Murder in the Mix (Books 4-6)

by Moore, Addison

  Throngs of people drain from the grand hall, and no sooner do I get my own coat on than Everett shakes his head while looking at his phone.

  “It’s really coming down. There are blizzard-like conditions out there, and the main pass from Fallbrook to Honey Hollow is closed.”

  “What does that mean?” My voice hikes in a panic because I think I know.

  “It means I’m about to introduce you to my old bedroom, Cupcake.”

  “Oh no, I’m certain there are other vacancies in Casa Baxter.”

  “Not for my fiancée.” He winces. “I’m sorry, Lemon. It’s just one night. It’ll be over before you know it.”

  “Is that what you say to all the girls before you take them to bed?”

  “I’m not laughing,” he says, leading us upstairs.

  “Neither am I.”

  It turns out, Everett’s old bedroom is an expansive domain that can easily dwarf both the bakery and the Honey Pot. There’s an oversized desk, and bookshelves line every free wall.

  “It looks as if your boyhood bedroom is missing one important feature, a bed.”

  Everett leads us to a conjoining room, eagerly proving me wrong.

  “It’s en suite. There’s a his or hers closet and a bathtub that some have called a swimming pool. My mother made sure when she built this place that every bedroom could double as a master.”

  “But of course,” I tease. “Seriously though? This is very impressive. And this is exactly why you should never bring Lily or any of your other future exes anywhere near the premises. Once they smell this kind of money, you’ll have a whole new problem on your hands.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Lemon. You’re not like that. And it’s also why I like to immerse myself in my work. Speaking of which, I’ve got cases all week.” He pulls out his phone and his fingers fly across the screen. “I just called in for tomorrow. I suggest you do the same.”

  “Good Lord.” I text Margo, the head chef from the Honey Pot Diner, and ask if she can open the bakery for me in the morning, and she more than graciously agrees.

  Everett gives his tie a quick yank before pulling it off altogether.

  “What are you doing?” The sudden urge to run around to the opposite side of the bed hits me, and I do just that.

  His lids hood dangerously low, and his lips curve with devilish intent. “We’re going to bed.” His jacket glides off at a quickened pace.

  “Wait just a minute. Aren’t you going to sleep on the floor? Or in that bathtub the size of a swimming pool?”

  His fingers fumble with his belt, his eyes still pinned on mine. “Bad back. Feel free to build a pillow fort between us if you must.” He gives a sly wink before shutting off the lights, and I gingerly take off my shoes and crawl into bed.

  The moonlight beams through the flimsy curtains and illuminates the darkness with the light of noonday, and I can see Everett’s fingers work open his shirt. My eyes squeeze shut tight. The distinct sound of pants unzipping then dropping to the floor enlivens the room like a grenade.

  “Dear God.” My voice fractures as I pull the covers to my neck. “What are you doing?”

  “I can’t sleep with clothes on.”

  “Any clothes?” A choking sound emits from me. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

  I don’t build a pillow fort. Instead, I cringe with every breath and movement Everett makes as he crawls into bed alongside me.

  “Night, Lemon.”

  “Night.”

  Neither of us called it a good one.

  Chapter 25

  All night I have restless dreams of a madman chasing me around Honey Hollow—of Noah finding Everett and me with our arms wrapped around one another, of Eve Hollister playing a game of cards with that oafish bear that nearly took down my mother’s B&B. But by the time the morning light tickles my lids, I wake up feeling well rested, the groggy world taking its time to form around me.

  My arms are wrapped tight around Noah and he feels real and solid, proving that all is right in our world, and indeed it was all a bad dream. I drop a wet kiss to his chest before inching my way up, my lids fluttering, just begging to take in his morning smile. His hair looks darker, lips a bit fuller, and his eyes look more like the color of the ocean than a lush rolling lawn. In fact, he almost looks like…

  “Everett!” I scream at top volume before shooting out of the bed like a rocket.

  The hint of a smile flickers on his lips. The covers are drawn just above his hips and he’s lying there bare-chested for the world—read me—to see.

  “Morning, Lemon. I had no idea you were such a cover hog.”

  An entire river of words begs to vomit from my throat, but instead we put ourselves back together again and meet his mother in the grand dining room for a quick breakfast. The table is enormously long—as in all of Honey Hollow could comfortably be seated here. A staff of six women look stoically forward, arms to their sides, each one dressed in a little black dress with a frilly white apron, their hair in matching buns. Everett and I are treated to eggs and bacon and an assortment of fresh fruit. We make small talk before Everett glances over his shoulder.

  “Will Meghan be joining us?”

  Eliza, Lizzy—although I don’t feel nearly comfortable enough to call her that—waves him off. “She insisted on heading to work this morning.” She looks to me. “My daughter is an insurance officer right here in Fallbrook. A common job. We are indeed just like you.”

  I glance to the six merry maids all in a row, the fine china, the gold utensils.

  “Yes, I can see that.” Just like me if I won the Powerball six times in a row.

  A thought comes to me as I look to Everett. “Speaking of Fallbrook, I’d really like to visit Eve Hollister’s son if we can find out where he lives.”

  “Eve Hollister?” Eliza’s dark penciled in brows hike a notch. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in years.”

  Everett moans. “Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but she just passed away. I think they’re still trying to determine the cause of death.” He glances my way and gives the subtle shake of his head as if asking me not to share the poisonous details.

  “Oh my goodness!” Eliza fans herself with a cloth napkin. “Well, Helman is in town.”

  “Helman?” I ask, hoping that Eliza will be a treasure trove of info.

  “Her son. Strange name, I know, but it was her surname. Helman and his wife live on Apple Cart Lane.” She offers me a knowing nod. “A common area here in Fallbrook with common houses.”

  I’m starting to see that Eliza loves to use the word common—specifically around me.

  We finish up our meal, and I thank her profusely for her generosity before we hit the road.

  “Where to, Lemon?”

  “Apple Cart Road to visit with the commoners.”

  A dark chuckle bounces from his chest. “I figured as much.”

  * * *

  Apple Cart Lane is indeed in an area that would be considered common in Fallbrook, seeing that Fallbrook is mostly comprised of mega mansions set on sprawling estates. The road that Helman Hollister lives on happens to be peppered with tract houses that really do remind me of Honey Hollow.

  “The road runs the length of about a city block,” Everett informs me as we drive by each house slowly, unsure of what we’re looking for.

  “How are we ever going to find him?” I say, trying to look up property tax records on my phone to no avail.

  “Easy. It looks like each house has their last name printed on the mailbox.”

  “Good eye!” I sit up and look out the window like an eager puppy. “Blankenship, Ross, ooh, there it is! Hollister. That has to be him, right?”

  Everett pulls up to the edge of the driveway, and we glare over at the quaint cottage that seems to hold a strong gingerbread house appeal as if it were somehow responsible for Eve Hollister’s death.

  I cinch my purse over my shoulder. “What should we say?”

  “Wha
t should you say? I’m the getaway driver.” He leans in and inspects the front porch. “People don’t like it when men show up at their door.”

  “You are intimidating. I won’t deny that.” I hop out and make my way up the cleared pathway to the house. Last night must have dumped a good three feet of powder so that tells me someone has already done their shoveling for the day. The driveway is clear, too, and there’s a pair of tire tracks imprinted at the base of it. I give a gentle knock on the door before acquiescing and ringing the bell.

  “Just a minute!” a female voice chimes from inside.

  This would be a good time for me to have an inkling of what might pop out of my mouth.

  The door swings open and standing on the other side is a frizzy strawberry blonde about my age, dark roots exposed about an inch, and she’s dressed in yoga pants and seems to be wiping the sweat from her brow.

  “Can I help you?” She offers an affable smile, her eyes set to half-moons, her cheeks round and rosy.

  “Does Helman Hollister live here?” Oh my goodness, not the best start. Let’s hope what comes out next is something I can work with.

  She blows a frizzy strand from her face. “He’s not home. What’s this about?”

  “I found his credit card—at the coffee shop where I work.” Ha! Good one!

  “Oh God.” She rolls her eyes. “That’s such a Helman thing to do.” She holds her hand out in anticipation, and my mouth falls open, unsure how I’ve managed to paint myself into a corner so quickly.

  I reach back into my jeans before patting myself down. “You know what? I seem to have forgotten it.”

  She waves it off. “Not a big deal. He’s a regular, so you can just give it to him the next time around.” I glance behind her and note a tower of boxes, each distinctly marked living room, bedroom, kitchen.

  “Sounds good.” I nod just past her. “That looks like a familiar scene. I just moved myself. No fun, is it? The two of you moving somewhere interesting?” Like Canada. You have to admit, the timing is suspicious.

  “It’s just me.” She leans in, her demeanor souring on a dime. “I’ve had it with my husband. Leaving his credit card behind is just the tip of the bone-headed iceberg when it comes to his mismanagement of money. And he’s an accountant, if you can believe it.”

  “An accountant?” That’s exactly what Daphne told Everett. “They’re usually the best with finances. My brother is one as well.” Sometimes a lie is just a means to a homicidal end. “Does your husband work in Fallbrook?”

  “Leeds.” She rolls her eyes, and, believe me sister, I’m tempted to do the same. “Some seedy nightclub that doubles as a financial institution.”

  I give a bleak smile because I foresee myself there in just under an hour.

  “The one with the gambling casino? I know it well.” Not only does he work there, he gives his money right back via those rigged slot machines. Daphne also spelled out the fact he was a gambler.

  “You know it?” She scoffs. “I’d steer clear if I were you. And to be honest, it’s the real reason I’m leaving him. No sooner did he start working there than he started gambling all of our money away. Some months we don’t even have enough to make the house payment. He’s sick is what he is. I told him he needs help. But every now and again he’ll win enough to justify his addiction. I can’t be a party to it anymore.”

  “Wow. That’s just terrible. I’m so sorry to hear it.”

  She lifts a shoulder. “His mother just died, so me taking off is just bad timing. Helman is convinced that she’s left him more than enough to keep us comfortable for the rest of our days, but with an addict you never know how long the money will last. As soon as they read that will, I’m getting a lawyer and taking half. I’ve already lost enough sleep over the financial mess we’re in.” She shudders. “Sorry to chew your ear off. But you know what? I think I actually feel better.”

  “Well, I’m glad I helped.” We say goodbye, and I speed back to the car and relay everything to Everett.

  He grunts while taking it all in. “Let me guess. We’re going to take a quick detour before heading home?”

  “You know me well.”

  * * *

  All the way to Leeds I send Noah sweet text messages letting him know how much I miss him, accenting each one with about a dozen heart and kissy emojis. The guilt of spending the night with another man is just killing me on the inside. I’ve already sworn Everett to secrecy, shouting at him to comply as I struggled to get my shoes on this morning, and he swore he wouldn’t say a word. I trust Everett enough to feel at peace with it. For now. My lips still burn like fire no thanks to that kiss I inadvertently landed over his sheetrock chest.

  The Red Satin Gentleman’s Club is just as smarmy as its name suggests. The dimly lit room looks more like a cave laden with strippers in sparkling bikinis. Obnoxiously loud music with an equally obnoxious backbeat thumps right through my chest as Everett leads us deep into the den of depravity.

  Everett talks to the bartender, and soon enough we’re escorted through a secret door in the back of the establishment and down a set of stairs into the basement where the financial dealings of Martinelle Finance pretend to be on the up-and-up.

  The last time Everett and I were here, we ended up bumping into Noah and Ivy on our way to the parking lot. Noah and Ivy seem to have a propensity for being in the exact location as the two of us—so a part of me fully expects them to pop out of the woodwork like scary Halloween decorations. Not that there’s anything scary about Noah. He one hundred percent has my heart. But it doesn’t change the fact the thought of seeing him so soon after my bedroom debacle with Everett scares the pants off me. The very same pants that I kept firmly on my person last night, might I add.

  The entire basement has been converted into a true-blue casino complete with one-armed bandits, a bevy of blackjack tables, a functioning roulette table, and a string of waitresses in skimpy outfits who keep the patrons nicely boozed up.

  “How are we going to find him?” I hiss at Everett who is currently being ogled by a broad range of scantily clad waitresses, each holding a tray of various alcoholic concoctions at a head’s height. I sure hope those girls manage to garner some gargantuan tips. There’s no way you’d catch me in one of those shoestrings they’re forced to call underwear. And don’t even get me started on the heart-shaped pasties. The fashion police should storm this entire establishment. Everywhere you look there’s a crime of sequin proportions being committed. Although, the fashion police are the least of Red Satin’s worries. Noah let me know a few months back that they were working to bust this deplorable underground arena of evil.

  “We’re going to ask, Lemon. That’s how you get things in life—you simply ask.”

  “Fine.” I make my way over to the bartender and ask to speak with Helman Hollister, and the bartender shakes his head as he offers a quick glance around.

  “Sorry, sweetie. Company policy—can’t name names.”

  I hightail it right back to the wise judge and frown. “Now what?”

  “Plan B.” Everett excavates a fifty-dollar bill from his wallet and heads over to a glammed-up waitress with a tray full of champagne flutes filled to the bubbling brim. He no sooner whispers into her ear than she giggles up a storm, nearly dumping her drinks over the seemingly flirtatious judge. I have to admit, his face is awfully close to hers. It looks intimate the way he’s whispering into her ear, tender, and not one ounce of me appreciates how far he’s willing to go for the cause.

  “That’s it.” I head on over just as they break apart and go their separate ways.

  “Money talks.” He nods to the blackjack table cluttered with patrons. “Guy on the end lubricating himself.”

  Sure enough, the guy on the end—who looks as if he’s nearly falling out of his seat—is downing a beer at the moment. He’s a heavier man, has a scant halo of hair, and a scrappy beard that looks as if it’s in dire need of a good shave. His eyes glint in this direction a moment, and
I can see a smidge of his mother in him.

  “Good work, Everett, but I doubt the money did much. Half the girls in this room would give you the nuclear codes if they had them just to have you whisper into their ears that way.”

  He leans in and whispers a warm thank you directly into my ear, and a wild shiver bounces through me.

  I shoot him a wry look as we make our way to the blackjack table and withhold the urge to thank him myself.

  “I’ve got this,” he whispers, far less intimately.

  Everett pulls up two seats from the next table and lands himself right next to Helman with me on the other side of Eve’s only son.

  The dealer asks if we’re in, and Everett waves his hand as if passing on the offer. My God, I hadn’t even considered the fact that as a lawyer and a judge he could be disbarred for participating in an illegal gambling circuit. Honestly, I’m not entirely sure that’s true, but my mind has a propensity to jump to the very worst conclusions—like the fact Noah will leave for Cormack once he discovers I slept with another man last night. And not just another man, the one man on the planet I’m pretty certain he detests the most.

  “Just lost my mother,” Everett says loud enough for both the dealer and Helman to hear.

  “Really?” Helman perks to life. “Just lost mine, too.”

  “Sorry to hear it.” Everett’s knee touches mine, and I push right back as if to congratulate him on making inroads so brilliantly. “Heart attack. And yours?”

  Dear Lord, I sure hope this isn’t some backdoor way of accidentally casting a pox on his mother. Eliza Baxter is a wonderful woman, from what I can see, even if she’s not really one of us.

  Helman’s eyes widen as he looks to Everett, same baby blues that his mother had.