Pancake Panic

by Addison Moore

  “Oh, for pity’s sake.” She tosses her cigarette into the snow. “But you still love him, don’t you?”

  My head screams don’t admit it, but I give a sorrowful nod instead.

  “What about this Everett guy? What does he have to say about it?”

  “He made it clear he wants Noah and me to see where our relationship goes. He promised me our marriage was on paper only. But he’s still very much available to me.”

  “It sounds as if Everett really cares about your heart.”

  “That he does.”

  “And it sounds like Noah is in over his head. But, after witnessing that wrestling match in there, I’d say he still firmly wants his hat in the ring.”

  I take in a quick breath. “You saw that?”

  “Why do you think I’m out here taking a cigarette break?”

  A dull laugh pumps through me. “Believe me, I think I need a break, too.”

  “And I’ve got another confession for you.”

  A breath hitches in my throat at the thought of her actually confessing to the crime. Not that it would be on topic, but who cares?

  “What’s that?” I lean in hard.

  “I just remembered why you look so familiar. The pancake breakfast. I know your mother, Miranda.”

  “Oh.” A light laugh bucks through me. “That’s right. That was a horrible morning.”

  She clears her throat. “I met your mother years ago when she was decorating her new bed and breakfast. I helped her pick out some art pieces for a few of her rooms.”

  Wow, I’d hate to pin the cows playing poker on her.

  “That’s wonderful. My mother hasn’t changed a thing with the exception of the kitchen, so I’m sure your pieces are still there.”

  Funny how she evaded all talk of the murder that took place that morning.

  I swallow hard as I examine her. “So tell me about your boy horror story. It can’t be as bad as mine.”

  “It’s worse. I had a husband who I thought was pretty great until he went to the store and never came back.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it.” My heart breaks for her. I can’t image that kind of outright rejection and pain.

  She shrugs as she looks to the art center. “After that, I guess you could say I lost my mind and my morals. My mind just went haywire. I fell in love with a married man.” She bows her head and looks up at me. “I can ask you not to judge me, but I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I’ve done it myself.”

  “No judging. I’m not exactly Miss Morality these days either. I have half a mind to lure my husband to bed just to take the edge off all these mixed emotions I’m feeling.” And I’d do it if I knew Everett would fall for my wily ways. But he seems adamant that I knock things out with Noah first. Too bad Noah seems to be knocking them out for us. “Go ahead,” I encourage her to do so.

  “Well, we tangoed for so long his wife caught on. She was no saint either, though. I heard a rumor that she was having an affair with their neighbor.”

  I inch back. Lisa was having an affair while she was married to Flip?

  “It doesn’t sound like they had much of a marriage if they were both cheating,” I say. “But then, you said it was a rumor.”

  She shakes her head as if refuting the idea. “It was true. I heard it from a reliable source, the neighbor himself. Teddy and I go way back. And he’s always enjoyed flirting with danger.”

  Teddy? Wasn’t that the name of one of the men Flip introduced me to that morning? Teddy Berman?

  Oh my stars, he introduced him as his neighbor. Poor Flip must have never found out the truth.

  She tosses a hand up. “Anyhow, his wife and he split up. I thought we’d naturally continue with our relationship and things would progress. I actually thought we’d eventually tie the knot, but apparently, that wasn’t a part of his plan. He ended up getting into some financial trouble and I offered to help him out.”

  Dad groans as he steps in closer, “I’m starting to sense a theme.”

  I nod his way before reverting back to her. “And you lent some money to him?”

  She lets out a short-lived laugh. “I lent all the money I had to him. He didn’t care that I was living paycheck to paycheck. I let him know I needed it back, but he said his hands were tied. I could have killed him.” She glances at her watch. “I’d better get back in. We’re brimming with nude acrobats tonight.” She shakes her head at the stone structure before us. “You have a Picasso on tour and you get a handful of people on a warm summer night. But you pull in the naked models and you have an entire mob in the middle of frozen winter. And they say art is dead.” She winks my way as she starts to take off then backtracks. “It was nice talking to you. I hope you get it all sorted with those naughty boys. For the record, you’re very fortunate to have two men willing to lose their minds over you. You must be doing something right. A little too right,” she teases as she disappears into the building.

  “Well, Lottie?” Dad lifts his chin my way. “What’s your assessment?”

  “You heard her. She could have killed him.” I shrug as we take off.

  “I’ll be at your mother’s,” he says as he pats me on the shoulder. “Just call for me, and I’ll appear.”

  Everett drives us home and says goodnight as I head into my rental, and that small pink purse sitting on my counter stares back at me.

  “Oh, I completely forgot to mention that I had her purse,” I say as Pancake and Waffles stride my way. Without thinking, I open it up. “I was tempted to do this before,” I say as Pancake hops up onto the counter next to me. “But, now that she’s a suspect, I’m practically obligated to take a peek inside.”

  A tube of lipstick greets me, along with a white folded sheet of paper.

  I pull it out and unfold it as I quickly scan over it.

  “Oh my God. She really did kill him.”

  Chapter 11

  I’m greeted with the word KILLER spray-painted across the window of the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery as soon as I arrive at the early hour of four-thirty in the morning. I was running late as it is, but seeing this hideous proclamation slows down my morale and my production.

  It’s another snowy day in Honey Hollow with a cloud bank so dark sitting over our sleepy little town you’d think it was midnight in the middle of the afternoon. To make things gloomier than they need to be, the bakery is nearly empty, no thanks to the fact half the town thinks I’ve been slaughtering people for the last year and a half.

  Keelie called her father, Sheriff Jack Sawyer, once she saw the red malfeasance on the window and he came out and declared it the work of a vandal. I could have told him that. Then Keelie called her fiancé Bear out to do something about it, and he’s been slowly washing it off with solvent ever since. And now the window has been bleeding red for the better part of an hour. It’s an unnerving sight, and one I’m glad my customers aren’t around to witness.

  But that paper I found in Olivia Cartwright’s purse has been running through my mind on a loop. I ran over and showed it to Everett as soon as I saw it, and he made me promise not to act on this one alone, if at all.

  It turns out, Olivia Cartwright had a receipt from Martinelle Finance to the tune of five thousand dollars. Both Everett and I know from past investigations that Martinelle Finance is a seedy front for loan sharks that sits nestled in the basement of Red Satin Gentlemen’s Club. Yes, the same Red Satin where my sweet baby sister works. And the sharks in question happen to be the Canelli brothers, a lowlife organized crime family that owns and operates Red Satin and all of its questionable side hustles.

  Of course, I plan on listening to Everett’s sage advice and steering clear of Red Satin and anything to do with Martinelle Finance altogether—but only because I have another plan.

  But I just have to know if Olivia Cartwright hired the Canellis to put a hit out on Flip Alexander. And who better to help me with anything to do with that rag-tag street gang than my own not-so-sweet bio mama?

  I found o
ut last month that Carlotta was good friends with Connie Canelli when they were growing up. Connie is someone’s big sister in the Canelli crime family lineup.

  Until a few weeks ago I didn’t even know Connie Canelli existed, but right about now I’m pretty glad she does.

  Hopefully, Carlotta will be here soon and I can give her a copy I made of the dicey receipt. I wanted to send her a picture on her phone, but Carlotta said the Canellis don’t use their phones for anything that might be held against them, and neither does she by proxy. Apparently, she’s tossing the copy of the receipt I give her into the fire when she’s through with it, and I’m glad about it, too.

  Lily comes up front to the café as Keelie and I watch Bear in action.

  “We haven’t had a single customer walk through that door, Lottie”—Lily looks good and miffed—“and yet that monster stack of pancakes you made this morning has all but disappeared. Explain that to me.”

  I glance back and see my father covertly sneaking a banana muffin from the bakery shelf. He’s been here with me all morning, happily noshing on whatever he can find. Clearly, no human could consume the amount he’s indulged in. And if they could, they’d find themselves in the same predicament that he’s in—dead.

  “I caught Keelie stealing a few.” I wink over at my bestie as she tosses her hands in the air.

  “I couldn’t help it, Lottie. You have no idea what it’s like to be eating for two. And worse yet? All of these hormones gone wild have me so jumbled I keep forgetting everything. I don’t even remember eating that many.”

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “Bear mentioned he was enjoying this new hungry side of you. He says you’re having food cravings nearly around the clock. I guess your morning sickness finally went away.”

  “Nope.” Keelie shakes her blonde curls out. “But nothing, and I mean nothing, will keep me from Taco Tuesday, or Wicked Wok Wednesday, or Tiramisu Thursday, or Fish—”

  Lily holds a hand up. “We get it. How’s the investigation going, Lottie? Anyone new you’d like to frame?”

  “Yes, you.” I shoot her a look for even implying it. “But seriously”—I sigh—“I sort of hit a temporary roadblock with one suspect, so I’m forced to move on to the next. A man by the name of Teddy Berman—a sommelier at Club Tropicana.”

  Lily makes a face. “Count me out. That sounds like the exact venue Naomi would crash just so she could steal Alex from my arms and do the cha-cha-cha with him.”

  Keelie nods. “Oh, she’s done the cha-cha-cha with him many, many times in the bedroom.”

  Lily swats her with a kitchen towel before heading back to the register. “That’s not what I meant. Hey, Lottie? Is it okay to put in a request on who your next victim is? I know a sneaky brunette who I wouldn’t mind making disappear for a good long while.”

  I make a face at Keelie. “I think Naomi and Lily need to band together and make Alex disappear for what he’s doing to them.”

  Keelie bubbles with a dark laugh. “And you’d be next for what you’re doing to Noah and Everett.”

  I suck in a quick breath just as my father floats over, shedding a belly laugh of his own. I glance back at his glowing frame.

  “Watch it,” I whisper.

  Dad tips his head my way. “We will most certainly discuss the gentlemen in your life later. When are we going to Club Tropicana?”

  I look to Keelie and frown because she’s still laughing. “We’re going to Club Tropicana tonight at seven. Everett called and made sure Teddy was working.”

  Keelie gasps. “Bear and I are coming with you. I love their food.”

  “Have you been there?”

  “Nope”—she strides over to the window and gives Bear a thumbs-up—“but I love food like never before, Lottie. And I love this guy more because he pays for it.”

  “Sounds like a win-win to me.”

  Now if I could only figure out which guy I love more.

  I guess it doesn’t matter. Noah Corbin Fox has a girl with his bun in the oven, and it just so happens that baker isn’t me.

  The door chimes and in strolls Carlotta with her eggplant-colored parka wrapped tightly around her body. She looks every bit like the older, far more frazzled, far less caffeinated version of me. Some days it’s like looking in a mirror.

  “Lottie Lemon, you better appreciate the fact I let you drag me out during the snow-pocalypse.”

  Keelie laughs. “Consider yourself lucky. She’s dragging me out to Club Tropicana tonight at seven.”

  I make a face. “Am not. She volunteered.” I scuttle over to Carlotta while my father beats me there and the three of us take a seat in the corner. I pull the paper out and slide it across the table. I’ve already filled her in on all my gory theories. “Don’t worry. It’s not the original. Do you think you can talk to Connie today and find out if this is a receipt for a hit?”

  “I don’t know. She’s a busy girl, but I’ll try to track her down.”

  “Great,” I say.

  Dad shakes his head. “Be careful, Carlotta. Friend or not, I don’t think the Canellis can be trusted.”

  I reach over and pat him on the hand. “My daddy is always right.” A thought comes to me, and I look to my doppelgänger. “Hey, did you ever get a bid to fix up Nell’s place?” Carlotta has been staying at Nell’s old house for the last couple months. Ever since she’s been back in town, for the past year, she’s been bouncing from place to place, but I think Nell’s old house will be more of a permanent location for her.

  Dad tips his head to the side. “Didn’t Nell leave you that house?”

  Technically, it is my house since Nell gifted it to me in her will, but Carlotta and I have never discussed rent nor do I think we’re headed in that direction—at least if she has anything to say about it. And last month the entire downstairs suffered an unfortunate plumbing accident. Come to think of it, Connie Canelli was staying there at the time. Hey? I hope this isn’t some dark omen of unfortunate accidents to come.

  “She did,” I say, acknowledging the fact Nell gifted me the place—and just about every other place in Honey Hollow along with it. “But seeing that Carlotta is living there for free, she agreed to take care of the restoration.”

  Carlotta glances to Bear balancing on a ladder outside the window. “That old boy toy of yours gave me an estimate. I don’t have that kind of change rolling around in my pocket, Lottie. Face it, I’m doomed to a life of wet carpet and moldy walls. It’s been three weeks already. I figure the carpets will dry by June.”

  “Mold?” Dad doesn’t look amused. “Lottie, you’ll have to step in and help her.”

  “Geez,” I say, looking at Carlotta. “Of course, I’ll help. I’ll call my mother and see if she’s got room at the B&B.” I strum my nails over the table and smile.

  But for some reason, Dad doesn’t look amused. “Try again.”

  I cluck my tongue at him. “Daddy. That was very generous of Mom to let Carlotta stay at the B&B for free a few months back. Surely she won’t mind reprising the offer.”

  He leans in, that heartwarming look of concern on his illuminated face. “Of course, she won’t. She has a kind soul. But she also needs the income. I seem to recall a certain someone has a three-bedroom home.” His lips pull back with a satiated grin.

  “Good Lord!” Carlotta jumps back in her seat. “Lottie Lemon, are you asking what I think you’re asking?” Before I know it, she swarms me with a smothering embrace. “You bet your baking Honey Hollow hiney I’ll accept the offer. I’d like the bigger room in the back. The one with a view of Mr. Sexy’s house. I’m an early riser and rumor has it so is he. And if my spying efforts are correct, he’s yet to put any curtains up in his bedroom.”

  My face falls into my hands.

  “Don’t worry, Lot Lot.” She bumps her shoulder to mine. “It will take me a couple weeks to pack up. Let’s hope Bear doesn’t turn this into a six-month ordeal.”

  “Six months?” I straighten in horror at the thought.
<
br />   Carlotta nods. “Nell’s house has a great breeze through the summer months.” She scoops up her purse. “I’d better make tracks if I’m going to nail down a Canelli and meet you for drinks and dancing at the club tonight.” She barks out a laugh. “Who knew our little princess would turn into a crazed killer hunter, eh, Joseph?”

  Dad reaches over and takes up my hand. “I always knew she was special.”

  We watch as Carlotta heads back out into the snowy afternoon, and I can’t help but scowl at her a moment.

  He gives my fingers a tug. “Are you ready to a hunt a killer?”

  “I’m ready. But I’m not too willing. It feels as if this killer has the power to take you from the planet, too.”

  Dad sighs as those ethereal sprays of light swirl in him as if he were the most prized constellation, and he is.

  “I promise, no one else could ever take me away from you, Lottie. The only one that could do that is you. Solve this case, my love. It is your destiny to grow your powers. And if you don’t—we’ll both be sorry.” His body ignites as bright as the sun before he disintegrates to nothing. “I’ll see you at the club at seven. It’s a date.”

  That’s right. It’s a date.

  Teddy Berman, we’re coming for you.

  Chapter 12

  Club Tropicana is part Cuban dance factory, part burlesque show, and part true test for my sanity. And that last one has very little to do with the club itself and everything to do with the occupants.

  Bear was kind enough to pick me up and give me a ride over with him and Keelie, since Everett said he would be running late from the courthouse. My first surprise of the evening came when we swung by the B&B and picked up my mother—and my father by proxy.