Pecan Pie Predicament

by Addison Moore

  It’s Everett’s birthday. And I don’t want any of that nonsense to ruin Everett’s big surprise party tonight. Not that it’s big in the traditional sense. It’s just my sisters, their plus ones, Keelie and Bear, our mothers, his sister, Noah and his mother Suze because she happens to be living at the B&B, his playboy of a brother Alex, obviously his father, who is still actively pursuing my mother, Lily and her boyfriend, and Brit and Reese. The last two are there primarily for research purposes for the case.

  Operation Break into Reese’s Room will commence as soon as possible. I’ll only need a few minutes. I know where my mother keeps the spare room keys, I know the layout of each of those bedrooms like the back of my hand, if not better, and I plan on spending less than five minutes snooping to my heart’s content.

  The next few hours are spent getting dressed for the evening, as I don a plum-colored A-line dress that fits loosely around the waist, and thankfully so. Lainey gave it to me, along with the rest of her maternity clothes, and I remember her wearing it this past summer. I take a little extra time to fix my hair and put on a little more makeup than I’m used to wearing. It is Everett’s birthday, after all.

  Evie and I made him breakfast in bed this morning. Noah was a bit amused, especially since he’s never had breakfast in bed for his birthday, and the bed in question belonged to Noah. But he was a good sport about it. Noah knows all about the surprise party. In fact, everyone does sans Everett, of course.

  Everett thinks Evie and I are taking him to a steakhouse tonight. His mother, Eliza, and sister, Meghan, already called to wish him a happy birthday, so he won’t be expecting to see them.

  And right at six-fifty, Everett and I pile into his car and head over to the B&B under the guise of picking up Evie.

  “While we’re there, I might need to have a quick word with Barry Honeycutt,” I say as we pull into the parking lot behind my mother’s conservatory. The parking lot is always filled to the brim with cars that belong to the guests, so he shouldn’t be suspicious in the least. “I swear, he’s more interested in Greer than he is this case.”

  The lights are out in the conservatory, and just the thought of all of our friends and family hiding out in there makes me more than a little giddy.

  Everett looks resplendent tonight despite the fact he’s wearing his standard fare, a dark suit, dark tie, and a powder blue dress shirt that brings out the swoon-worthy magic in his eyes.

  “Barry’s got a girl on the brain.” Everett shakes his head as we get out of the car and head on up to the back of the building. “I get it. I’d much rather focus on you than work. It’s nice to know the dead still strive for relationships. I call dibs on the afterlife with you.” Everett swings open the door to the conservatory. “Can you imagine if people actually knew you could speak to the dead?”

  A light gasp circles the darkened room before the lights flicker on and a cast of seemingly thousands scream SURPRISE! all at once.

  Two things swirl through my mind in an instant. One, Everett just all but outed my supersensual abilities to a room full of virtual strangers. And two, who are these people, and why are a vast majority of them dressed as clowns?

  Everett’s eyes widen in horror. “Lemon? Thank you? I think?”

  “I wouldn’t be thanking me.” My hand clutches at my throat because, face it, I’m half-moved to strangle myself.

  Polka music plays on blast, and the scent of Chinese food competing with the food from the Honey Pot is making me queasy more than it is hungry.

  A large banner draped across the back wall reads Welcome to my birthday party. I’m old. Please leave by nine. Next to it, there’s a picture of Everett’s face, no smile, his go-to look, and on his head they’ve photoshopped a frilly pink party hat. Strung up along the walls are rows and rows of pictures of Everett’s effigy with that same pink party hat on repeat. There’s a cake table to the right with a giant—oh my dear Lord—is that a cake in the shape of a toilet? I stagger over a few steps and see the words Crap you’re old. Happy Birthday, Essex written over the bowl. And in the toilet, among the blue gel that looks surprisingly like water, there looks to be something brown floating in it that turns my stomach.

  “Oh my word,” I pant. “Evie?” I call out, and she appears by my side looking beautiful in a little black dress and heels, her hair curled to perfection as it cascades down her back, but that look on her face lets me know she’s just as sick as I am. “What the heck is going on? Where’s the cake I had delivered? What’s with the decorations?”

  “Lemon?” Everett’s face has gone white, and sadly he’s blending in with all the pasty-faced clowns whose laughter and voices are rising above the overly cheery music. “My colleagues are here from the courthouse—all of them. And all of them happen to be dressed as clowns. Are you responsible for this?”

  “No. I mean, I did, but I didn’t.” I look to Evie for answers, and she just shrugs.

  “Don’t look at me.” She glowers at the tacky party decorations as if they offended her, as they probably should. “The cheer squad and I came here about three-thirty and had this place looking amazing with rose gold balloons and matching decorations. Lily was just delivering that chocolate cake you baked when we left. Where did all my cute decorations go? And who the heck would think this is a good idea?”

  A tall, barrel-chested clown steps up with his rainbow wig, striped jumpsuit, powder white face with overdrawn lips that just so happen to be frowning at the moment.

  “Judge Baxter,” he snaps, and Everett straightens just hearing his name. “Why aren’t you in costume? Your wife made it clear in the invitation there was a strict costume policy, and that the guest of honor himself would be wearing this ridiculous getup.” He looks my way. “Are you the one that can see the dead? I’ve been meaning to have a word with my mother.”

  Everett takes a deep breath as if he were gearing up to explain the entire night away.

  I thrust my hand out at him. “I’m Everett’s wife, Lottie Lemon. Did you see the cookie bar in the back?”

  “Cookies?” He turns, and I pull Everett into the crowd with me until I spot my mother.

  “Are you insane?” I shriek. “Who did you let hijack my party?”

  Her hair is in an updo, and she’s wearing an elegant red dress as she studies me with curiosity.

  “What are you talking about? After Evie left, the party planner came by and I gave her free reign of the place. But now that you mention it,” she leans in and shimmies her shoulders, “Reckless Party could be a very real contender for my next book title.” She looks to my left. “Happy Birthday, Everett. I think everything turned out wonderful.” A deep-throated laugh gets buried in her chest as she looks my way once again. “And that cake is hilarious, Lottie. I’m putting in an order right now for one just like it for Wiley’s birthday.”

  Speak of the devil. Wiley strides up with a drink in hand, looking every bit just like Noah with his dark wavy hair, lawn green eyes, and dimples.

  “Quite a party. Happy Birthday, son.” He toasts us with the amber liquid swilling in his glass.

  “Oh, that’s a good idea,” I say, looking at his drink. “Wiley, open the bar.” I give Everett’s good arm a squeeze. “Maybe we can get them liquored up and they won’t remember any of the trauma?” I leave out the little detail about my mother not having a liquor license. Or does she? My brain is so scrambled from all the external stimuli I can hardly remember my name at this point.

  Everett gives a quick nod. “Great idea.”

  Wiley shakes his head. “Not going to happen.” He holds up his drink. “This is from my private reserve. The only thing I’ve got to serve these people is ginger ale and grenadine syrup.”

  “We’re going to need something stiffer than ginger ale.” Everett pulls a wad of cash from his wallet and stuffs it into Wiley’s fist. “Make it happen.”

  Wiley trots off, and my mother is on his heels.

  “Wait,” my mother wails. “I didn’t get a chance to
ask Lottie about the dead.”

  A horrid moan comes from me.

  Carlotta and Noah step up, both of them with cheesy grins on their faces, and I huff at the sight of them.

  “Which one of you did this?” I growl.

  “Don’t look at me.” Noah holds up his hands as if it were a stickup. “I’m not this creative.”

  Carlotta shrugs. “Me either, but I have a sneaking suspicion I know who’s at the helm of this snazzy soirée.” She leans in. “You might want to go easy on her, Lot. This place is crawling with enough prosecuting attorneys to put both you and that hot shot judge you’re married to away for life.”

  Everett gives a long blink. “I wouldn’t hurt a hair on the head of any woman.”

  “Suit yourself, Sexy.” She nods just past him, and we turn to see the abomination of desolation laughing it up over by the refreshment table.

  “Cressida!” I yelp as I speed her way, and no sooner do I arrive than Evie pops up by my side with Everett and Carlotta flanking her on the other side. “How dare you shanghai my husband’s birthday party! Your little attempt to humiliate him might just cost him his position down at the courthouse.”

  She tosses back her platinum mane and cackles like the wicked witch she is.

  “Oh, Laura, I wasn’t out to humiliate Essex. I was out to humiliate you.” Cressida has donned a tight blue dress that hugs her curves, and she happens to look stunning in it. I hate that she looks stunning at my husband’s birthday party no less.

  “Cressida,” Everett barks. “I’d ask if you lost your mind, but you did that a long time ago.”

  Evie scoffs. “Yeah, Cressi-duh. My uncle is going to arrest you, and my Dad is going to lock you up forever. And my mom, well, she’ll poison you with a slice of her pecan pie. It’s to die for.” She gives a hard wink to the woman who bore her.

  “Oh hush, all of you.” Cressida takes a sip from her fruity drink. “Lighten up and get a sense of humor. This was just a little birthday prank I decided to pull last minute. You’re welcome, Essex. As for you, Lumpy, it’s going to be an uphill climb getting into the good graces of the Ashford County Courthouse social scene. And, Everly, do try to send my assistant your Christmas list in a timely manner this year.”

  “Will do,” Evie says without missing a beat. “How about I make it easy on you and just ask for a car?”

  Cressida’s eyes bulge. “That would be much easier. It’s Bentley tradition that your first car is indeed a Bentley. I’ll have it shipped to the Snooty Pie Bakery since I hear you’re homeless now.” She glowers my way.

  “No to the car,” Everett is quick to cut her off at the steering wheel. “Evie is not driving to school in a two hundred thousand dollar vehicle.”

  “But Dad,” Evie wails. “Who am I to buck tradition?”

  “He’s right, Evie.” I shake my head. “We’ll figure something out together.”

  Her phone pings, and no sooner does she glance down at her screen than she gasps in horror in the direction of the entry.

  “I forgot I invited my friends. Great. Now they’re going to see what a freak I am. At least I can tell them my mother sees the dead.”

  “No,” I call after her. “I don’t really—” I pause because, face it, I do really see the dead. I can’t bring myself to lie to Evie.

  Cressida cackles and waves her way into the crowd, and judging by the glammed up women she’s headed for, it looks as if the socialite scene has arrived.

  Carlotta leans in. “Way to out yourself, Lot. I thought you said you wanted to keep our little pesky poltergeist problem a secret.”

  “That was my fault.” Everett offers a pained look my way. “I’m sorry, Lemon. I’ll think of something to cover for it. I had no idea what I was walking into.”

  “That makes two of us,” I say.

  Suze and Eliza head this way, along with Everett’s look-alike sister, Meghan.

  They all offer up warm birthday wishes. Suze has her short blonde hair swept to the side, her perennial scowl set firmly in place, and she’s chosen to robe herself in an orange powersuit.

  Both Eliza and Meghan share Everett’s dark hair and daring blue eyes. Eliza looks amazing for her age, and she’s donned a floor-length beaded gown to prove to everyone here that she’s still the same large and in charge socialite that she’s ever been. Meghan is an insurance consultant in Fallbrook and looks as if she came straight after work with her business casual attire of dark jeans and moss green blazer.

  “How are you feeling, Lottie?” Meghan offers up a warm embrace. “I can’t believe you’re about to make my brother a daddy.”

  Suze snorts. “Don’t forget, my son is in the paternal running.” She averts her eyes because, let’s call it like it is, Suze isn’t so keen on the idea.

  Noah’s dimples go on and off as if he was apprehensive about what she was about to say next, as he should be.

  “That’s true.” I shrug her way. “But I’m feeling great. Thank you for asking, Meghan.”

  Suze pulls her lips back as she looks to Everett and me. “I hear you’re both living with Noah now in some sort of commune arrangement. Please tell me you’re not playing a game of musical bedrooms.”

  “Oh no, nothing like that,” I’m quick to assure her.

  Carlotta belts out a laugh. “That’s right. Lot stays put and the men rotate out.”

  “Carlotta.” I nudge her with my elbow. “Everett and I are moving across the street soon,” I tell them and watch as the color comes back to Eliza’s face.

  There have been very few moments in life when I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole, but this is definitely one of them. This entire party is a disaster. Dealing with Suze is a disaster. Dealing with Carlotta is definitely a disaster. Having every legal eagle from the Ashford County Courthouse dressed as clowns is a disaster of the highest order. It almost begs the question, what else could possibly go wrong?

  A spray of dark onyx stars stirs up right in between Suze and Eliza, and the ghost of little Lea appears before me with her long stringy dark hair combed over her face, her dirty pinafore on, her scuffed Mary Janes pressed onto her tiny feet, and her signature machete dangling from her left hand. She’s still itching to avenge the blood of her family. Can’t say I blame her. She’s been more than a little bitter about their massacre for well over a century.

  “Lottie, you must come now,” she snips. “We’ve got trouble.”

  “Who’s in trouble?” I let the words fly without meaning to.

  Suze squints my way. “Who are you speaking to?”

  Eliza tilts my way. “Why are you talking to yourself?”

  Meghan leans in. “Maybe she was talking to a ghost?” The three of them break out in laughter, and I laugh right along with them before I excuse myself.

  “I’ll be right back,” I whisper to Everett. “I’m going to fix this for you, I promise.”

  Little Lea floats on out toward the foyer, and I do my best to thread through the tangle of bodies while the music honks away over the speakers. It’s all enough to make me want to vomit, and my morning sickness has nothing to do with this newfound malaise.

  The air out in the main hall of the B&B is cooler. I’ve always thought my mother’s B&B was gorgeous, with its dark wooden walls and its wrought iron staircase that leads to the second level. There’s a grand dining room off to one side and an oversized sitting room complete with a lending library in the other direction. A giant marble counter stretches across the registration area, and just past that sits a narrow hall where I find Lea and the rest of her ghostly cohorts.

  Greer does a double take my way. “Oh thank goodness, Lottie. Maybe you can talk a little sense into him.”

  Winslow Decker, her disembodied plus one, straightens when she says it. Winslow is somewhere in his early thirties, or at least he was, has dirty blond hair, and is dressed as if he’s ready for a day out on the farm. And judging by that dark expression on his face, he doesn’t look too happy about it e
ither.

  “Wait!” A tiny black cat saunters over and twitches his head my way. That’s Thirteen. He’s a handsome soot-colored kitty with glowing green eyes and a dry sense of humor. “I didn’t miss the theatrics, did I?”

  “No,” I tell him. “What theatrics?” It comes out curt. “What’s going on?”

  Greer gives a ghostly moan. “Winslow’s trapped Barry in the wall. I’m not even sure how he did it, but Barry has been stuck for days and Winslow doesn’t plan on easing up on him.”

  Winslow frowns over at Greer before looking my way. “He’s not interested in solving your case, Lottie. The only thing he’s interested in is the love of my afterlife,” he growls out that last part, and Greer giggles like a schoolgirl.

  It’s easy to see she’s enjoying the paranormal attention.

  “Lottie!” A faint cry comes from the wood paneling.

  “Barry?” I give the wall a gentle tap. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes!” His voice comes out muffled. “Tell the brute to let me out. It’s not my fault he’s got a hot sidepiece.”

  I suck in a quick breath, and Winslow gives me a knowing nod.

  “See that?” he says. “That man is an ogling louse. I don’t want him anywhere near my girl.”

  More giggling ensues from Greer, and I take a moment to shoot her the stink eye. She’s not exactly helping here.

  “How about this? Barry promises to keep his eyeballs to himself and you let him out right now because I just so happen to have a virtual buffet of suspects due to arrive at any minute in the conservatory. That is, if they’re not afraid of clowns.”

  Lea swings the blade in her hand. “Let me at them, Lottie. I crave the head of a clown for my collection.”

  I’d ask questions about this so-called collection, but the last thing I need tonight is to stumble upon another body.

  “Winslow,” I hiss. “I’ve got a real mess on my hands. If you can ease up on Barry for the night, I’ll promise to keep an eye on him.”

  “Fine.” Winslow kicks the wall and Barry stumbles out, his big beefy arms flailing for a moment.