Yule Log Eulogy

by Addison Moore

  “Boy, I don’t remember a December that has been this cold,” I say, shivering.

  Noah comes around from the other side of the truck and takes up my hand. “Another storm is about to move in, too.”

  “Don’t worry, Lemon. You won’t be cold for long. Your surprise is right there.” He nods just past Noah’s shoulder, and we turn to find a red and white utility van with the words Thirty Dollar Massages written across the side panel.

  I take in a quick breath. “Is that Shelly Rosenberg’s van?”

  “It is indeed.” Everett smears it with a touch of pride. “And don’t worry about going in alone. I’ve paid for a couple’s massage.”

  Noah tips his head. “That was very nice of you. Let’s go, Lottie.” He points his cane in that direction. “My shoulders have been tight all day.”

  “Nice try, old man.” Everett threads his arm through mine. “This is a little Christmas preview of the things I’ve got planned for Lemon.”

  I’m about to say something when a trio of women in matching red sequin Santa hats step into view from the mouth of the tent.

  It’s Carlotta and those crooked Canellis!

  My God, they’re not even hiding out anymore. In fact, they’re practically shouting their presence from the tent top in those flashy hats that catch the light like a homing beacon for the Ashford Sheriff’s Department, and maybe a hit man or two for Cat.

  A reindeer prances alongside them, a rather holographic looking reindeer lit up from the inside like a prism.

  I make a face at Rudolph. I’m getting the feeling he likes Carlotta better than me. And he probably does. She gives him whiskey.

  “Hey?” I pull Noah and Everett away from the entry to the tree lot. “I’ve got an idea. Why don’t the two of you go in and get a couple’s massage? And I’ll head over to the tree lot and pick out all three trees. I’ll have them paid for and loaded up in the back of Noah’s truck by the time you get out and we can head right home and get to the fun part.”

  Everett’s brows pinch in the middle. “The fun part? You want to watch the rest of tonight’s basketball game? Football maybe?”

  Noah scowls at him. “For someone who claims to know women, you don’t really understand them. She wants to decorate. She’s not interested in your balls.”

  “Noah.” I swat him with a laugh trapped in my mouth just as Carlotta and the Canellis break into cackles themselves over who knows what—probably over how fast they can make me age before we ever hit the new year. “Quick!” I hustle them both in the direction of the van as best I can before they dig in their stubborn heels.

  “Lemon”— Everett’s voice drops down a dangerously sexy octave—“there’s no way I’m getting a couple’s massage with him. It’s you or the highway.”

  Noah’s lips flex. “Take the highway. Come on, Lottie.” His phone chirps, and he makes a face at it. “You know what? On second thought, why don’t the two of you go ahead and indulge yourselves? I’m making strides in the case of the cursed heiress. If I’m lucky, I’ll unravel the cursed case before Christmas and finally give Isabelle Rosenberg a little justice.”

  “Ooh. I like the sound of it, detective. But promise me you’ll fill me in on every last homicidal detail when you get done.”

  “Will do.” He holds his phone up. “Have a good time.”

  Everett and I head toward the van, and all the while I watch Noah as he makes his way toward the hot cocoa stand.

  “Everett, the Canelli girls are here,” I hiss up at him. “If Noah stumbles upon Connie, this could be trouble.”

  He cranes his neck in that direction. “Better him than me. Come on.” He gives a brisk knock on the door of the van, and sure enough it glides right open.

  A stunning blonde with light eyes and cherry red lips smiles over at us. She looks every bit like Larson Rosenberg and she should—she’s her twin. “Are you my couple for seven-thirty?”

  Everett cocks his head my way. “That would be us.”

  “Well, get in here, Everett! I had no idea you’d be darkening my doorway this evening. You must be his fiancée. I’ve heard all sorts of crazy things about you.”

  I cringe at the thought. “You never know, they might all be true.”

  She cackles with the fervor of a hyena as Everett and I crouch our way over to a couple of massage tables set up side by side with about a foot and a half of room between them. It’s warm and toasty in here, and if I weren’t investigating her, I’d shoot for a quick nap.

  The inside of the van is paneled in vanilla-colored fabric. The tables share the same creamy shade and so does the vinyl flooring. The ceiling is a pop-top so we could actually stand up in here if we wanted. The sound of soothing music streams from the speakers, the air is scented with cinnamon, and there’s even a small Christmas tree in the back strewn with colorful lights.

  “Wow”—I muse—“you’ve got a great setup. This is adorable.”

  “Thanks.” She makes a face as if she wasn’t really happy with it. And she may not be. After all, I do recall Charlie telling me Larson had her trust fund altered so that she couldn’t get a cent until she was good and ancient at the ripe age of thirty. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got.” She steps back and draws a curtain between us. “Why don’t the two of you undress quickly? There’s a towel for each of you on the hooks next to the tables. And then hop on and tell me when you’re ready. Strip away!”

  Everett’s lips curve dangerously, and his lids hood low as his gaze penetrates mine. “You heard the lady. Start stripping.”

  I shrug. “I’ve always been one to take orders.” I let my coat slink off of me and kick it to the side, never breaking the stronghold his eyes have on me.

  “Hey?” Shelly pipes up. “The two of you aren’t shy about taking off your clothes in front of each other, are you? I once had a mother and son and didn’t realize it. She looked really good for her age. I assumed they were dating.”

  Everett’s cheek flinches. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.” He leans in and whispers, “And you are unforgettable.”

  A dark laugh bounces through me. “Nothing I haven’t done before.” I lean in. “And you are unstoppable.” I bite down on my lower lip. “It’s one of the things I like about you best.”

  Everett and I let the stitches fall as fast as we can, and I won’t lie—it feels contrary to instinct to get naked and land a whole three feet away from him. Every last part of me is pulsating in protest. We each wrap a thick white towel around our waists and lie flat on our tummies before giving Shelly the all-clear, and soon enough she’s rubbing us both down with hot oil scented with vanilla and it feels sinfully delicious.

  Everett nods my way, and I nod right back.

  He clears his throat. “So, Shelly, how have you been holding up?”

  “Better than you think.” She slaps my back before digging her elbow into it. “The funeral is set for Wednesday. Larson’s dippy friends are handling it. I hear they’re wrapping her in couture. Little do they know, I’ve made arrangements for her outfit to be swapped out right before the burial. I’ve got an old homemade Halloween costume she made me wear one year. It was an industrial sized black trash bag with the letters M&M written across the front in duct tape. So I guess you can say I’ll be wrapping her, too—in a candy wrapper.” She belts out a high-pitched laugh, and I make a face over at Everett. She slaps my shoulders before digging in. “But don’t think less of me. It’s just one more sisterly prank I’m squeezing in before they box her up to go.”

  Everett’s brows bounce. “Sounds harmless enough.”

  “Yeah,” Shelly huffs as she makes her way over to him. “I couldn’t hurt her if I tried. Being dead sort of takes the fun away from that, if you know what I mean.”

  She’s so glib about her sister’s death, and it hasn’t even been two weeks. I think I’d need to close down the bakery for a year if anything happened to either of my sisters. And I wouldn’t dare try to humiliate them one more time. N
ope. I plan on saving all my humiliation for the here and now while they can fully appreciate my efforts.

  I glance over at her, and a part of me feels as if I’m seeing Larson herself. “Any word on who might have been responsible?” My toes curl, and I hold my breath as I wait for a response.

  “Oh, any of her friends could have done it. They all had a bone to pick with her.” Shelly lays her upper torso over Everett’s back, and I can’t help but note her chest is practically flattened against him. “If you ask me, Cressida should be arrested. She’s threatened to kill my sister for years. Cressie’s mother was incarcerated once for shoplifting, so clearly there’s a criminal history that runs in the family.”

  Everett’s body bounces as if he were chuckling. “Duly noted.”

  “What about Ella?” I crane my neck, trying to see Shelly’s face, but she’s all but buried it between Everett’s shoulder blades. My God, is she kissing him? Is that some sort of fancy massage move? Heck, I think the only move she’s making is on my man.

  “Ella is as nutty as a fruitcake, but only because she saw my mom getting the ax—or the fire poker as it were. She knows who did it. Or at least I think she does, but it’s supposedly all been suppressed in that thick skull of hers. She’s not talking.” Shelly glides up and sniffs Everett’s hair, and I roll my eyes at the sight.

  Suppressed? So maybe she didn’t lie about not seeing the killing take place. The poor girl simply can’t remember.

  “Who do you think killed your mother?” I ask, and strangely I’m not too sorry about it.

  “The same nutcase who was sending her a dozen black roses for a month straight, right up until the day she died.”

  A breath hitches in my throat as a terrible memory pulsates through me. A few months back, a nutcase was sending Everett black roses and that ended badly. I push the memory right out of my mind, and for a moment I can totally commiserate with Ella. I don’t blame her for not wanting to relive that nightmare. Who would?

  Everett glances back at her and accidentally—but I’d like to think on purpose—rolls her right off his person.

  “Did the sheriff’s department trace the flowers?” he asks as Shelly slaps him down with more oil. My own back is beginning to feel a little dry, but I have a feeling my portion of the couple’s massage is long since over.

  “Are you kidding?” She barks out a laugh, and sadly it sounds genuine. “They were either paid off, bought off, or killed. Who knows? It turned into a cold case before my mother’s body ever hit room temperature at the morgue.”

  From what I hear that’s completely accurate.

  “Have you thought of reopening it?” I would. With a sledgehammer if I had to.

  “Nope.” She digs her fingers into Everett’s shoulders, and he closes his eyes and moans. A memory of him moaning for me in that exact same way rips through me like a fire, and I clear my throat as I try to suppress yet another memory. “Look, I loved my mom, but she was a peach. She’s the reason Larson turned into a witch. I’m just lucky Larson was her favorite or I’d have an entire coven of friends who would want to off me, too.” She shrugs my way. “It’s the nature of the wealthy beast.” She pauses a moment, her head tipped to the side. “Besides, I know who killed my sister, and there’s no point in turning them in.”

  My eyes widen so much, I’m half-afraid an eyeball is about to roll onto the table.

  “Who did it, Shelly?” Everett asks low and husky, the exact same tone he evokes whenever he’s trying to manipulate a woman into doing his bidding.

  Oh, who are we kidding? Everett doesn’t have to manipulate any woman to do a single thing. He’s got an entire legion of volunteers to do it for him, and I used to be one of them. Still am. Used to be. Oh heck, I can’t deal with this now.

  “Who did it, Shelly?” I echo his words and don’t dare take my eyes off of her.

  She tips her head back and crimps a smile. “I’ll never breathe her name, but let’s just say that old saying, ‘it’s always the least likely suspect’—it happens to be true in this case.”

  Her name?

  “How can you be sure?” I ask just above a whisper, not wanting to break the spell.

  “Because I was the last to leave the two of them alone. They were arguing, and it was only a minute or two before you walked in and found Larson. I’m sure. I’m positive. But I’m taking this one to the grave.”

  Shelly slaps Everett’s backside silly and ends up playing his bottom like a bongo drum right through that towel before instructing us to get dressed again.

  Everett and I do just that before he pays her generously for her time and we head back out into the snow.

  “Did you hear that? She knows who did it!” I give his hand a squeeze as we make our way over to the tree lot.

  “And she’s not talking.”

  “It’s a woman. She was sure of it.”

  “It’s someone she wants to protect,” he points out. “That should narrow it down. She didn’t care for many of Larson’s friends.”

  “She didn’t say anything bad about Ella. Oh my God, I bet it’s Ella! She probably has PTSD or something and she went crazy.”

  He shakes his head. “She mentioned something about it being the least likely suspect.”

  “Maybe it’s her then. Maybe the third person was her shadow?” I shrug over at him.

  Everett’s lips part as if he were about to say something when his eyes snag on something in the tree lot just past the tent. I follow his gaze and spot a man nodding our way. He’s got on a long black coat and a fedora.

  “Oh my God, Everett, that’s one of the Canelli goons.” I pull him in close as the man glares at Everett before taking off deeper into the lot.

  “I’m not worried.”

  “How can you not worry?”

  “Because I’ve assured your safety.” He frowns down at me as if he still wasn’t pleased with how that happened.

  “Come on. Let’s find Noah and get out of here.”

  “We’re not leaving without a tree.”

  Everett leads us boldly in the same direction that the man in the fedora went, but we don’t stumble upon one of the Canellis’ muscle men. We stumble upon my very own muscle man, Noah.

  The three of us venture off on a hunt for the perfect tree—three perfect trees—that span close to an hour. But, sure enough, we come up victorious three different times. We pay up, and Noah pulls his truck to the front before he and Everett toss the trees into the back.

  “Would you look at that beefcake?” a female voice brays it out, and I recognize that unabashedly giddy giggle.

  I turn and gasp as Carlotta steps out of the shadows with an arm linked with both Connie and Cat. The two Canellis on either side of her stagger to and fro as if they’ve been hitting the whiskey themselves. I quickly scuttle on over and pull them to the side while Everett and Noah get to the task of securing the trees.

  Rudolph strides out, looking far more lucid than he’s been since he’s arrived, and he snarls my way.

  “I need my own supply of those delicious brown bottles. Connie offered to buy me all the whiskey I needed at a lovely place called the Liquor Barn. I’m afraid we’ll have to leave posthaste, Lottie. I’m a bit dry as of late. And afterwards, can we stop by the bakery? I find that a few Yule logs before bedtime helps me have amazingly sweet dreams.”

  “No more liquor,” I’m quick to reprimand him. “And please, leave the bakery out of this. I’ll send a few over tomorrow night. I promise.” Carlotta heads straight for Noah and Everett, and I jump in front of the whiskey breeze emitting from her.

  “Move it, kid. I’ve got a couple of lushes to dispose of. And like it or not, we’re headed to your place. We sprung another leak, and the plumber said he’s booked until Thursday.”

  Connie honks out a laugh. “I’ll stay with Mr. Sexy.”

  Cat purrs over at the two of them who frighteningly enough seem to be wrapping up their endeavor.

  “And I’ll take the hunk wi
th the riding crop.”

  “That is not a riding crop,” I hiss over at her. “It’s a cane. And he’s in a delicate state. He can’t see either of you or his head is liable to blow up.”

  It would figure. The Canellis are capable of taking a life without any sort of weaponry whatsoever.

  “Lottie?” Noah springs up behind me, and I freeze solid. “What in the heck? That’s Connie Canelli.” He whips out his badge and holds it up. “You’re under arrest. You’re coming with me.”

  Carlotta steps on Noah’s bad foot. “Make a run for it, girls!”

  Rudolph laughs and brays and bucks as if this were the best thing ever.

  “A getaway! We’re going to make a whiskey risky escape. Tell them to hop on my back, Carlotta. I’ll fly us out in style.”

  “No,” I say it stern, but I’m not talking to Rudolph. I look up at Noah with every ounce of me pleading for him to understand what I’m about to say next. “You’re not arresting anybody.”

  Noah inches back. “Everett?” He looks to his left.

  “I’m getting in the truck. I see nothing.” Everett does just that.

  Noah’s expression grows with bewilderment as he studies me for a moment. “You’ve been hiding this from me, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, Noah, I have. And now I’m going to harbor a fugitive.”

  Chapter 16

  Not being one to let a criminal mind go to waste, I do a briefing of each of the suspects with the Canellis as we mull over a dozen different scenarios while sipping hot cocoa next to a crackling fire right here in my once innocent living room.

  Both Cat and Connie have their theories about who could have done it. Carlotta doesn’t have any, but only because she’s been too busy playing with Pancake and Waffles while the three of us carry on an in-depth investigation on a legal pad.

  We’re all holding hands loosely so they can hear Rudolph who has actually been a great contributor to our conversation.

  I know, I know. I’ve gone too far. I’ve told them too much.