Murder in the Mix Box Set

by Addison Moore

  “Lottie.” Max stands up, and Greer engages in an unceremonious dismount that leaves her struggling to right herself.

  “Maximillian Finmore,” I grit his name through my teeth like a threat. “You are to be front and center this evening. I need you—I need both of you. If this case goes on any longer, it’s going to grow cold. I need to know who framed me for killing Nessa St. James, and I need to know tonight.” I yank Greer out of the pantry and away from Max. “And why are you toying with Max? What happened to poor Winslow?”

  “We’re still together. Relax, Mother.” She scoffs like a teen. “As soon as Max goes back, I’ll fix things with Winslow. He’s totally fine with me having a good time.”

  “Why do I get the feeling none of this is Winslow’s idea of a good time? The repair bill alone at the B&B is proving your theory wrong.”

  She shudders, and an aura of light illuminates around her. “So he’s a little angry. There’s nothing better than make-up sex, Lottie—you’ll see when you get back with Noah. Making up with Winslow is going to be hot. I just know it. It’s going to set the entire B&B on fire.”

  “Let’s try to keep that figurative. And I won’t know how hot the make-up sex will be because I’m not getting back with Noah.”

  “Lottie?” a male voice calls from behind, and I turn to find another black suit, another black partial mask hiding the eyes of the handsome man before me, but that ache in his voice—there’s no hiding who he is from my heart.

  “Noah.” Of course. Who else would it be? I turn back to the hypersexual spooks. “Get out there and spy,” I whisper before speeding over to the handsome detective before me. “I can’t believe Britney dumped you because you wouldn’t flip tractor tires all day.” How’s that for evading my very charged and very cruel words that I’m praying he didn’t hear?

  His dimples invert, no smile. “Why do I get the feeling you’re expertly dodging the fact you were having a conversation with someone on the phone regarding make-up sex. I heard my name. And I heard that last part, which I won’t repeat.”

  “Sorry.” I wince as I pull down my emerald green sequined mask with a peacock feather staked into the side. “I was just, uh—”

  Noah looks down at my hands as I flatten the front of my dress. “You weren’t on the phone, Lottie, were you?” His tone is morbidly low and filled with concern.

  “No, I wasn’t,” I say as I reach back and hand him a giant platter of cookies enwreathing a heap of golden lemon bars. “Now let’s get these out to the party.”

  We head out into the bustling crowd as a quartet of violins play melodiously in the background. The lighting is dim save for the spotlights set on the plethora of work on display this evening. I know for a fact both Lindie’s art and Nessa’s is showing this evening because I strolled through the installments as I was setting up the dessert stations tucked around the labyrinth of this building.

  The grand room is where the real party is taking place, and it’s where I hope to glean something new on the killer.

  “Cormack said you were working late at the lab,” I say as I spot Greer and Max hanging around with Rich Dallas—Greer is tugging at his tie, and Max is spilling Rich’s drink onto his dress shirt while Carlotta Sawyer is carrying on a full-blown conversation with the both of them right in front of him.

  In the distance, I spot my mother—mask or no mask, I’d recognize that woman in the dark—with her arms around a tall stately fellow with a slightly barrel chest as they dance to the music. Mayor Nash, I’m assuming.

  Rich Dallas is going to bust a gasket if he catches wind of it, and I shudder at the thought.

  “I was at the lab,” Noah confirms as I point for him to land the tray of goodies onto a barren table we come across. “The coroner’s report is complete, and I wanted to read it as soon as possible.”

  I suck in a quick breath, pull him in close, and the lithe movement looks as if it could have been a complex ballroom dance move.

  “Tell me everything.”

  Everett pops up by my side, and I pull him in as well.

  “Noah was about to give me the dirt on the deceased. Anything new that might shine a light on the investigation?”

  His dimples sink in. “Only that she was expecting.”

  “Expecting what?” Everett glances past Noah at a small crowd as if he were only paying half attention to his former stepbrother.

  “Expecting a visit from you,” Noah grunts. “A child. Nessa was pregnant.”

  I suck in a sharp breath so loud and long, half the room turns my way.

  Everett looks to me and lifts a brow. “This adds another dimension to the investigation.”

  “You’re right. An entire new slew of motives could be at hand.” I lean in toward Noah. “I guess it’s up to us to figure out who the father was.”

  Everett scans the crowd a moment. “Whoever he was, I’m betting he has a tattoo on his left forearm.”

  “I bet that’s true,” I say. “Now if we can only get every man here to roll up their sleeves.”

  A hot pink hurricane scuttles in this direction. “Noah Corbin Fox!” Cormack squawks. “How can you possibly leave me alone in a room full of potential killers?” She’s quick to wrap her arms around him. “Now get out there and dance with me.” She shimmies her chest over his, and Noah does his best to tuck and roll.

  I can’t help but avert my eyes at the sight. “Word on the street has it that you received the most deadliest threat of them all.” Twice, but I doubt Cormack could keep any of the threats straight.

  Cormack glowers at me, and it’s evident despite the efforts her mask puts forth in hiding half her face.

  “Yes, I did, Lolly. And if you had half a heart, you wouldn’t be so glib about it. I bet if you were receiving these threats, you would demand that both Noah and Essex strap themselves to your side.”

  “Not true. In fact, I did receive a note with your poor penmanship scrawled across it, and I did nothing more than laugh at it.”

  Everett rumbles low like intimidating thunder indicative of an impending storm.

  “Lottie?” Noah takes a step forward. “When did you get this? What did it say?”

  “I don’t remember what it said. Something silly, like you’re about to bite the big one, or you’re next.”

  Noah tips his head back and groans, his eyes still very much peeled to mine in a show of disdain.

  “Lemon”—Everett pulls me in close, his jaw tense with both worry and fury, and it’s a darn good look on him—“you’re not leaving my side tonight.” His lips curl with devilish intent, and I wholeheartedly approve.

  “The hell she’s not.” Noah swipes me away, and I gently remove myself from his gorilla grip.

  Cormack tosses her hands in the air. “What did I say?”

  “I’ll be fine.” I fluff my skirt out and straighten as I glance out at the dapper crowd. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a murder to solve.”

  I step out into the grand room with Everett by my side. Noah is being expertly deflected from me by Cormack and her Krav Maga-like takedown of the good detective. And for once, I don’t mind.

  The last thing I need is Noah breathing down my neck while Cormack breathes down his. I don’t want to be a part of his traveling circus tonight as I move my way through the crowd of suspects. And, per usual, Everett is the perfect partner to have by my side. Maybe that’s fate’s way of suggesting he’s the one. I reach up and give his scruff a light scratch because he certainly is the one right now.

  A woman in yellow dashes our way, her sugary perfume clotting the air before she ever gets near us.

  “Lottie”—Landon lifts her mask a moment as she swoops over in a delightful sunny yellow gown and a mask to match. Her smile looks just as sunny as her accouterments, and she’s grinning ear to ear. “Did you hear? The Ashford Sheriff’s Department is back to ruling Nessa’s death an accident. We can all breathe a sigh of relief.”

  I glance to Everett, surprised to hear
such a silly thing. “Wow, I didn’t know that. They’re not back to pointing the finger at me, are they?” Please, God, don’t let it be so. I’ve already invested way too much energy in loathing whoever would stoop so low as to poison Nessa. And quite frankly, I don’t have the energy to hate myself that much.

  “Nope.” She lifts the hem of her dress a notch and does an odd little tap dance. “It turns out, a gardener was using peanut butter to set mouse traps around that mangy bed and breakfast, and he left the jar kicked on its side next to the door. Someone must have fallen on it or he touched a doorway with some of it still on his hands which, in turn, Nessa must have touched.”

  “I see.” But I really don’t see. Didn’t Noah say there was about at least a half a teaspoon in her system? Not to mention Nessa would have noticed something sticky on her hands. I shake my head as if openly refuting the idea. “That’s great news, I guess. Where did you hear this?”

  Landon glances back at the crowd and cranes her neck. “That redheaded detective. She told a couple of people. Clayton and Ryan, I think.”

  “Ivy?” This flummoxes me. And sure enough, I spot the fiery-headed, stone-cold detective laughing it up with Noah and Cormack as if they were suddenly Honey Hollow’s hottest threesome. “Huh. Well, thank you for sharing that with me.”

  Landon dances off toward Jenson and Lindie, and I scan the crowd and spot the exact person who can shed a little more light on this new, rather bombastic theory.

  “Come.” I thread my arm through Everett’s as we make our way through the heavily perfumed crowd until we’re standing square in front of Miranda Lemon and Mayor Smashed—okay, fine, Nash, but he is looking red-faced and tipsy as if he’s pounded back one too many dry martinis like the one he’s holding in his hand. “Mother, Mayor Nash. Good evening.”

  “Lottie, you look lovely tonight.” Mayor Nash nods my way, his mask partially dislodging from its proper position. Mayor Nash is a decent looking older man, and I’m guessing would be a hottie if you’d subtract a few decades and pounds, but my mother doesn’t seem to mind the geriatric mathematics.

  Usually, this would thrill me. My mother making eyes at anyone but Rich Dallas would feel like a win, but her best friend’s ex-husband? A philandering ex-husband no less? It doesn’t thrill me in the least.

  Honestly, my mother’s new lineup of suitors is making her old kinky beau Brad Rutherford shine a little brighter. Where’s good old Brad when you need him? Most likely in the Jungle Room down in Leeds.

  My mother waves a red and black lace fan in her face as she bats her lashes up at Everett. Her dress is black with red peek-a-boo lace in all the right places, and it really does give off a merry widow kind of a vibe.

  “My, Judge Baxter”—she closes her fan abruptly and covers her lips with it—“you look arrestingly handsome with that near-blindfold you’re wearing. I’m sure my daughter appreciates the appeal of a good blindfold or two herself.”

  “MOTHER!” If there is a killer in the room, I hope he or she comes up behind me and thumps a shovel over my head. I clear my throat before getting back to the task at hand. “You wouldn’t happen to have a gardener at the B&B, would you?”

  Her mouth squares out in horror. “Lottie Kenzie Lemon. You have two perfectly good suitors with professional careers. Must you really go looking for a manual laborer to add to the mix?” She stomps her foot and whines as if the thought were more than she could bear.

  “What? No. I don’t need a date. I need to know if you’ve hired anyone to take care of the grounds recently. I thought you did all the maintenance on your own.”

  “Oh, I do. I have my horticulture club out once a week as soon as the snow thaws right up until the first snowflake falls. It saves a ton of money, and since I don’t have a stitch of lawn to mow, I’d rather putz around in the garden myself.”

  “I thought so.” I shoot an accusatory look at Ivy as she shimmies the bustle of her dark crimson gown into Noah’s hips, much to Cormack Featherby’s chagrin. “Thank you,” I say as I pull Everett in close, and we’re off to break up their hip-grinding good time.

  “Lemon”—Everett leans in—“I believe you’re seeking the wrong target.”

  I huff a quick breath because I have a feeling he’s right, but I’ve already arrived at said target, and I’d hate to miss out on all the fun of watching her implode.

  “Good evening, Detective Fairbanks.” I force a smile to come and go.

  Ivy must sense my sarcastic delight because she’s stopped bumping up against Noah, and that sour puss of hers makes a reprisal.

  “What is it, Carlotta?” She folds her arms across her chest, forcing her bosom to press desperately out of her gown as if the girls were looking to make an escape.

  I step in close and give a quick look around in the event I’m being watched. “Did you by chance mention something to Clayton and Ryan regarding the fact the department was no longer looking for a killer?” Everett expertly distracts Cormack while I quickly relay to both Noah and Ivy the details Landon shared.

  Ivy laughs it off. “They asked where I went to college, and I was telling them that I went to Aimsley myself.”

  That in and of itself explains a lot.

  Noah straightens, chest out, his eyes scanning the room like a top-of-the-line security system that just kicked in with the whiff of a threat.

  “So they lied to her.” My adrenaline kicks in at top speed, and it feels as if I can fly through the roof. “One of them must have killed Nessa. Think about it. Nessa documented herself having an intimate relationship with the same man for what stemmed back years right up until her death. We already know she slept with both Clayton and Ryan. And the receipts! They were trying to hide the receipts from their trysts at the nest while stiffing their law firm with the bill.”

  “Or us.” Ivy glances up at Noah. She tips her head to the side. “In addition to keeping their own credit cards clean in the event their girlfriends stumbled upon them. It’s a tale as old as time.” She takes a satisfied breath as if this pleased her on some twisted level.

  I spot Clayton and Ryan by the bar, and a thought comes to me. “I have an idea. Don’t follow me.” I snatch a flute of champagne off the tray of a traveling waiter and dump it over Clayton’s left sleeve while pretending to stumble.

  “I’m so sorry!” I say as he glances down nonchalantly, hardly slowing his conversation with Ryan.

  “Not a problem.” He offers an affable smile my way before dusting the liquid off as if it were nothing.

  They’re still going at it, heavily discussing puts and losses, both terms I’ve heard Hook Redwood, our resident Wall Street castoff, tossing out before.

  Another idea comes to mind. “I just found out my sister is about to have a baby!” I shout above the noise to the two of them, and a dark-haired version of my bestie pops up out of nowhere.

  “Really?” Naomi, Keelie’s demonic twin, twists with glee at this seemingly juicy tidbit of gossip. “Which one?”

  Crap. “Um, Lainey?”

  “Knew it!” She slaps her hands together as if this solidified something. “I just knew they were getting married so quickly because they had to. Nobody needs to rush a wedding like that.” She takes off in her jet-black gown like a gossip on a mission. I’ll have to remember to do something really nice for Lainey and Forest now that I’ve all but ruined their reputations.

  But Clayton and Ryan are right back to chatting happily away about stocks and bonds.

  “Excuse me,” I say as I tug on Clayton’s sleeve, trying my best to pull it back, but it won’t budge. “From a man’s perspective, what do you think my future brother-in-law would like as a gift for the new baby?” This is not going well. I was supposed to jar them with the thought of a baby—and one of them was supposed to look suspiciously guilty for killing the mother of his child.

  Ryan shrugs. “I hear baby monitors are a good thing. We installed the top-of-the-line devices in our office while we had a brief security breech.” H
is eyes narrow in on mine, and suddenly I want to be anywhere but here.

  Gah! They know! Either that or those baby monitors they invested in weren’t so top-of-the-line.

  Clayton shakes his head. “Trust me, the dude doesn’t want anything—not even the baby.” He slaps Ryan on the arm, and they burst out laughing like the overgrown frat boys they are.

  I turn to leave just as Clayton leans in to Ryan.

  “And that’s exactly why I got fixed.”

  Everything in me freezes. Oh my God. Clayton McDaniel is impotent, or at least that’s what I’ve just been led to believe. So that leaves… I turn around in time to see Ryan laughing along and rolling up his sleeves, only to reveal the tattoo of flames on his left forearm, exactly as Nessa depicted it, and I gasp.

  It turns out, whoever did Ryan’s tattoo was just as bad an artist as Nessa. And in a way, they’ve both implicated him.

  I glance up at him, and our eyes lock. My eyes widen as his narrow in on me with what looks to be venom buried in each one.

  I make a break for it and lose myself in the crowd, doing my best to scan the room for Noah, Everett, or even Ivy of all people. She is packing, after all.

  A tangle of bodies moves me along like the high society tide until I’m deposited in front of Jenson and Lindie.

  “Lottie.” Lindie bows slightly in her bright blue and orange gown—a bold color choice only a true artist might make. Her dark hair is fanned out, thick and curly, and chocolate brown lipstick offsets her pale face. “We were just celebrating the fact we no longer have to look at our friends as if they were about to slaughter us in our sleep.”

  “Right. Because of the gardener. I heard.” I keep my head on a swivel in the event that wink-wink litigating gardener is lurking behind the human hedges.