“Hey?” My mouth falls open. “I was here first.”
“Who cares?” She makes a face. “I’m sure the entire town would breathe easier if you moved.”
“Well, my house burned down, and I’m still not budging. I don’t care if the town comes at me with pitchforks. Honey Hollow is my home.”
Brit huffs, “The town should start a petition to oust you. If I wasn’t so bogged down with trying to restart my life, I’d lead the charge.”
Carlotta chuckles. “You could always get Cormack to pinch-hit for you. That girl has wanted Lot Lot to boot scoot out of town for the last two years.”
Cormack Featherby is Noah’s favorite stalker—or more to the point, only stalker. She’s stalked Everett plenty, too. That’s where the stalking game started, but once Noah stole her from under him she’s been a devout worshipper at the altar of Noah Corbin Fox.
Brit turns her way. “Not a bad idea. I think I’ll pay her a visit this afternoon.”
“Carlotta,” I grouse. “Now look what your featherheaded idea has done.”
Britney waves me off. “Don’t listen to her, Carlotta. You’re a brilliant woman. And by the way, those chin hairs look fab on you. Way to show the whole town that women want equal rights in every way.”
“Hear that, Lot?” Carlotta gives her whiskers a quick scratch. “I’m doing this for all womankind. I might just have to take this beyond No-Shave November. My facial scruff might just change the world.”
“It’s changing my appetite,” I mutter.
Brit nods my way. “We’ll talk soon.” She zips out of the bakery, and I’m quick to follow along.
“Wait a minute,” I say. “What about this Reese woman? How well do you know her? She could be the killer for all we know.”
Brit twists her lips as she considers this, and an icy breeze chills me to the bone.
“Reese had her issues with Hannah, but who in the fitness industry didn’t? And before you point your witchy wand my way, I didn’t do it either.”
“Great. Let me prove it. I’ll get your gym working again and you won’t have to worry about your bottom line anymore. Just whatever you do, don’t say a word to Cormack about starting some petition to oust me from town. I promise, I’m not cursed.”
A cackle of a scream goes off behind me, and I turn to find the blonde featherhead herself looking as if she just won the petition-based lottery.
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Cormack shrieks as she turns and bolts to do her dirty work.
“Great,” I say, turning back toward Brit, but she’s already across the street.
The door to Fanatical Fitness opens and out steps a man in a coat with a fedora on his head, and I gasp at the sight.
It’s him! The man who was roughing up Hot Hannah just before she bit the big one. He darts into a red sedan and speeds off before I can catch his license plate.
Wait a minute… He was coming out of Fanatical Fitness. That means Reese must know him. Britney just mentioned that Reese had issues with Hannah.
Huh.
It looks as if I just narrowed down the field of which suspect to question next.
Reese Underwood, you can be as fanatically fit as you want.
I’m coming for you.
Chapter 7
Reese Underwood left her gym, Fanatical Fitness, at precisely three in the afternoon to head to Hollyhock. Her uncle is one of the farmers who runs the Sweet Corn and Cow Chip Festival, and she does her part to help out. How very benevolent of her.
I didn’t glean this information on my own. Once Lily Swanson heard me trying to scheme my way over to Fanatical Fitness with a platter of my deep-fried butter patties, she told me not to bother. It turns out, Lily is a Fanatical Fitness member and overheard Reese talking about the festival this morning.
As soon as I saw Reese take off for cow chip-laden pastures, I knew where I was destined to spend the rest of the afternoon. Believe me, I didn’t have to say cow chip twice before Carlotta was ready and raring to go. And since it coincided with the time to pick Evie up from school, my sweet daughter asked if she could tag along and bring her best friend, Dash. Of course, I said the more the merrier.
Hollyhock is the next town over, and it just so happens to be where Noah grew up before his family imploded and his father moved them to live in Fallbrook with his new bride, Eliza Baxter. For the life of me, I will never know how Eliza was roped into that relationship. Eliza, Everett’s mother, is a hotel heiress and a socialite. And Wiley, well, he’s as wily as his name suggests. Thankfully, for the sake of Eliza’s fortune, and most likely sanity, the relationship didn’t last long. I’d ask what she saw in Wiley to begin with, but it’s evident those green eyes and dimples did her in. Noah is his exact replica, so I can see the appeal.
Evie and Dash have been giggling up a storm in the backseat for the duration of the drive over.
I can see Evie bouncing in her seat from the rearview mirror. Actually, I can see clear to the back of the van. I’ll admit, I love everything about this minivan I bought a few months back. Technically, Everett and Noah went in on half and bought it for me. Then at the last minute, Everett paid for Carlotta’s minivan as well. We actually weren’t at that car lot to purchase anything. We were there to question a suspect, but as usual, things got out of hand and Carlotta and I each went home with a new set of wheels. My minivan is red and hers is green. Carlotta thought it would look like Christmas each time we parked side by side. It’s one of the few things she was right about.
Carlotta leans my way. “I gave Barry and Greer the heads-up, and they said they’d meet us at the poop festival.”
Evie gasps from the backseat. “Greer Giles?” She practically shrieks at the mention of the deceased’s name.
“No, not that Greer,” I say while shooting Carlotta a look. I’m nowhere near ready to share my supernatural supersensual skills with Evie.
“Greer Giles!” Dash shouts with the glee that only the dead can sponsor—says no one ever. I catch Dash and Evie high-fiving each other from the rearview mirror. “I heard she’s haunted your Glam Glam’s B&B. I say we sneak over at midnight and go ghost hunting.”
Evie nods. “We should like totally double date and do that. My Glam Glam won’t care at all. She lets me do whatever, whenever. She’s totally cool like that.”
Glam Glam is the nickname my mother came up with for herself in lieu of Grandma. It’s not only catchy, but it fits her to a glamorous T.
“Ixnay on the ghost hunting,” I say before turning to Carlotta. “Who knew being a mom would mean being such a killjoy?”
“That’s why you’re a natural, Lot. That’s why you’re a natural.”
Evie pokes her blonde bestie in the arm. “Hey, I wonder if there will be any cute guys at this poop fest?”
Carlotta ticks her head to the side. “I’ve been wondering that same thing, kiddo. With a name that includes the words cow chip toss in it, I bet this place is crawling with cowboys.”
“Giddy-up!” Evie shouts, and the three of them break out into hysterical laughter.
“What’s the matter, Lot?” Carlotta gives me the side-eye. “Are you too good for a little cowpoke humor?”
I make a face her way.
Evie and Dash are right back to having one of their high energy conversations that sounds as if it’s bordering on a screaming match, so I don’t mind telling Carlotta exactly what I think.
“I don’t want Evie to think everything is about boys, or trolling for boys. There’s more to life than men, you know.”
Carlotta snickers. “That’s funny, because I don’t think you got the memo. Besides, Nell used to tell me all sorts of stories about your time in high school back when she would write me. Face it, you were boy crazy, Lot.”
“Maybe so. But the one boyfriend I decided to settle with kept cheating on me. Bear Fisher wasn’t exactly a prize back then. I’m sure Keelie will have better luck with him now that he’s changed his womanizing ways.” Or at leas
t he better have. Keelie married Bear last summer. And Bear and I have moved beyond our sordid past. He works for himself as a contractor and is an upstanding guy now. As he better be if he wants to live to hammer another day.
Carlotta titters. “That’s because he got it all out of his system with you, Lot.”
I glance back to Evie, who is cackling it up with Dash.
“Exactly,” I say. “And I don’t want any boy working anything out of their system with my daughter, or they’ll have to answer to me and my hormones. I’ll take one of those cow chips and shove it where the sun don’t shine.”
Carlotta chuckles. “Don’t worry, Lot. I’ll do my best to sop up all the men for myself. In case you don’t know, I’ve got a weakness for cowboys. Did I ever tell you about the time Harry came over in nothing but a ten-gallon hat?”
“And we’re here,” I say a little louder than necessary, hoping to stave off any conversation that starts with my biological father in nothing but a ten-gallon hat.
No sooner do I glide into a parking spot than Evie and her friend bolt from the van.
“Don’t be offended, Lot,” Carlotta says, swinging her door open. “Everyone knows it’s a social demotion to be seen with your mama.” She cinches her purse. “If anyone asks, we’re sisters. It’s a social demotion to have a daughter the same age as you, too.”
“And a biological impossibility.”
No sooner do we get out of the car than Carlotta runs wildly into a crowd of men with cowboy hats and shouts yippee-ki-yay and something about riding their little doggies.
Country music booms over the speakers. The smell of barbeque and the sweet scent of roasted corn just beneath that permeates my senses, and there’s a huge sign that’s hung between two posts welcoming visitors with a picture of a smiling cow holding an ear of corn while leaving a trail of cow chips in his wake. I suppose the festival committee wanted to get straight to the point with that one.
The festival is wall-to-wall people of every age and stage in life, and almost all of them have donned their best western attire. Bales of hay and pumpkins are set out everywhere you look, as booths that house food and crafts for sale dot the periphery. The air is crisp, and every now and again, a flurry of leaves trickle down from the maple trees, ensuring us fall is still on the seasonal throne.
Just as I’m beginning to wonder how in the world I’m going to find a brunette needle in this haystack of people, I spot a familiar petite frame over by the cow chip toss, and just my luck, she seems to be running that cow chip circus herself.
I navigate my way through the crowd and note that half the people are wearing hats in the shape of an ear of corn, and the other half are wearing what amounts to a cow chip over their heads. But it’s not the hats that are tempting me to part with my money, it’s the hypnotic scent of that grilled sweet corn. There’s a stand right next to me, so I pick up an ear slathered in honey butter and nosh on that little bit of heaven all the way over to the cow chip arena.
Oh dear Lord, I’m going to have to eat six of these before the day is done.
I munch my way through it with the ever-efficient typewriter method as my dad used to call it, and I don’t leave a single kernel of that sugar sweet goodness behind. There is just something about an ear of corn that’s been grilled to perfection that can’t be replicated on the stovetop.
The other booths here at the festival look equally as mouthwatering and I’ve already made a mental plan of attack that I’ll initiate after my interrogation.
I’ll hit the roasted sweet corn once again, and I’m asking for extra honey butter next time. Then I’ll go for the honey-buttered cornbread, corn fritters, and the creamy mashed corn to finish it off. And don’t think for a minute I’m going to bypass the corn chowder or the creamy enchilada corn casserole. I’ll bring those home for dinner tonight for Noah and Everett. Not only do I get to question a suspect, but everyone gets a delicious meal out of it. It’s win-win all the way around.
A thick crowd is gathered around the area marked off for the cow chip toss. I won’t lie, the scent of all things sweet and delicious are nowhere to be found in this area of the festival. Instead, it smells an awful lot like the working end of a farm on a steamy hot day. But we’re currently running low on heat and high off the gaseous fumes those cow chips are emitting. I guess if you toss enough of those doody discs, you’ll have an air freshener no one ever wanted.
Two men are up at bat. The first guy tosses his chip, and it floats off like a Frisbee until it lands way out in the pasture. The next guy steps up, a surly man in a black ten-gallon hat, tosses his chip a few inches farther than the last guy, and he’s quickly declared the winner.
Another man takes the stage and takes on the reigning champion of cow pies, and I quickly understand how things work around here. I bet the bragging rights alone are worth handling dehydrated cow dung with your bare hands.
Someone dumps a fresh pile of cow chips into the large tin bucket between the two men causing a dust storm of poopy proportions, and Reese bucks with a laugh. Her dark hair is pulled into a low ponytail, and she has on an adorable pink cowboy hat that matches those pink streaks in her hair. Suddenly, I have the craving for a cowboy hat myself. It’s funny how my cravings so far have landed in the two areas of my life I love most, food and shopping.
I’m about to head over when a good-looking ghostly couple floats my way holding hands.
I groan at the sight. “Greer.” I nod my head to the offense, and she waves me off.
“Oh, Lottie”—she rolls her glowing eyes—“Barry just doesn’t want me to get lost in the crowd. It’s not like he’s planning on stealing me away from Winslow.”
He belts out a laugh that sounds more fit for a horror movie than it does a rom-com.
“I’m sorry, but I’m stealing you away, Greer.” He winks at me, and I can’t help but notice how his muscles have ballooned twice their size than they were at the bakery. This is one ghost who is set to impress, and that’s exactly why I’m not putting much weight into that wink. I think Barry Honeycutt is making his ghostly intentions clear. Winslow Decker better watch his dead back because there’s a new poltergeist in town looking to sweep Greer Giles off her supernatural feet.
Barry nods my way. “So what are we doing, Lottie?”
“See that girl in the pink cowboy hat?” I point her way. “I’m about to give her the shakedown. Stay close.”
We head on over just as the man who challenged the winner of that cow chip toss steps away in defeat.
Reese cups her hands around her mouth. “Do we have anyone brave enough to challenge our reigning champion? Anyone at all willing to risk the disgrace and humiliation?”
The crowd titters and rumbles but nary a soul crops up.
“I’ll do it.” I raise my hand, and a light round of laughter mingled with applause breaks out.
Reese offers an open-mouthed smile. She’s pretty, with a fragile nose and big bright eyes. The top row of her teeth looks short and straight, but unnaturally so as if they were filed down that way.
“Well, if it isn’t Lottie Lemon.” She steps my way. “A woman just came into my gym with a petition to boot you out of Honey Hollow.”
“Here’s hoping you didn’t sign it.”
My phone buzzes in my hand, and it’s a text from Noah asking if I wanted to head to Mangias and split a pizza.
I bury my phone in my purse. I’ll answer him in just a minute.
“That woman is a nitwit,” I tell her. “If I were you, I’d have her arrested the next time she brought in some ridiculous petition. I bet it’s bad for business, too. She was probably scaring the customers.”
“Not really. She garnered about twenty signatures while she was there.”
“She moves fast,” I mutter under my breath. “Cormack Featherby has been a thorn in my side for a very long time, but this ploy of hers to get rid of me is really boiling my blood.”
“No kidding,” Reese muses. “I can see the rag
e in your eyes. You might want to use that to your advantage when tossing your chips. Try to imagine Cormack’s face on that cow patty. I usually tell women to imagine their ex. You’d be surprised how far some women have gotten just on their rage alone. Winner plays free, loser antes up five dollars a toss. You ready to do this?”
“You bet,” I say as I pick out a cow chip as flat and round as a paper plate, and sure as heck, I’d swear good money I see Cormack Featherby’s effigy on it.
Barry Honeycutt hops from foot to foot before me.
“Let me do this for you, Lottie. I can sail that thing clear back to Honey Hollow.”
I shake my head. “I’ve got all the rage I need for a win.”
The man next to me in the ten-gallon hat roars with laughter.
“Get a load of this little lady trying to trash talk her way into beating me! I’m sorry, girly, but I’m about to mug ya.”
“Mug me?” I all but scoff at his audacity. “I’ll have you know I spent more than four years in New York City while at Columbia. I didn’t get mugged then, and I’m not about to get mugged now.”
“That’s my girl!” a woman calls out, and I spot Carlotta to the right with her arms linked to two different men in cowboy hats and chaps.
Giddy-up, indeed.
“Ladies first,” the man insists, and I imagine Cormack’s snooty little face in my hot little hand and I send her packing twice as far as the man who went before me did.
The crowd goes wild, and Greer whoops and cheers with the rest of them.
Barry ticks his head. “Not bad. I’d lean right the next time. That will straighten your shot out.”
The man in the black hat is up next, and he pitches his chip high into the sky. For a moment it looks as if it’s about to sail toward the evergreens to our left, but it drops out of the sky like a dead bird and soon I’m declared the winner.
The crowd goes wild as the wannabe mugger walks off with his trash-talking tail between his legs.
Next up is a burly gentleman that looks as if he could give Barry a run for his muscular money. But I take Barry’s advice and lean right, all the while channeling my rage toward Cormack and all of the misery she’s put me through since the moment we met, and I win hands down, or cow chips down, once again.
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