Murder in the Mix Box Set

by Addison Moore

  “I bet you never played one of Nessa’s dangerous games again,” I say breathless at the extent she went to just to please her friend.

  “Oh, I did. And the games just got more dangerous as time went on. I’m betting some people are relieved that Nessa is gone. Or she could have killed us all.” Jenson glances past us and waves at a crowd coming through the door. “It was nice seeing you,” she says, passing me by. “Especially you.” She flicks Everett’s tie once again as she takes off.

  Greer takes the liberty to straighten Everett’s tie for him. “You can’t blame the girl for having excellent taste in men. You too, Lottie.” She flashes a brilliant smile my way. Before Greer bit the big one, she was plotting to land Everett horizontal herself, but that, much like her future, never materialized.

  Noah comes up, putting his phone away.

  “That took a while,” I quip. I couldn’t help myself. I hate that it took a while.

  “Actually, I didn’t want to interrupt your conversation with Jenson. I already interviewed her.”

  “I see.” Everett’s lips pull back, a clear sign he’s about to have some fun with his old stepbrother. “So you already knew about Nessa’s arrest history, and the fact she nearly killed all her friends while coercing them to do potentially illegal and unsafe activities?”

  Noah inches back. His wheels are spinning, I can tell. “You got all that out of Jenson in a five-minute window?”

  Everett tweaks a brow. “What can I say? Lemon and I are a powerhouse when it comes to putting the squeeze on suspects.”

  Noah gives a slow blink. “I’ve seen what you can squeeze in the back of a parking lot.”

  Everett takes up my hand. “Wait till you see how we get it done on the dance floor.” And he has us off and running until we’re shaking it with the best of them—them being Keelie and Meg—right in the middle of the dance floor.

  I’m twirled from behind, and Noah grabs me by the waist, his hips gliding over mine as he gives that lazy smile my way, the one that used to drive me insane, still does. So not fair.

  Everett swoops between us, holding me close. His every movement is my movement by proxy, and if I didn’t know better, there’s a purring sound emanating from deep in his chest. Everett runs his heated hands up and down my back in tracks as his body keeps time with the music. Everett’s smooth moves make the room seem to spin at a heated clip, but I can’t stop looking directly into his eyes.

  His lips crash to mine as he claims my mouth, and, before I know it, I’m spinning toward Keelie and Meg while Noah throws a punch at Everett.

  “Stop!” I roar as I bolt in their direction and land right between them as security charges this way. Meg intercepts, and bodies go flying like bowling pins and we all get kicked out on our rears.

  Keelie offers me a sorrowful hug goodnight. “If it wasn’t for those cones, you might have sustained some real damage.”

  “I guess so. They really did break my fall.”

  She joins Meg and Hook, and I wave the three of them off before turning to Noah and Everett.

  “Don’t either of you ever pull another stunt like that again. The next one I see throwing a punch might as well throw any relationship with me out the window. I swear I will not speak to either of you again. Now take us home, Noah. I need to get to bed.”

  Everett’s lip twitches. “You heard her, Noah. Take us home. We need to get to bed.”

  Noah drives angry all the way back to Honey Hollow.

  Chapter 47

  The next person on my hotlist is Clayton McDaniel. All-star quarterback in high school. Didn’t play in college. Debate team. Fraternity president. Star pupil of the Aimsley School of Business. Your average all-around overachiever.

  Seeing that Clayton works in a fancy law firm mostly composed of men—I did my homework there, too—and the fact that his bestie, Ryan Holland, will most likely be glued to his side per usual, I decide to eschew the firepower that Noah can deliver, and any legal-ease that Everett might provide and opt to take my own bestie on this covert op instead.

  I thought it might be best if we reprised our old cookie routine where we barge into an unassuming establishment of collegiate-trained professionals and turn them into mindless three-year-olds in desperate need of their next sugar fix. I’ve often found that baked goods have the power to do just that. When you get down to it, sweet treats seem to be the glue that holds this world together. I’m convinced that if my fresh baked chocolate chip cookies were served on the frontlines—the history of wars in general would be brief and, pardon the pun, sugarcoated.

  But I digress. I specifically chose to bring Keelie along for the ride to keep the testosterone to a minimum and if what I’m hearing about Clayton McDaniel is true. He really likes the ladies.

  Becker and Becker Law Firm takes up most of the upper floors in a quasi-high-rise in downtown Fallbrook. We make it as far as the receptionist, a gorgeous temptress with long black hair and the face of a supermodel, high cut cheeks, almond-shaped bright green eyes, and skin the color of honey.

  “I said thank you, ladies.” She gives a curt nod, her brows hiked a notch as if this were escalating on some level. “I’ll make sure your generous donation is graciously received. There’s a partner meeting in an hour. I’ll land the boxes on the refreshment table. Believe me, they may look like tigers, but you land a cookie in front of them and you’ll have nothing but a litter of kittens eating out of the palm of your hand.”

  I thought so myself.

  The air of defeat settles around us as I shrug over to Keelie. “One hour, huh?”

  That doesn’t give us a lot of time to shake the goods out of Clayton. And to think it took close to an hour just to drive here. What a waste.

  Keelie smiles as she lifts a finger my way, and suddenly I’m terrified of what might come from her mouth.

  “Thank you”—she leans in as she reads off the nameplate—“Francesca. We appreciate that. And I certainly hope you help yourself to at least one of those goodies. We all know you do the real work around here.”

  Francesca is quick to chortle right along with Keelie.

  “True as God,” she agrees. “And don’t you worry. I’m already eying that peanut butter fudge bar. It’s been a long day, and that is going to get my night started in the right direction.”

  “It will for sure,” I say. “Be careful, though. It could inspire a spike in impulsivity, which usually leads to mad shopping sprees and questionable decisions on my end.”

  Neither Keelie nor our new friend Francesca bothers to laugh at that one.

  “Yes, well.” I give a little wave while pulling Keelie back with me. “Have a great day.” I wait until we’re out in the foyer next to the gilded elevators before I lose it. “What are we going to do? There’s not a chance of us penetrating Fort Francesca. This is a total loss as far as the investigation goes.”

  “Pft.” Keelie accidentally sprays me in the face with spittle as she tries to contest our defeat.

  “Say it, don’t spray it, sister.” I do my best to wipe away the spontaneous baptism but only end up rubbing it in. A long hot bath is in order once I get home. And if I’m lucky, Everett will join me.

  Keelie cranes her neck back toward our newfound nemesis. “Wait here.” She trots off just south of the reception area and suctions her backside against the wall as if she were a cartoon character.

  “Oh dear,” I moan to myself. “This is not going to end well.”

  Keelie does her best to slink along the wall adjacent to Frontline Francesca unnoticed, and I watch in horror as Keelie’s hand reaches for a bright red breaker.

  “Oh God, not the fire alarm!” I whimper, but it’s too late. The shrill sound of a bell screaming out sends executives and attorneys alike spilling into the main hall.

  Shouting ensues, salty language starts to fly, and then the unthinkable happens—the electricity goes out, and a light drizzle hits us just before the sprinklers hiss and sputter to life and let out a deluge
of rain.

  Bodies fly past me en route to the staircase, and I make a mad dash for Keelie who seems to have forgotten the fact she is not invisible.

  “What in the hell are you thinking?”

  She gasps, her hair plastered to her face. “Did you just curse at me, young lady?”

  “Don’t you even start with me.” I yank her into the foyer, and we join the mad hustle down the stairwell and feed out into the parking lot with dozens of soggy legal eagles.

  We hit the Fallbrook fresh air, and I shake myself off like I’ve seen Toby, Noah’s golden retriever, do after he gives him a bath. And just as I’m about to wring my hair out, I stop cold.

  “That’s them! Ha! That’s Clayton and Ryan standing by the oleander bush.”

  Keelie scoffs. “You didn’t think I’d let you down, did you?”

  We trot on over, and I give a meager wave. “Fancy meeting you here.” I make a lame attempt to laugh while someone shouts to see if all parties are accounted for. Great. I’m making lame jokes and they’re scouting for co-workers who might have perished in the faux flames. “Um, we were just delivering cookies.”

  Clayton stops wiping down his cell phone a moment to get a better look at me. He still looks like one hundred percent frat boy to me even if he did bother to stuff himself into a three-piece monkey suit. His hair is sticking up on the side, and he looks as if he’s about to burst a blood vessel or two, he’s that angry.

  “Are you my three o’clock?” He softens a bit in the event I’m one of his many walking talking ATM machines. Everyone knows a good lawyer is an expert at sticking a hose to your bank account and siphoning what little bit of green you have right out.

  “Oh no, actually, I met you at the—at the art center with—”

  Ryan Holland smacks him. “That’s the baker from Honey Hollow. What are you doing delivering cookies all the way out here?” He tips his head to the side, and suddenly it feels as if I’m about to be interrogated by the best of them.

  “My fiancé’s sister works at an insurance firm out here. She’s the one that was on the board at the art center.” Boy am I ever glad Everett has a sister with Fallbrook connections. “I thought if I was going to stop by and see her, I might as well bring some cookies this way, too. You mentioned the law firm to my fiancé the other night. And I just know you’re shocked and saddened by what happened to your friend. I thought this might cheer you up.”

  Ryan studies me for a moment before nodding to Clayton as if he approved. Why do I get the feeling Ryan is the brains of this non-dynamic duo?

  Clayton shakes his head. “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you. I usually wait until the second date to shower with a girl.” He offers a short-lived grin, but Keelie and I cringe.

  Ryan swats him. “The water threw him for a loop. He’s usually better behaved.”

  From what I hear, that’s not necessarily true.

  Ryan rakes his fingers through his dark wiry hair. His tiny nose is reminiscent of his sister, but he’s still a rather striking man—tall, fit, well-educated. I wonder if he’s a cheat like his BFF? I seriously doubt it. His fiancée, Blythe, seems like a sweet girl, very pretty, and she lingered on his every word. What more could a guy want?

  Clayton inspects me a moment as if I were next up on the stand. “Any news on who could have done something like this to Nessa?”

  “Are you kidding?” I manage to manufacture a disgruntled laugh. “Rumor has it, the Ashford Homicide Department can’t tell a victim from a suspect.”

  The two of them chuckle at Noah’s expense, and Keelie joins in.

  “That’s because you’re the best, Lot!” She slaps me over the back and cringes.

  Clayton tips his head back. “That’s right. You’re the sleuth. Hey, you’re not here investigating us, now are you?” A low guttural laugh emits from him, but his dark eyes remain pinned to mine with the accusation.

  “Are you kidding? Not only have I met Francesca, but I happen to know from my own experiences with my fiancé, nobody penetrates the secretarial barrier. I didn’t in a million years expect to actually see you.”

  Ryan gives a wistful shake of the head. “Nobody does security detail like Francesca. I guess it was fate that brought us together.”

  Keelie leans in. “So, who do you think killed Nessa? I heard it was the girl with the disco in Leeds.”

  I freeze a moment. Keelie’s mouth just prattled off words faster than my brain could process them.

  Clayton and Ryan exchange a quick glance, and Ryan gives another nod.

  Clayton’s chest swells like a barrel with his next breath. “Nope. None of the girls we know. I mean, Nessa had some tension with Vivian, but it’s not what you think.” He winces as if I’m twisting his arm to get another word from him. “It’s not a motive for murder. Viv has a cousin named Doreen Stearns. She works down at some dinner theater slash burlesque show in Leeds—the Can-Can Room, I think.” He looks to Ryan and takes a deep breath. “Look, Viv and I are getting married one day, and I don’t like throwing family under the bus. But Doreen—if she did this—she’s got some serious problems, and I want to see her get the help she needs.”

  “Was Doreen at the party that day?” I shake my head, doing my best to scroll through the hoity-toity guests Cormack introduced me to.

  The fire department rolls in, and I squirm at the sight of that oversized red truck having to waste its precious fuel on a false alarm.

  “That’s the thing”—Clayton glances around before leaning in—“she wasn’t invited. Everyone knew that it was a no-go as far as having Nessa and her in the same room. Nessa put her on the proverbial black list. But she liked Landon. Maybe Landon invited her?”

  “So she was there?” A thought occurs to me. I’m betting Max might know Doreen. I give a quick look around the vicinity, but Max is proving to be a no-show again. I could have really used him to stick around and spy on these two after Keelie and I make our escape.

  “She was there.” Clayton nods. “In fact, she stepped in through the back just after Ryan and I did.”

  “So that means she arrived just moments before Nessa died.”

  Ryan groans, “I saw her diving for those lemon bars as if she couldn’t get one in her hand fast enough.” He closes his eyes a moment. “And she was right next to Nessa.”

  Keelie gasps. “I bet she’s the killer!”

  Both Clayton and Ryan raise their hands as if they wanted nothing to do with it.

  “That’s on you to find out.” Clayton tips his head my way. “We’ll catch you ladies later. I think they just cleared us to head on in.”

  They follow the masses back inside just as a couple of sheriff’s deputies and a frantic Francesca head this way.

  I grab Keelie by the arm. “Run for it!”

  We make a mad dash for my Honda, but the deputies catch up to us before we have the chance to dive for the door.

  The big gruff one takes my hands by force and lands them behind my back. “You’re under arrest.”

  “For what?” I squawk, but deep down I know exactly what, and I’m going to kill Keelie for giving me a record.

  “Pulling a fire alarm is a serious offense. Not to mention, evading an officer and trying to make a break for it. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to read you your Miranda rights.”

  An audible gulp escapes me as I look to Keelie who also happens to be getting the same treatment.

  On the bright side, Fallbrook is still under the jurisdiction of the Ashford Sheriff’s Department, so at least I’ll be seeing Noah today. And if I get thrown into the pokey—I’ll probably get to see Everett as well.

  It looks as if that bath for two is out for the night.

  But thanks to Keelie, I still managed to land in hot water.

  Chapter 48

  The Ashford Sheriff’s Department is a short boxy building that fans out like a labyrinth.

  No sooner are Keelie and I deposited inside than I start shouting for Noah.

  The
walls, the floor, a majority of the furniture and fixtures are all beige in here. I recall hearing something about a renovation taking place, new paint, floor, etc., and here we are, the new and questionably improved version, which looks as if it’s screaming for yet another renovation. The scent of burnt coffee resonates in the air, and it’s chilly in here as if they have the air conditioner going full blast.

  The arresting officer, Officer Green, glances back at me, disgruntled.

  I’ve already made it clear that once my boyfriend finds out—I may have taken a bit of liberty there—that he, Officer Mean, would be up sheriff’s creek without a paddle.

  Keelie, however, trumped me once she informed him who her father was, the captain of the sheriff’s department himself, Captain Jack Turner. And, oddly enough, neither Officer Green nor his partner batted a lash—which makes me wonder if they’ve heard those same threats before. Nothing would surprise me anymore.

  We walk by Noah’s office during our long walk of shame, and I howl for him but to no avail. We walk by Detective Ivy Fairbanks office next door, and I spot her tight red bun as she works steadily on something, nose to the grindstone.