Murder in the Mix Box Set

by Addison Moore

  A very special thank you to my fabulous betas, Shay Rivera, Lisa Markson, Ashley Marie Daniels, and Anastasia Lantilou Steele. You girls are EVERYTHING! I can’t thank you enough. I appreciate each one of you so much! Your input is invaluable.

  A super big thanks to my lovely girls, Kaila Eileen Turingan-Ramos, Jodie Tarleton, and Kathryn Jacoby for scrubbing this baby into submission. I’m so very grateful for each and every one of you!

  And I bow to the great Paige Maroney Smith without whom not one word on one page could live to see the light of day. I’m pretty sure if they pulled back the curtain in Oz they would find you. You are a true wizard with words.

  And last, but never least, thank you to Him who sits on the throne. Worthy is the Lamb! Glory and honor and power are yours. I owe you everything.

  Lethal Lemon Bars

  Murder in the Mix Mystery #9

  Addison Moore

  Copyright © 2019 by Addison Moore

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This eBook is for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase any additional copies for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Copyright © 2019 by Addison Moore

  Created with Vellum

  Lethal Lemon Bars

  Murder in the Mix Mystery #9

  Addison Moore

  Book Description

  My name is Lottie Lemon, and I see dead pets. On occasion I see a once upon a human, too, but mostly it’s just cute little furry beasts who have come back from the other side to warn me of their previous owner’s impending doom.

  A divorce party. Of all the asinine things I’ve been asked to cater, this is at the top of the list. And the guests are some of the wealthiest people I’ve ever met. Everything seems to be going well, but right after the ex-bride and groom make a bonfire out of their legal documents, disaster strikes, and one of my lemon bars just so happens to be in the thick of it. A socialite is murdered right before our eyes, and the blame is quickly pinned on my bakery. I’m going to get to the bottom of this before it ruins me. And while I’m at it, I’m hoping to repair things between Noah and Everett. Lord knows I’ve already ruined things in that department—perhaps forever.

  Lottie Lemon has a brand new bakery to tend to, a budding romance with perhaps one too many suitors, and she has the supernatural ability to see dead pets—which are always harbingers for ominous things to come. Throw in the occasional ghost of the human variety, a string of murders, and her insatiable thirst for justice, and you’ll have more chaos than you know what to do with.

  Living in the small town of Honey Hollow can be murder.

  Chapter 37

  I see dead people. Mostly I see dead pets, and on the rare occasion I do see a dearly departed of the human variety, but right now, I’m seeing a newly engaged couple that I’m hoping will call it quits before legal teams need to get involved.

  “A divorce party!” Mom snaps her fingers above her head and does an odd little tap dance right here in the kitchen of her bed and breakfast. That’s the exact asinine—or brilliant, take your pick—event that the Honey Hollow B&B is hosting this afternoon. “Can you believe how far society has come? Back in my mother’s day, this sort of thing would be considered gauche.” She bops her hip into that of her newly-minted fiancé, Rich Dallas, a retiree who has far too much time on his hands because he lives off his investments. That might explain the day-glow orange tan and pent-up aggression he can’t seem to get rid of.

  “My ex threw a party after we bit the big one,” he barks it out quickly as if it were all one word. “And I wasn’t invited.”

  “You don’t say?” I shoot my mother a look for even entertaining his madness. She should really take a cue from his ex and not invite him to anything, least of all their wedding.

  Aside from pressuring my mother to do routine twenty-minute check-ins regarding her whereabouts, he’s extremely jealous and intensely possessive of her. He’s a walking, talking nightmare who somehow managed to have my mother agree to leash herself to him in the matrimonial sense a few weeks back. Thank God there’s no wedding date set as of yet. The longer we put off this hostile takeover of my mother’s good senses, the better.

  Hey? I wonder if this is grounds to have her committed? I’m betting a good incarceration in a locked psychiatric facility is the only way to stave off her impending doom of becoming Mrs. Miranda Jean Dallas. Trust me, the surname is no upgrade. Miranda Jean Lemon rolls far more smoothly off the tongue.

  Mom scoffs at the thought of his wise, but well in the rearview mirror, ex. “Now why in the world would anyone want to get rid of you?”

  “Because she’s sane?” I say it lower than a whisper, mostly to myself—mostly because someone had to say it.

  Rich leans in, his jowls heavily lined with anger, his eyes red with rage. “Because she never did understand a good thing when she had it.” He pulls my mother in by the waist abruptly, and her blonde locks bounce with life—more like for their life. I’m betting even her follicles are anxious to be rid of him. “But I’m not letting you get away from me, little lady. I’ll lock you up if I have to.”

  Mom chortles out a laugh as if his threat to hold her captive were the cutest thing ever as he whisks her out of the room, presumably to chain her to his bedpost.

  “Lottie”—she calls to me with a husky laugh—“have you ever seen love like this before?” She fades from sight, and I stop arranging sweet treats on a platter long enough to look back in the direction she was kidnapped.

  “It’s called obsession,” I shout after them. “And it never ends well,” I say as I look out at the elongated island filled with platters upon platters of lemon bars.

  The divorce party in question was the brainchild of the Featherby sisters—

  Cormack to be exact. She’s throwing the twisted soiree for her younger, newly-single sister in the spirit of freedom and the prospect of another far wealthier suitor, I suppose. I honestly have no clue why a celebration of this magnitude would be necessary, but I guess when you have both ungodly amounts of money and time to burn, any reason is a good reason to party.

  My best friend, Keelie, and my sisters, Lainey and Meg, have all stepped in to help out with the drama and trauma I’ve been asked to cater this afternoon.

  The Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery has catered more than its fair share of events these last few months, but this event, the aforementioned divorce party, is the first of its kind.

  Keelie buzzes in with her wild blonde curls bouncing like rubber balls around her shoulders as she picks up another armful of platters. Keelie and I have been stitched to one another’s side ever since we were in preschool. Just this last January, we discovered we were related, first cousins at that.

  “Lottie, why did the ex-bride-to-be insist on these instead of a cake?” she asks, nodding down at the delectable cheery yellow desserts before her.

  “Something to do with making lemon bars out of the lemons that life handed her. It’s a clever spin on an old analogy. And I for one am grateful. I just can’t get enough of the luscious lemon custard. I’ve been eating it by the bowlful all week.”

  Keelie pops a tiny yellow slice of heaven into her mouth and moans. “She’s lucky you make the best lemon bars this side of the Mason-Dixon Line. I’ve already eaten half a platter all by my lonesome.” She takes off as Lainey and Meg swoop in and pick up an armful of trays themselves.

  Lainey and I share the s
ame caramel-colored waves and hazel eyes, even though Miranda and Joseph Lemon adopted me when I was a newborn.

  Meg has dyed her blonde locks jet-black, and when juxtaposed against her icy blue eyes, it gives her a magical appeal. Meg used to work the women’s wrestling circuit in Las Vegas but has been back in Honey Hollow for the last few months working at a strip bar in Leeds. She doesn’t actually do the stripping. She teaches the dancers all of their cool moves.

  Meg snarls as she chomps down on a lemon bar herself. “How long do you think I’d go away for manslaughter if I killed Mom’s new beau?”

  Lainey and I give each other the side-eye because we’ve secretly been wondering how to get rid of Rich Dallas ourselves.

  Lainey pulls Meg back out of the kitchen with her. “He’s not worth the time. The universe won’t let this go on that much longer. Trust me, love has a way of righting itself, and that man is not our mother’s true love.”

  “That’s because her true love died,” I point out, but it’s too late. They’re already gone. It’s true. My father, Joseph Lemon, the same saint who found me wailing away on the floor of the Honey Hollow Fire Department twenty-seven years ago, was the love of my mother’s life. I truly believe you get just one—or at least I believed it up until a few months ago when fate threw not one but two handsome, smart men my way.

  Of course, I chose the one who turned out to be married and conveniently forgot to tell me. Noah isn’t really a bad guy, but his lack of attention to his matrimonial standing dampened the flame between us, at least on my part.

  I take a quick look around the kitchen of my mother’s B&B, and before I can put together another platter of lemon bars, a tall, vexingly handsome man darkens the back doorway.

  “That’s a big island. I can think of a few things we can do on that stretch of marble real estate.”

  “Everett!” I click my tongue as my mouth falls open. “Get over here and give me a kiss before my head explodes from how handsome you are.”

  Essex Everett Baxter, aka Judge Baxter, is just a few years older than me. We actually met because he was presiding over a case I was involved in and he wisely sided with me. He’s one of those stunningly sexy men who requires the attention of anyone with a set of functioning ovaries. And no matter where we go, women of all ages crane their necks to give him just that. Essex is his formal moniker, but, for reasons unknown to me, only those who have danced horizontally with him garner the privilege to use it.

  And even though he and I crossed that coital threshold just a couple of weeks ago, I still haven’t used his proper name. I can’t help it. I’ve grown used to calling him Everett. And while we’re on the subject of dancing horizontally with this drop-dead gorgeous specimen, we’ve yet to reprise the effort.

  You see, my ex, Noah, stumbled upon us, and it was uncomfortable to say the least. And well, two weeks have slipped by, and suddenly it feels as if we’re right back to being chaste again. Not that I want to remain chaste with Everett. But everything is still so new. We haven’t really felt out the borders of our relationship. I’m not even sure we have a relationship in the traditional sense.

  With Noah, everything was penciled in, every detail discussed to the hilt—save for the thorny little detail of his wife (whom I assumed was his ex). And with Everett, we’re sort of winging it, throwing all caution to the wind, and zeroing in on how spontaneous we can be as if it were our superpower. I actually do have a superpower, which involves seeing the dead, but I digress.

  Everett swoops over and wraps those muscular arms of his around me tightly, the thick scent of his expensive cologne already seducing me to no end. That dark glossy hair, those brilliant blue eyes that look as if they’re backlit from the inside. Everett rarely smiles or laughs, unless, of course, there’s a dirty intent behind it, and his body is made of granite to go along with the stacks of legal knowledge he’s stored in that magnificent brain of his. Not to mention, the things this man knows how to do to a woman behind locked doors is perfectly illegal, but I’ll be the last person to turn him in.

  “You’re mine,” I say, looking right into those stormy eyes. “All mine.”

  His lids lower a notch, and the tips of his lips threaten to curl. “And you’re mine, Lemon.” If Everett has ever called me by my first name in all the months I’ve known him, I honestly can’t recall. It’s a part of his “dark knight bordering on bad boy” charm, and I’ve eaten up every delicious detention-worthy morsel of it.

  “Now, where’s that kiss I asked you to give me?” I bite down on my lower lip to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl. I happen to know firsthand that Everett loves it when I bark orders at him. But when the bodies hit the fan, it’s him barking orders at me, and I’m more than quick to comply.

  His lids drop another notch, and his eyes glaze over the way they’re known to do.

  “Front and center, Lemon. I’m going to give it to you right here, wet and wild.” Everett lands his lips over mine, soft at first, then demanding right before he claims my mouth.

  When Everett Baxter kisses you, rest assured, every cell in your body will be apprised of what’s happening and brilliantly stunned into submission. This isn’t some drive-by peck on the lips he’s doling out. It’s a work of art by a master.

  Everett kisses me as if I was the only woman on the planet—as if every other kiss he’s ever doled out was simply practice for this one, the most important of them all. My stomach bisects with heat as those butterflies that go off whenever he’s around flutter at top speed. I’m suddenly dizzy and weak and want nothing more than to rake all of the lemon bars off this island and take Everett up on his indelicate offer.

  “All right. I’ve seen enough.” An all too familiar voice booms in through the back, and Everett and I turn to find Detective Noah Fox walking in with a bouquet of blush pink roses, the look of disdain rife on his handsome face.

  Noah, my aforementioned ex, is also handsome to a fault, dark hair that turns red in the sun, dimples for days, evergreen eyes, and enough wit and charm to take down even the most hardened of hearts—he did mine.

  “Hey, beautiful.” He offers up a warm smile as he says it, his gaze pressing into mine as if we were the only two people in the room—as if I weren’t in another man’s arms entirely. “These are for you.” He hands the bouquet my way, and I take a breath and hold it, unsure of what to do with the situation.

  Everett grunts, his arms still very much secured over my body. “Thanks, sweetie.” He manufactures a short-lived grin for Noah. “There’s a toilet in the back. Why don’t you put them in there? I’ll get around to flushing eventually.”

  “Everett.” I laugh while swatting him on the chest. “The flowers are innocent. Here, give them to me.” I take them from Noah and plop them into a pitcher in the sink. “Thank you, Noah. That was very sweet of you. They’re beautiful.”

  Noah gives a sly wink before looking to Everett. “That’s always been your fatal flaw. You’ve never appreciated the fact that women love to be wooed. It’s all wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.” Noah looks my way. “Did you know he’s a pro at running all the bases on opening night?”

  Everett and Noah used to be stepbrothers way back in high school. Noah’s father took financial advantage of Everett’s wealthy mother, and that good time didn’t last long. But while they were forced to live under one roof, Noah thought it was a good idea to steal Everett’s girlfriend from beneath him—Cormack Featherby, and these two boys haven’t been the same ever since. Yes, the same Cormack Featherby who is the very reason we’re all standing in the kitchen of my mother’s B&B.

  But as for Everett and Noah, today their relationship hinges on something just this side of hatred. And now that Everett has, in Noah’s opinion, exacted his revenge after all these years by stealing me away—lies I tell you, a fantasy built on half-truths—well, that old rivalry has reignited itself full steam.

  A dull laugh bounces through Everett’s chest. “If you’re such an expert with women, why are yo
u buying flowers for my girlfriend?”

  My mouth rounds out with surprise. “Let the record show this is the first instance in which the good judge has referenced me as such.” I float back and quickly land a peck to his cheek as a reward even though I’m pretty sure the pet name was invoked strictly to anger Noah. It’s working, too.

  Everett moans after the innocent peck I gifted him as if I had done a heck of a lot more to pleasure him. “Thanks, sweetness.” His lips pull into a brief line as if to expound his point.

  Noah glowers over at Everett as if he were about to shove his face into a mound of lemon bars and end him by way of my sweetness.

  I’m about to say something, anything to calm the impending storm since I happen to know that both Noah and Everett were invited guests to today’s unorthodox festivities, when the ghost of Greer Giles, looking exceptionally stunning this afternoon, might I add, with her long dark hair, smooth and glossy, her signature white ruched dress looking exceptionally dazzling, comes waltzing right through the pantry, and along with her is a rather handsome man with a winning smile and all-around affable aura about him. He’s tall, muscular, with brilliant white teeth that he doesn’t mind showing off, curly brown hair that looks soft to the touch like lamb’s wool, and heavily squinted half-moons for eyes, mostly because he hasn’t stopped smiling as they carry on their conversation.

  “Oh my goodness!” My heart begins to quicken at the sight before me. If he can see Greer, hear Greer, and carry on a conversation with her, he must be like me.