, and I take in a gargantuan breath. It is my every nightmare for my supernatural gift to become public knowledge. My God, the reason I never told my mother, never told Keelie, is because I would never want to put them in a position where they were tempted to tell another soul. The only person I voluntarily told was Nell, Keelie’s grandmother whom I regard as my own. And she’s never judged me. She certainly never sat across from me at dinner and lorded her knowledge of it over my boyfriend’s head.
Now it’s me glowering at Everett. “You have crossed one serious line tonight.” My voice shakes as tears blur my vision. “Excuse me,” I say as I push Noah out of the booth first.
“Lemon”—Everett bounces to his feet as well and lands Dutch in a spinning tizzy—“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”
“How did you mean it?”
Noah holds a hand out to Everett. “What’s going on? What are the two of you talking about? Lottie, does this have something to do with the case?”
My lips part as I look into Noah’s breathtaking lime green eyes. Here it is, the moment in which I choose to either lie to the man I love or tell the truth. My head screams say yes, it has everything to do with the case and be done with it. But my heart shouts don’t you dare.
I go with another option entirely and glower over at Everett once again. “I hope you’re happy,” I pant as I try my best to reel in my newfound rage. “You’ve opened a can of worms that neither of us can ever shut.” My voice raises an octave and heads turn this way. “I have to get out of here.” I turn to leave, and Noah gently pulls me his way.
“What’s happening? Lottie, I want to help you.”
I glance to Dutch and those laser red eyes. “Neither of you can ever help me.”
Noah brings Everett forward with a violent yank. “What is it that you’re privy to and I’m not? It’s about her, isn’t it? The girl I supposedly stole from you. Lottie is nothing more than revenge on your part. It all circles back to that night and the fact you had your ego blown to pieces by some girl over a decade ago.”
“Some girl?” Everett muses. “I’m sure she’d love to know you’ve reduced her to less than a pronoun.”
“Lottie is my girl—and you stay the hell away from her.”
Everett slams his hands into Noah’s chest and sends him stumbling into the table behind us, knocking glasses to their sides, customers bolting upright and screaming.
I don’t stick around for the rest of the show. Instead, I run out the door and into the frozen December night with both Noah and Everett on my heels.
They call my name out as I head across the street to the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery. Yelling ensues as they argue amongst themselves.
“You stay here,” Noah barks at Everett. “You don’t get to do this.�
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Footfalls come in fast from behind, and before I can open the door to my van, Noah’s hand lands gently over mine.
I turn and look into those heavenly eyes.
“You don’t have to tell me, Lottie. Not unless you’re ready. And if you’re never ready”—he swallows hard as if already regretting what comes next—“then I guess I don’t have to know.”
I shake my head just enough. My hand rises to his prickly five o’clock shadow. “You said the right words, Noah. But it will eat you up inside, the not knowing.”
“Lottie, I love you—in fact, you’re the love of my life. But what could be so horrible that you wouldn’t want to share it with me? I would never judge you.”
“I know.” I say a quick goodnight, jump into the van with my invisible dog, and take off.
Noah was right. Everett wedged his way between us, but not in the way Noah thought he would. I don’t believe Everett meant to ruin things for Noah and me.
I can’t blame Everett. I knew he was holding a live—or in my case a very undead grenade. I was the one who handed it to him.
It was only a matter of time before it went off.
I suppose the only way out of this mess is to tell Noah.
Dutch catches my eye, and I shake my head.
There’s not a ghost of a chance.
Chapter 15
Somehow, last night, after that fiasco at Mangia and before I cried myself to sleep, I managed to convince Margo from the Honey Pot Diner to open the bakery for me—and bake a couple dozen breakfast goodies that I usually have hot and ready for the early crew of patrons. I apologized up and down and swore it would never happen again, but she was more than fine with it. She mentioned something about leaving for the holidays with her husband Mannon in a few days, and this would give her an opportunity to get some baking in for her family as well. Margo and Mannon are the Honey Pot Diner’s five-star chefs that eschewed city life for our cozy small town.
Murder in the Mix (Books 4-6) Page 11