Pumpkin Spice Sacrifice

by Addison Moore

  “Just of the stuff you mentioned. If anything else were missing, we wouldn’t know it. No obvious disturbances. Nothing rifled or ransacked to our knowledge. No fun stuff in her nightstand.” His brows rise as if he were amused.

  “Fun stuff, huh? I bet a place like the Jungle Room was a walk in the park for someone like you.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Someone beat us to the punch. And that’s exactly why I want you staying away from anything to do with Collette Jenner’s investigation.” He sighs heavily, and his chest expands and deflates, taking me for the ride along with it. “But I’m not going to stop you, am I?”

  I’m slow to shake my head. “Everett might lose his entire career over this mess, and I was with him at the awards ceremony. I know he didn’t do this.”

  His brows dip as if he didn’t like what he heard. “Why was he yelling at you tonight?”

  My mouth opens, then closes. There simply isn’t a good way to say he was yelling at his dead father’s ghost. “It was hard to hear in there.”

  He shakes his head. “Why are you covering for him?”

  “I’m not covering. Besides, we weren’t really going to do anything, so we needed something to pass the time. What’s better than a shouting match between friends? We couldn’t just leave the second they closed the door.”

  “I caught you with your legs wrapped around his body and your mouth pressed to his.” A wry smile pulls at his lips, but that green monster is alive and well, buried in each of his eyes.

  “No, actually, you caught me—okay, fine, you caught me. But, in my defense, that bouncer was about to feed us to the mobster lions who run that place. I had to convince him that we meant business or else. There was nothing going on, I promise.”

  “Mobster lions.” He glances to the ceiling. “Oddly that makes sense.”

  “So, you believe me when I say that there is nothing at all going on between Everett and me?”

  Noah takes a breath and pauses as if he were swallowing down his words. “Other than a rather aggressive looking kiss? Not a thing.”

  I shrink a little in his arms. “You know there is nobody else out there for me but you. Not even Everett. I love you, Noah.”

  “And I love you, Lottie Lemon.” His lids hood to slits. “So, tell me, who’s the better kisser?”

  “I don’t know…” It takes everything in me to resist the urge to giggle. “I might need a refresher.” My finger outlines his lips, and he opens his mouth and pretends to take a bite out of it.

  “Hey, you scared me.” I can’t help but bubble with a warm laugh, our hips still moving in time.

  “You scared me, Lottie Lemon. And you do scare me. Please, if you have any regard for my sanity, let tonight be the last of it. No more injecting yourself in this investigation.”

  “That sounds like a threat, Detective Fox.” My mouth inches for his.

  “That wasn’t a threat. This is.” Noah crashes his lips over mine, and his tongue swims its way into my mouth as we indulge in a kiss far more daring than we ever have before. His chest presses hard over mine, and he pulls me in by the back of the neck, his fingers digging into my hair, weaving circles through it. My hands ride over his chest as my fingers spread wide and fan over his steely girth. Noah Fox is all man, one hundred percent walking, talking testosterone with just enough of a dangerous side to hold my attention for a long, long time. His kisses increase in ferocity, as do mine, and before I know it, I’m against the wall, his hands riding lower over my hips, his mouth on the nape of my neck.

  An abrupt knock erupts over the door and we freeze solid, the two us glancing in the direction of a hostile deliveryman.

  “Should I get that?” He runs kisses up to my ear.

  “Only if you don’t want the sheriff’s department knocking down your door at some point this evening. With the whole town on edge, a simple dismissal of a large pep might be enough to send the SWAT team into action.”

  “Good point.” Noah pays the guy, and soon enough we’re snuggled on his sofa while an old rerun plays on TV.

  “This pizza is amazing.” I moan through my next bite.

  “You’re amazing.” He touches his foot to mine.

  “Yeah? Why’s that?” I tease, indulging in one last bite before landing my plate back on the coffee table.

  “Because you’re tenacious and you’d do anything, including risking life and limb, for those you care about.” He lands his plate back on the table as well. I think we must have had four slices apiece. “So tell me—” He pulls me over and wraps his arms around me as we watch the crackle of the fire, and suddenly I feel as if I’m in some romantic movie. “What, if anything, did you glean tonight? We’re on the same team, remember?” He runs a line down my nose and pats my lips with his finger.

  “Oh, I see how it goes. When it’s me doing all the work, we’re on the same team.” I reach up and take a playful bite out of his cheek. “But I suppose you’re right and you are the one bound by law not to share anything, not me.” I start in on my conversation with Jenna Hatfield, which, of course, led me to the exact location of the Jungle Room and then the strange conversation I had with Pink and the fact it implied Josh was trying to get in on the kinky fun.

  “That’s it?” He tucks his head back to get a better look at me. Noah’s wheels are turning. His eyes look as if they’re oscillating, unsure of where to focus at the moment.

  “Isn’t that enough?” A laugh bubbles from me. “I happen to think that in addition to running a bakery, I accomplished quite a bit this week.”

  “That you did.” He looks past me, his face heavy with concern. “The thing is, we’ve already investigated Josh Normandy, and he checks out squeaky clean. It turns out, Collette filed a disturbance claim against him at work. But Rutherford—now that’s a new angle for sure.”

  “What about the wife? Apparently, she doesn’t mind all the side action. Is that the craziest thing you’ve ever heard? She doesn’t mind!”

  He winces. “I hate to say it, but I’ve seen it again and again. His libido doesn’t match hers, and soon they’re not only in separate bedrooms but he’s looking elsewhere to scratch that itch with the wife’s blessing.”

  “We’ll never get like that,” I purr into him, and no sooner do the words string from my lips than I regret them.

  The air stills around us as a slow budding smile graces his lips. Noah smiles with his whole face, his eyes holding their own naughty affect. “No, I don’t think we will.” His finger glides gently over my cheek.

  “I think I’m ready to take that next step with you,” I say it low and quiet in the event if he didn’t want to hear it he can pretend he didn’t. But who are we kidding? Noah is a guy. He’s probably working out the logistics of how fast he can get me into his bedroom.

  “I think I’m ready, too.” That determined look in his eyes sharpens for a moment. “And I think we should wait.”

  “Wait?” I’m mortified. Never in my life have I met a man who wanted to wait, and suddenly my every attribute is called into question.

  “Yes.” He pecks a quick kiss to my lips. “I want this to be special. You’re special to me, Lot. I don’t plan on going anywhere. I want to do everything in life with you. I want to build memories with you. I think maybe this is a great place to start.”

  “Memories?” I sigh. “You do realize I’m swooning. Is this the part when we pick a date? Thanksgiving is just around the corner. What is there better to be thankful for than each other?”

  “Thanksgiving is perfect, except for the fact I’m pretty sure you’ll be exhausted from baking everyone in Honey Hollow a pie or two to go with their meal.”

  “You are so right. And I sort of have a bad habit of staying up for three days in a row once Black Friday hits. How about the weekend after? It’s the beginning of December right before the big holiday rush? I can try to take the weekend off, and we can have a little getaway at your place and mine.”

  “Your place and mine.” He
rumbles with a laugh. “I like that. And I like that you always have a way of keeping me on my toes.”

  “Get used to it. I don’t see me changing anytime soon.”

  “I will make a note of that.”

  My finger glides down his chest in the shape of a soft S. “So, what do you propose we do now?”

  His lids hood with devilish intent. “Practice a few select moves and pray the next two weeks go by in a flash.”

  A laugh bucks through me. “I second that.”

  Noah and I practice well into the night and into the early hours of the morning.

  Noah and I are taking our time, making memories, making everything right.

  Never before have I felt so deeply loved.

  Never before have I been so thoroughly terrified.

  Chapter 10

  Baking for friends and family always adds a layer of passion to the treats I’m making, and since I consider everyone who sets foot in the bakery a friend, I’m always adding love into the mix. And when Jackie Jenner, Collette’s poor mother, asked if I would cater the wake, it was an offer I would never refuse.

  “Lily, we need to get all of these cookies on platters and delivered to Carlson Hall in two hours. Will you be going to the funeral?” Thanks to Keelie, the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery is almost at capacity with a staff of its own, so if Lily wanted to go, she certainly could. I imagine she was closer to Collette than I was.

  Lily tosses that long, dark mane of hers. I’ve never seen hair with more body than that on Lily. She’s always been one of the prettier girls in Honey Hollow, but one of the meanest to go along with it, and for that reason alone I’ve never let any part of her intimidate me.

  “Will that hot judge be there?” Her eyes flash with wicked intent before she gets back to arranging the platters.

  “Everett? Yes, of course. He and Collette dated for a while.” Good Lord in heaven knows I want zero details about what they might have done during their tumultuous tenure together.

  “Then I’m in.” She quickly unties her apron and heads for the back.

  “Where are you going?” I call after her.

  “If that judge is there, I need to get ready. You said yourself we’ve only got two hours!”

  “Will you be back to help deliver these platters?”

  “As soon as I get my stilettos on.” She gives a suggestive lift of the shoulder before heading out into the chilled autumn air.

  The rest of the staff steps in, and I get busy putting the last of the cookies onto the cooling racks. Jackie gave a list of all of Collette’s favorite goodies, and I’ve baked them all in number—hazelnut crinkle cookies, jumbo coconut chocolate chip, caramel drizzled almond bars, pecan tassies, cinnamon buttercups, apple walnut bars, brownies and blondies, peanut butter squares topped with fudge, toffee crisps, chocolate tipped shortbread, and, of course, pumpkin pinwheels. I thought of bringing along a few pumpkin pies, seeing that we’re so close to Thanksgiving, but I didn’t want anyone to associate the treat with such a sad occasion—sales for my pumpkin spice lattes have plummeted after it was disclosed it was poisoned with wolf’s bane. Besides, I still need to get full clearance with the contest council in Ashford so I can participate in the upcoming bake-off. They had asked for an official letter from the sheriff’s department, and Noah hand-delivered it to the head of the council a few days ago. The bakery really needs that van, and I just know my pumpkin pie is as good as and perhaps better than the rest. So I definitely have a shot at winning. I hope.

  A couple of women step into the bakery, and I head to the front and take their orders.

  “Coffee and two slices of pecan pie,” the older of the two commands. She looks right up there with Nell, late eighties, early nineties maybe, and she shakes her head as if she were angry about something.

  And the younger woman dressed in a dark shawl with a beaded necklace that glitters under the twinkle lights above nods in agreement.

  I hand them their orders on adorable miniature silver platters. My mother found a handful at an estate sale and thought it would be a cute way to serve my customers who wanted to stay in the café to enjoy their treats.

  “Everything all right, ladies?” I’m betting they’re headed to the funeral. They both look far too formally dressed for a Saturday.

  The Nell lookalike waves me off. “We just can’t get over the rash of gruesome murders and break-ins that have hit Honey Hollow. This used to be a safe place, and now you practically need to head to the city to flee the violence.” They share a quiet chortle at the thought.

  “But the garage robberies have stopped, so that’s a good thing, right?” I know for a fact they stopped because it was poor Hunter who was doing them, and he’s no longer with us.

  “I don’t know.” The woman in the dark shawl takes a sip from her coffee. “I live across the street from our dearly departed Collette, and I saw someone entering her house the very night she was murdered. Imagine that. Why, that woman had the worst luck of anyone I knew.”

  I shrink a little behind the counter because I’m pretty sure the woman she saw was me. A thought occurs to me. Maybe she didn’t see me? Maybe she saw the real thief? And I bet he or she was the killer!

  “Oh, I heard about that.” I shake my head, dismayed—literally by my own actions. “Did they catch the thief? I mean, does anyone even know what they look like?” Gah! They? Way to implicate yourself. Why don’t I just show her the pictures I took while I’m at it?

  “It wasn’t a they.” She’s quick to admonish. “It was most certainly a she. A blonde woman ran into the house. I saw it myself. Of course, at that hour I didn’t realize what had happened to poor Collette, so I didn’t think much about it. She was a busy person and had a busy social life to boot. There were always men and women running in and out of there at all hours.” She shrugs as if she were indifferent to it.

  I think on this for a moment. My hair is often mistaken for blonde, and if that streetlamp, which happened to be seizing that night, shone over me, I would certainly look so.

  “So, you saw that truck?” I shake my head, hoping she didn’t. “I mean, I heard whispers of it myself.”

  “That’s the thing.” She lifts a crooked finger. Her bright orange lipstick is drawn in a line over her mouth. “I don’t know what the other neighbors think they saw, but there wasn’t a truck. It was a red sedan. Cherry red, I tell you. And she came out with a bag. I saw it with my own two eyes.”

  A bag!

  “Have you told the police?”

  “No, I don’t want any trouble. If this madman who’s been running around slaughtering our own townspeople isn’t caught soon, I’ll have my house for sale come spring.” They scuttle off to the nearest table, still grumbling into their coffee.

  Red sedan. Cherry red.

  I think I’ll head to the funeral a little early and hang out in the parking lot in the event that blonde decides she’d like to pay her respects.

  Of every mode of transportation that showed up before the funeral began, there wasn’t a cherry red sedan in the bunch. Figures.

  Everett asked if I would sit with him, and, of course, I’m more than happy to oblige. It’s Everett on one side of me and his deceased father on the other. A little unnerving, considering the fact he’s no longer in the material. The funeral is full of showy wreaths and even showier people. I’ve never seen so many designer labels in a room at once. And don’t get me started on the perfume and cologne thick as fog. It’s like being stuck at ground zero in the perfume aisle at the mall. There’s no casket, just an oversized picture of Collette, all smiles, looking her best. It’s black and white, which is a shame because she really did have such pretty red hair.

  Mr. Rutherford and his wife, Patricia, are seated near the front. Mr. Rutherford looks as if he’s holding strong, and Mrs. Rutherford looks bored as if she’d rather be anywhere but the funeral of her husband’s mistress. I crane my neck and spot Josh Normandy, the kid who tried to burst into Collette’s wild part
y at the Jungle Room and who did finally get a piece of the action when he gave her mouth-to-mouth. A lot of good that did. Unlike the Rutherfords, he indeed looks pretty broken up about Collette. There’s a wad of tissues in his hand, and his eyes are beet red and swollen. He seems to be hanging onto every word the minister is saying.

  Soon enough, her mother, Jackie, takes the pulpit and says a few kind words about her daughter, as does Collette’s brother, Steven. Once he takes his seat, there’s a long spate of silence, and just as the minister is about to take the helm once again, the back door bursts open and in runs Jenna Hatfield with a bright red coat and a pink scarf around her neck.

  “I’m here!” she cries out as she dashes to the front. “Oh gosh, I’m here, and I’m late to my best friend’s funeral!” A light chuckle bounces through the room.

  The minister waves her up, and she takes off her coat, revealing a shocking pink dress before scooting her way to the pulpit. Her cheeks are flushed, her hair wild and frizzy.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late. The battery in my car died, so I had to beg my neighbor to give me a jump. Of course, there was roadwork on the way over, and by the time I got to Honey Hollow, all of the streetlights malfunctioned. Just my luck.” She guffaws into the microphone, and the sound of her stale laughter reverberates off the walls.

  She looks to Collette’s oversized picture, that eerie grimace frozen in time. It’s almost not fair. Nobody told Collette that very snapshot would one day represent her at her own funeral. It’s a terrible thing really. Because if she knew, I guarantee she wouldn’t be smiling so hard. But I suppose that’s the best way to remember her.

  “Dear Collette”—she tries her best to control her panting—“I suppose it’s fair to say you had a charmed life overall, but nobody had worse luck than you on that fated night.”

  A series of gasps circles the room.

  “I’m sorry!” Jenna holds a hand out. “I had a speech prepared. I suppose I should stick to the script or God knows what might come flying out of this mouth.” She pats herself down before plucking a folded note from her bra, and another round of chuckles ensues. “Ah, yes. Here we go. My dearest Collette, here I am at the one place I never wanted to be and neither did you.” She pauses to offer a soft smile up at the crowd before holding the paper at arm’s length. “That’s better. So, as you can see, I’ve obeyed your wishes and did not wear black to your funeral. I am not sad. And I did my best not to cry too much. Our friendship is one to be rivaled through the ages. You were my rock when things got tough, and I would like to think I was the same for you. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you. In fact, I’ve already done what a good best friend would do. There is nothing for you to worry about. No embarrassment, no humiliation, no reason to fear. All you need to do now is rest well, my dear.” She giggles into the mic. “I guess that last part rhymed, didn’t it?” She looks over at Jackie and nods. “I’m sorry. She was a special woman and will be very much missed.”