Poison Apple Crisp

by Addison Moore

  “I had my lawyers draw up a boilerplate custody agreement. Of course, I care about your wellbeing, too, Essex. Feel free to tack your name right under Noah’s.”

  The fact Suze just called Everett by his sexier moniker means nothing. Her usage falls in line with that of Eliza and Everett’s sister. Although to be fair, I’ve heard Suze swing both ways with his moniker. She’s clearly in rare—or more to the point, typical form tonight.

  Mom moans. “Oh, come on. Dinner is almost here. Do we really have to talk about all the ins and outs of this sweet baby’s future right now?”

  Noah snatches the papers from Everett’s hands. “No, we don’t have to do this right now. In fact, we don’t ever have to do this.”

  “I agree,” Everett says. “Noah and I have come to the conclusion we’re going to love this child no matter who the father might be.”

  “Aww,” Mom and Carlotta coo at once.

  “See there?” Mom touches her hand to her heart. “It’s all going to work out just fine.”

  “It will,” I say, although it comes out a heck of a lot less convincing.

  Eliza sighs as the sommelier comes by, and she motions for him to pour her a glass of red and keep it coming.

  “I don’t know, Miranda.” Eliza gives me the side-eye. “I’d like nothing more than to be lost in fantasyland right there with you, but this is Essex we’re talking about. He’s tenacious.”

  “Mother.” Everett shoots her a look as if to say that’s enough.

  “Well, you are.” Eliza shares Everett’s jet-black hair and brilliant blue eyes. She’s wearing a navy gown with a large amethyst hooked to her neck by way of a solid silver necklace that proves immovable on her. “You’re going to put all of your time and energy into this relationship. And where is the guarantee she’s not going to be sharing Noah’s bed in a year? With their own child nestled between them. You’ll be heartbroken.”

  My own heart breaks just hearing it.

  Evie clucks her tongue. “Don’t worry, Dad. You’ll be stuck with me forever.”

  “And me.” I pick up Everett’s hand and give it a squeeze, and he squeezes right back with a hint of promise of more sultry squeezes to come.

  “Hear that, Noah?” Suze bares her fangs my way. “This is already ending badly for you.”

  “It’s not the end,” Noah is quick to contest.

  “That’s right,” I say, picking up his hand as well. And my cheeks heat because I’m pretty sure that wasn’t the way out of this pregnant predicament. “I mean, Noah will always have a very special place in my heart.”

  Carlotta chuckles. “And your bedroom.” She winks his way. “Lot Lot and Foxy here put a lot of mileage on that mattress of hers.”

  Wiley belts out a hearty guffaw. “You get that from me, son. You’re welcome.” He leans my way. “Or perhaps I should say those words to you, too, Lottie. You’re welcome.”

  Mayor Nash gives a wistful shake of the head. “I think it’s safe to say Lottie got her libido from yours truly.” Carlotta and Wiley join in on the nefarious laughter.

  Kill me.

  The food arrives, but according to that dangerous gleam in Carlotta’s eye, that little culinary detail isn’t going to slow her down.

  “In fact”—Carlotta snaps a breadstick out of a bucket that just landed on the table and points it my way—“Lot and Foxy here shared a little get back together or BUST time around the time of Keelie’s wedding, and that’s what puts him in the running with the baby bottle league to begin with.”

  Mom winces. “Oh, Carlotta, I’m pretty sure Lottie is going to breastfeed.”

  “Eww.” Evie drops her fork before her plate ever touches the table. “Mom, don’t let the little barnacle suck on your boobs. That’s gross. If child services hears about it, they’ll take it away. And neither Uncle Noah nor Dad will be able to stop it.”

  “Evie.” I shake my head her way. “That’s what they’re for.” I covertly point to my chest. “And nobody is going to take the baby away from me.”

  Suze points her knife at Noah and nods as if I just issued a threat.

  Oh dear Lord.

  Carlotta scoffs. “Well, all right, fine. If no one is going to ask what BUST is, I’ll fill ya in myself. B-U-S-T—break-up-sexy-time. That’s exactly what Lot Lot and Foxy here indulged in right before she trotted off to Judge Baxter’s love cave, otherwise known as his chambers, and declared him to be the love of her life.”

  “Carlotta,” I hiss. And how exactly was she privy to all the delicate details of the voracious love life I happened to have in June?

  I take a quick breath.

  Nell!

  She was the last living—or deceased—soul in the room with Noah and me that day that we were having that soulmate-inspired conversation she sparked. Not that I’m blaming her for the fact I BUSTed a move with my soon-to-be ex. I couldn’t help it. I was still confused at that point, and Noah smelled nice, and felt safe and comfortable. It was a moment of weakness that turned into a moment of passion, and just may have sponsored this tiny little peanut in my belly.

  The waitstaff finishes landing every plate where it belongs, and suddenly my nose and, my stomach by proxy, is hyperaware that someone here has a tad too much garlic in their dinner.

  A horrid groan comes from me.

  Carlotta points my way with that breadstick in her hand again, albeit a couple of bites shorter.

  “Now that’s a sound I’m all too familiar with.” She offers Eliza a sharp look. “You’d be proud to know your big boy is more than capable of eliciting a special sound or two from my little Lot Lot. But don’t worry. I’m spending most nights next door keeping the boogey man away from Evie Stevie.”

  Dear God, is there a number where I can reach this boogey man so he can hide under Carlotta’s bed tonight and silence her into submission once and for all? Never mind the fact that she is the boogey man. My boogey man to be exact.

  Eliza’s mouth falls open as she looks to the woman who bore me, and it’s clear she’s the one who’s been stunned into submission. At this point in the night, it may not be a bad thing for every single one of us.

  Is it too cruel to hope for an acute, yet violent, bout of food poisoning to put an abrupt end to this meal?

  Everett leans my way and whispers, “I know that look on your face. You’re contemplating murder.”

  “Just contemplating my options,” I whisper back.

  Carlotta squints at him. “You’d better up your game, Mr. Sexy. Lot told us back at the bakery all about the fact you’re not hitting it out of the park as of late.”

  Noah perks up. “What’s this about?”

  “What is this about?” Everett asks as he looks my way.

  A breath hitches in my throat.

  It’s been confirmed. I’m going to kill Carlotta. In fact, I’ll spend the rest of the evening plotting her death. In the dark speck that this day has evolved into, Carlotta’s untimely demise is the lone bright light.

  “She’s right,” Evie says, stabbing at her lasagna. “Mom said she can’t get enough of you, Dad, and not even that cure you keep trying to give her is working.” She says cure in air quotes. “Should I stab myself in the eye now? Or wait until after dessert? Choices, choices.”

  “I’ll join you.” I glare over at Carlotta. “Any other sparkling dinner conversation you’d like to unload on us?”

  She looks out the window just past me. “Nah. I think we’ve let enough cats out of the bag for one night.” She winks over at Evie, and Evie gives a rather enthusiastic thumbs-up.

  “All right, you two.” I smear a greedy smile over my face, and I don’t care at all if I look like a lunatic. “We’re going to take a little trip to the ladies’ room together.”

  “Not me.” Evie shovels in another bite of lasagna and swallows in haste. “I haven’t had food this good since I was held captive at Ellington.”

  “Fine.” I hop out of my seat and pluck Carlotta to her feet as I shuffle her off
to the far end of the cart. “Is there any part of you at all that’s in her right mind? Because if not, I can toss you overboard and we can see if that fixes anything.”

  “You can’t fix crazy,” she snips with a look of fear in her eyes.

  “At least you admit it,” I say. “Now tell me exactly what you’re cooking up with Evie. What’s this get-popular-fast scheme you’ve concocted? And don’t for a minute think I’m going to approve.”

  She yanks her arm loose. “I wasn’t calling me crazy. I was calling you crazy. You’re with child. This whole evening has been a success. Why, I bet in your paranoid mind you think this night has been nothing but a train wreck.” She taps my arm. “See what I did there? Train wreck.”

  A severe roll of nausea squeezes my stomach tight like a boiling cauldron.

  “Carlotta, your little gaslighting routine isn’t going to work. This night is a train wreck. You are a train wreck.” I grab her by the arms and give her a throttle. “Now tell me exactly what it is you’re doing with my daughter.”

  “Excuse me?” A stalky, bald gentleman splices us apart with his arm as he looks to Carlotta. “Is this woman threatening you?”

  “Yes.” Carlotta doesn’t miss a beat. “And I demand you make her walk the plank.”

  “Ignore her,” I tell him just before I freeze solid.

  It’s him! It’s Martin Smulder himself trying to play the part of bouncer to Carlotta’s delusions. And as if on cue, as if my own epiphany had the power to summon her, Ginger pops to life in a puff of orange smoke.

  “Oh, have we found them, Lottie?” She yips and barks every single word out, which begs the question, is she speaking English or am I suddenly garnering the ability to translate doggy speak?

  I shake my head over at her.

  “Oh, poop.” She wags her little pink tongue. “Things were just getting heated with Waffles and me. He reminds me so much of my Emmet. It goes without saying, I have a weak spot for Pancake, too. It’s as if that entire love triangle has been resurrected. Remind me to tell you one day who I finally settled on—and who the father of my litter was.” She floats over to the man before us and sniffs his neck. “But first, let’s avenge the blood of my poor Brenda. I don’t think this man smells like a killer, Lottie. We had a corgi on my street named Killer and he smelled like kibble and dandelions.”

  I press my lips tightly before looking to Brenda’s old fiancé.

  “Martin.” My tone softens as if we were old friends, and he looks momentarily confused. “We met at the night of the fundraiser at Honey Hollow High. I was the baker. Still am.” I offer a sheepish laugh as I struggle to get ahold of my senses.

  The fumes from someone’s offensive dinner waft this way, and my stomach does another hard roll. It’s becoming clear my time with this man is extremely limited.

  “I’m sorry.” He winces as he seems to struggle to place me. “My mind was a bit of a mess that night. It was a trauma in the making.” He sheds an odd smile as he says it.

  I fully understand that everyone grieves in their own way, that people shed inappropriate emotions at inconvenient moments, but this isn’t the first time I’ve caught him doing just that. He seemed a little aloof the night his fiancée bit the big one.

  “I met you by the dessert table,” I tell him. “You were eating one of my apple crisps.”

  His eyes widen a moment. “Oh—right. Those were delicious.” He gives a rather guilty looking shrug.

  “And you let me know that Brenda was your fiancée.”

  He blows out a breath. “Yes, she was.” He shakes his head before doing a double take at the table. “Hey, I think that’s the detective working on the case.”

  Carlotta and I exchange a glance.

  “That’s right,” Carlota bleats. “My Lot Lot here is dating him.”

  I give a frenetic nod. “We’re celebrating the fact I’m having a baby. Our entire family is here. This is my mother.” I nod to Carlotta. I don’t bother explaining the fact I have two mothers, and in effect two baby daddies as well. I guess you can say I’m double trouble all the way around.

  Martin expands his pained looking smile. “Well, hold onto the good times. You never know what could be waiting just around the corner.”

  Carlotta leans in. “Don’t I know it. In fact, I bet Brenda was super excited to get hitched to you.”

  Ginger lets out a sharp bark. “She used to pretend to marry her stuffed bears. She was a bit pushy at times. I was certain she’d chase away anyone who came near her. But look at this, she found someone willing to be pushed around, after all.”

  Martin shakes his head as if he heard the ghostly pooch. “I don’t know. I’d like to think she was happy. Our wedding was supposed to take place in just two weeks. She had her dress and everything.”

  “I’m really sorry. And I mean that,” I tack on that last bit because I’m sure not a lot of people mean what they say about the dead. “I mean, I didn’t know her that well, but it’s a sad situation all the way around.”

  Martin takes a breath. “If you knew her, you most likely wouldn’t be that sorry. Brenda had a way of off-putting people.”

  Ginger lets out a couple of quick yips. “Did anyone like the poor girl?”

  “Good question.” Carlotta nods to Martin. “Did anyone like her?”

  I swat Carlotta without hesitation.

  “Please forgive my mother,” I say. It’s bad enough she answered Ginger out loud as if Martin were privy to her, let alone posed the question to him as well. But then again, if he thinks Carlotta isn’t all there upstairs, she could get away with saying just about anything.

  He gives a tiny chuckle. “No, it’s fine. It’s not a big secret that Brenda wasn’t the easiest person to get along with. We seemed to manage okay, but we had our ups and downs, too.”

  Ginger floats and lands directly on his head like a cute fuzzy little hat.

  “Make him tell us who killed my Brenda. He knows something, Lottie. I can feel the tension pulsing through his skull.”

  “Martin”—I lean in a notch—“why would anyone want to kill Brenda? Did she have enemies? Did she have anything in her possession that maybe the killer was trying to get ahold of?”

  He squints over at me as if trying to transcribe my words.

  “Are you talking about that book?”

  Carlotta swoops in. “That book was stolen from my Lot Lot’s house. Right out of her living room. It was a brazen home invasion. We’re lucky she’s still with us.” She wraps an arm around me, and I’m certainly not feeling lucky to have Carlotta with me, not at this moment anyway. She’s botching up my entire investigation.

  “Your house?” His brows hike. “I’m sorry about that.” He shakes his head. “Brenda had that book locked in a safe at her place. I guess she understood the value of it. I thought it was odd she kept it locked up, but after hearing about the break-in, I guess I’m glad she took the precaution. She mentioned there were people very interested in obtaining it. She really did believe it would garner more than a few bucks at that auction. She also mentioned something about the person she got it from would most likely be the highest bidder.”

  “The person she got the book from?” I ask. “Martin, do you know who that was?” My goodness, he could unlock the entire case right now if he gives me the answer.

  He gives a puzzled look out the window just past me.

  “I don’t know. I thought maybe she got it from Cokie. She was a crime buff. Brenda, not so much.” He hesitates a moment. “Cokie and I were pretty serious for a time. Brenda stepped in, and well, I fell for her charm. Next thing I knew, I sank a great relationship with Cokie and found myself staring down the barrel of a wedding with a woman I hardly knew.”

  “The barrel?” Ginger thumps her hind leg over his face in what looks to be quite the beating. “That’s a terrible way to look at your upcoming nuptials.”

  “And I happen to agree with her.” Carlotta nods.

  Poor Martin looks twic
e as confused with Carlotta’s antics.

  “You agree with Brenda?” Martin studies Carlotta, just trying to keep up with her.

  “Brenda was pretty excited about the wedding,” I say, ignoring the insanity in our midst. “She asked me to do the honor of baking the wedding cake. Rachelle was there, and she mentioned she was a bridesmaid in the wedding.”

  “Rachelle.” He closes his eyes a moment. “Poor thing. But I guess she won’t have to endure the humiliation now.”

  “Do you mean Brenda?” I ask, because clearly he’s taken a page out of Carlotta’s disjointed playbook.

  “I mean Rachelle.” He nods. “Yeah. Brenda didn’t ask Rachelle to be a bridesmaid in the wedding. She wanted her to be the flower girl.”

  Carlotta and I exchange a look.

  Ginger lets out a tiny growl. “Wait a minute. Isn’t the flower girl typically a child? I was in a wedding once as the ring bearer. Oh, you should have seen the crowd. Lots of finery, lots of manners. But that flower girl ran amok and cried before she ever hit the end of the aisle. Everyone there thought it was the cutest thing ever, but I wasn’t so amused.”

  “The flower girl?” My mouth hangs open with confusion.

  Martin nods. “And don’t think for a minute Brenda wasn’t trying to humiliate the poor girl. She had a cutesy floral dress that you might stick a kid in. She didn’t want anyone to know about it either. She was going to have Rachelle come down the aisle with her hair in pigtails like some sort of a stunt on our big day. I told her to reconsider—I have a niece who would have loved the gig—but Brenda said it was nonnegotiable. That was her favorite word, nonnegotiable.” He glowers as he says it.

  My chest pumps with a dull laugh. “Why in the world would she try to humiliate Rachelle like that?”

  Martin shifts from side to side. “That’s the thing. I don’t know. I knew what her game was with other people but that one stumped me.”

  Carlotta bobs her head forward. “So who do you think did it? Who poisoned her apple crisp and sent her packing for the big school in the sky in a fit of humiliation?”

  He blows out a hard breath, and Ginger tumbles right off his head.