Murder in the Mix Box Set

by Addison Moore

  “He chose three. A black, a red, and a white stunner that you would be foolish not to go with.” She pulls out a rolling rack with the dresses on it. The red is a floor-length beauty with a sweetheart neckline, long sleeves, fitted. The black dress is a short, beaded number. But the white—a color I have not made it a practice to wear in fear of ruining its pristine nature within seconds of putting it on—well, it is truly to die for.

  I gasp at the floor-length, sleeveless white sequin number. Scarlet helps me pour myself into it, and I can’t help but admire it in the mirror.

  “You have to take it.” Scarlet shakes her head as if its beauty stymied her. “In a sea of little black dresses, you’ll be a shining star.”

  “How much does this cost?”

  “Let’s just say Essex’s covered it. And who cares how much it costs? This dress was clearly made for you.”

  She wraps it up, and I head home to pair it with a pair of white satin heels. Both of my sweet cats, Pancake and Waffles, belt out a rawr of approval in unison. And just after I fix my hair, touch up my makeup, and put on my last earring, Everett is at the door.

  I let him in, and his eyes do that broken elevator thing and his lips purse with pleasure.

  “Lemon.” His cobalt eyes hook to mine. His chin is still tipped down a notch, and it’s a vexingly sexy look on him. “You are a work of art.”

  A bubbling laugh bounces through me as I wrap my arms around his rock-hard body and gift him a kiss to the lips. “And I think you look magnificent.” Everett has donned a crisp black tuxedo, his face is clean-shaven, and his spiced cologne makes me weak in the knees. Heck, everything about this handsome man makes me weak in the knees.

  We head out, and I can’t help but give a guilty glance toward Noah’s place. Last fall I rented a home right across the street from him, and it just so happened that Everett rented the home next door to mine. Everett and I were just friends back then, and Noah and I were far more than that. And, now that we’ve had a bit of a role reversal, I’m sad that Noah gets front row seats to my new love life without him. But he’s not home at the moment, so I don’t feel too bad.

  “Where are we going?” I ask as I slide into Everett’s fancy ride.

  Everett gets in and starts up the engine. “To Fallbrook. There’s a gala at the art center, and my sister just so happens to be a board member there.”

  “That’s great! It sounds like it will be a blast. I love art. And I love your sister.” I met both his sister, Meghan, and his mother, Eliza, last January. And thanks to a little white lie Everett may have told them, they happen to think we’re engaged. “She’ll probably want a wedding date from us,” I tease.

  Everett runs his gaze over my dress one more time. “She just might get one.”

  A thrill runs through me at the thought.

  Of course, it’s all in fun.

  Everett isn’t really the proposing type.

  Is he?

  Chapter 43

  The Fallbrook Art Center is set high on a hilltop. It’s a squatty square building constructed primarily from glass and steel. The entire street, in both directions, is lined with luxury cars, so Everett opts for the valet.

  We head inside and are immediately each handed a glass of champagne.

  “You know”—I lean into my handsome date—“this reminds me a lot of your sister’s birthday party. The one where I showed up in jeans and a sweater? Thank you for the dress, by the way. Whatever it cost, I fully intend to pay you back.”

  Everett inches away, his lips crooked with disdain. “You’ll do no such thing. It was a gift. You deserve it. And just for the record, I think you look just as stunning in jeans and a sweater as you do that dress. If my memory serves correct, you brought along a box of cookies to my sister’s party. You were a hit.”

  A gorgeous woman walks by as she makes her way to a crowd of men looking at the first installment—an enormous canvas covered with peach acrylic and gold foil. It’s pretty, but I’m betting it’s pricey, too. I’m about to comment on the fact I’m certain I can recreate it as a DIY weekend project after a quick trip to the Busy Bee Craft Shop when I realize that the woman looks shockingly familiar.

  “Everett,” I hiss. “That’s Lindie Holland!” I recognize her dark wiry hair, her pale river stone skin. “She’s the one that Cormack said knew how to keep Nessa on a leash.”

  “I realize that. You didn’t think I really dragged you out here to see my sister, did you?” He gives a sly wink, and I playfully swat him.

  “You really know how to rev my engine.”

  “It revs with justice, Lemon. The same key that turns mine.” He eyes the dress once again. “And that dress really does do you justice.”

  A woman nearby squeals, and we look over to find his younger sister, Meghan.

  “Well, look who the cat dragged in.” She’s all smiles as she comes our way with open arms. Meghan is wearing a little black dress with silver threads speckled throughout. And with her dark hair and Everett’s blue eyes, she’s basically her brother in female skin. “My, Lottie, aren’t you a vision!” She gasps as she takes a step back and admires my dress. “Essex, you really have a gem here. Do not screw this up. Lottie is destined to be a Baxter.” She embraces me tightly, and for a moment I’m smothered in her hair. Both Everett’s mother and sister call him Essex, but only because it’s his rightful first name. She steps back and swats her brother on the stomach. “So when’s the big day? I want nieces and nephews, lots of them asap, and first and foremost, we need to get you two kids hitched.”

  I look to Everett and bat my lashes at him. “Go ahead and tell her.”

  Everett offers that perennially bored look to his sister. “No date yet. But we’re closer than ever.” He pulls me in by the waist, and about five different women glance down at his arm disapprovingly. My dress might be stunning, but Judge Everett and his hotter-than-a-kitchen-fire good looks still command the attention of every estrogen-bearing female in the vicinity.

  “Very, very close,” I say.

  Meghan tosses her hands in the air. “It might kill my mother, but I wouldn’t care if you eloped. I’m baby hungry myself.” She presses out an eerie grin my way before grimacing at Everett. “Does she know?”

  “Do I know what?” I blink up at Everett who suddenly looks caught off guard.

  “No, she doesn’t know.” He takes a slow breath. “So, Lindie Holland…” He lands a sweet kiss to the top of my head. “I called my sister and asked what she knew about her, and here we are. It just so happened that the art center was hosting a charity event tonight, and some of Lindie’s work is being showcased.”

  Meghan makes a face like she might be sick. “Vanessa St. James has a few pieces on display as well.”

  “Really?” My curiosity is momentarily pulled away from whatever secret Everett might have. “I didn’t realize she was an artist.”

  Meghan averts her gaze. “That’s debatable. It just so happens that her work strongly resembles Lindie Holland’s.” She wrinkles her nose and leans in. “Let’s just say rumors have been flying. Everyone knows that Lindie is the real deal. I’ll let the two of you deduce the rest.” She lifts her champagne flute. “I’m off to mingle. Do not leave before saying goodnight!”

  “Will do.” Everett threads his arm through mine and leads us in the direction we last saw Lindie. “If I’m right, Lindie’s brother will be here. And according to Cormack, wherever Ryan Holland is, there you’ll find Clayton McDaniel.”

  “Landon’s official ex.” I nod. “It makes sense they work at the same law firm, and I bet they were buddies before that. And Ryan is engaged to that blonde—Blythe something.”

  “Blythe Bentley.”

  “Ooh”— I wiggle my shoulders up at my handsome date—“someone’s been doing their homework.”

  “Yeah, well.”—he smacks his lips—“I guess you can say I feel personally invested in this one.”

  “It’s because of Cormack, isn’t it?” A twinge of
jealousy ignites in the pit of my belly, and I hate it.

  “Maybe. But I was in the room the entire time. You had already seen the ghost. I knew that a homicide was imminent. Lemon, I was trying my hardest to survey the scene. I’m a judge. I see shady characters all the time. I see people who you would never suspect of wrongdoing get nailed to the wall for heinous crimes. I pride myself on spotting them on every part of the spectrum. Of course, the jury decides who’s guilty and isn’t once they hear the facts—but I thought I was pretty good at weeding them out myself.”

  “So who do you think did it?”

  “That’s the frustrating part. Not one thing appears to be amiss. How could the killer have been that good?”

  “Are you saying you’re afraid that someone might just get away with murder for once?”

  “It happens more often than you or I would like to think. But with you at the helm, I don’t think that’s going to be the case here.” His brows bounce just as we come upon Lindie Holland standing alone in front of a small canvas. A couple is depicted hand in hand, they’re walking away, but the man has his head turned toward a redhead.

  “Beautiful,” I say, striding up next to her.

  Lindie startles for a moment as if we’ve pulled her from a trance.

  “I recognize you,” she bleats it out, monotone, with the same lack of expression she had the afternoon of the party. Her entire body goes rigid as she inspects me.

  Hey? Maybe she’s a psychopath? They say psychos have a very difficult time displaying emotion. Or maybe not. I seriously doubt this is the moment to play armchair psychiatrist, considering the fact she’s grieving her friend.

  Everett extends a hand her way. “Everett Baxter, my sister Meghan is on the board.”

  Her entire body relaxes as she shakes his hand. “Of course, it makes total sense that you’re here.” She grunts a dry laugh my way. “Cormack mentioned something about the fact you were a nosy wannabe sleuth.”

  I suck in a quick breath, completely affronted by Cormack’s rude analysis of me.

  Everett takes a slow breath. “Lemon here has helped solve more than a half dozen homicides in the past several months. And she just so happens to be here as my date.”

  Lindie shrugs as if she were indifferent. “I want Nessa’s killer caught just as bad as the next person. We may not have seen eye to eye, but I didn’t want her dead.”

  I glance back at the piece we’re standing next to, and the plate card next to it reads The Wandering Eye by Vanessa St. James. It’s easy to guess who the redhead in the portrait would be.

  “Hey”—I look to Everett—“this is Nessa’s work.” Meghan’s words come back to me, and I have an idea. “You know”—I tilt my head as if scrutinizing it—“if I didn’t know better, this looks a lot like your work, Lindie.”

  A throaty laugh bumps from her. “You guessed it. Nessa always wanted what belonged to somebody else—their career, their boyfriend. In my case, it was my art. Right now, I’m working in the art department at her dad’s advertising firm—and ironically, that’s the one thing Nessa didn’t want. But my side gig? I illustrate children’s books. Nessa always thought it was cool.” Her lids lower as she takes a quick glance around. “I guess I can say this because she’s no longer with us, but, Nessa begged me to help her get a portfolio together. At first, she genuinely tried, but she couldn’t draw a stick figure, so I helped her out a bit—before I knew it, that was my work in her portfolio. With the help of her father, she landed a huge author and a three-book deal to do the illustrations for his books. But when push came to shoving a colored pencil across the page, Nessa freaked out. In the beginning I was willing to help out, but, yet again, it was me doing all the work. Do you know how long it took me? A year. A solid year where I couldn’t work on my own stuff because I had to slave over these illustrations that she was responsible for.”

  Everett inches back, dismayed. “Did she pay you?”

  An incredulous laugh belts from her. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t be complaining if she did.” She takes in a deep breath and glowers at the painting before us as if it were Nessa herself. “Let’s just say Nessa had ways of making people do things for her.”

  Something doesn’t make sense. I thought Cormack said no one could keep Nessa on a leash like Lindie? Maybe that was it? Maybe she was able to blackmail her because Lindie knew Nessa didn’t illustrate the books?

  “I’m sorry to hear it.” I nod to the canvas illuminated softly by a single white light. “You are very good at what you do.”

  “Thank you.” She shrugs it off as if it were no big deal. “Nessa did try. I mean, this concept was hers. She let me run free range on the children’s books—she didn’t care about those—but these, she always wanted to tell a story with her—my—canvas work. Nessa had a sketchbook where she would try to give me an idea of what she wanted. I made her write notes on the side because she was that bad.”

  “I’d love to see those,” I say it without thinking. I’m still not sure if it’s a good thing that Lindie knows I’m investigating the case.

  “Sure. You did the lemon bars, right?”

  My cheeks burn with heat. “The sheriff cleared the bakery of any wrongdoing. There was no cross-contamination.”

  “I didn’t think so.” There’s a dead look in her eyes as she says it, and a mean shiver runs through me. Lindie really does remind me of those Goth girls back in high school. “I meant I can drop them off at your bakery.”

  “Oh yes!” I perk back to life. “Honey Hollow, Main Street. The Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery. We close in the early evening, but I’m pretty much there all day.”

  “Great. I’ll do that.”

  A small crowd descends on us, and I’m pleased as punch to see a pair of familiar couples. Clayton looks dapper in a suit and tie, the Carol Lombard look-alike attached to his hand. And Ryan Holland has a cool surfer vibe with sandy blond hair and a slight red twinge on his cheeks. His date is a waif with minimal makeup, an understated black dress with a high collar, and not a stitch of jewelry. Her auburn hair is wrapped up into a sleek bun.

  Lindie flicks a finger their way. “This is my brother, Ryan, and his fiancée, Blythe. And that’s Clayton and Vivian.” She looks to them. “Everett’s sister is on the board here, and his date was the one that brought the lemon bars to Landon’s shindig.”

  The four of them take a collective gasp.

  “Relax,” Lindie grunts. “She was cleared. But if I were you, I’d be careful around her.” She bleeds a slow smile my way. “She just so happens to be a crime-fighting mercenary who’s trying to solve Nessa’s case.”

  Geez. I take up Everett’s hand and squeeze it, doing my best to laugh it off. For all I know, one of these socialites might be the killer. Way to blow my cover, Lindie.

  “I’m just here as his date.” I wrap an arm around Everett and land my cheek to his shoulder.

  Ryan belts out a laugh. He looks just like Lindie but with far more testosterone poured into him.

  “For a second I thought you were casing my sister. You’d have to get through me first. I’m a very protective older brother.” He shakes both my hand and Everett’s. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you, too.” Everett bows his head. “So how are the two of you enjoying law? I’m a judge down at the Ashford Courthouse.”

  Both Clayton and Ryan loosen up, and the three of them share a laugh and a few quick quips at the expense of the legal system.

  “So, politics anyone?” Everett poses the question almost in jest.

  Clayton nods. “Are you kidding? The both of us are in it to win it. We’re gunning for the city council until we’re able to elbow our way into the house.”

  Everett shakes his head wistfully. “I know I don’t have to tell you this, but I will anyhow—you need to keep your nose squeaky clean. Any and everything your opponent can dig up on you, they will. Don’t give them a chance.” He takes a step back as if we were about to leave then backtracks. “An
d for certain, if you know anything at all about who killed that poor girl”—he nods to the canvas—“get that info to the homicide detective.”

  I can’t help but frown as I imagine Ivy reaping the fruit of Everett’s labor.

  “Aye aye, sir.” Clayton gives a mock salute.

  Ryan nods soberly. “You bet. I hope they catch whoever did it. We all liked Nessa. She was my sister’s good friend. She meant a lot to me, too. I feel just as outraged as if it were family.”

  Blythe leans my way. She’s pretty, petite, a natural redhead as opposed to Nessa’s almost mermaid-red dyed locks.

  “I’d love to help in any way I can. Nessa wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, but it was painful for me to watch her suffer like that. Whoever killed her wanted her to die in front of all of her friends. That person is an animal, and I’ll do anything to get them behind bars.”

  Vivian rolls her eyes, and I catch it. What was that about? It’s almost as if she doesn’t believe Blythe. Huh.

  I bite down hard over my lip. “I’m sure you all feel that way.” I peg Vivian with a look, and her sky-blue eyes expand. “Like Everett suggested, I encourage you all to speak with the homicide detective. Even the smallest suspicion can land the suspect in jail.”

  “Prison.” Vivian offers an odd plastered smile. “Whoever did this is going away for life.” She blinks over at Clayton. “Isn’t that what you told me?”

  Clayton’s cheeks pinch with color. “Yes, sweetie, that is.”

  Everett and I say a polite goodbye and make our way into the grand hall where there is music and dancing. A live jazz band is playing something smooth. He pulls my hips close to his, and soon we’re rocking slowly to the rhythm.

  “There are so many beautiful glittering people here,” I whisper. “I think the last time I was around this much wealth, I was at your mother’s.”

  His head tips back, but those blue eyes remain trained on me. “I don’t want to talk or think about my mother. All I want to do is lose my mind over how you look in that dress.” He blows a breath from his lips as his eyes ride down my gown once again. “The things you do to me.”