New York Cheesecake Chaos (MURDER IN THE MIX Book 8)

by Addison Moore

  “The flower shop.” I nod. “How’s your girlfriend taking this?”

  He shoots a dirty look to a wall congested with so many comics it looks as if a paper avalanche will go off if one of us sneezes.

  “Felicity isn’t exactly speaking to me at the moment. She thinks I caused her mother’s downfall.”

  “Downfall?” My adrenaline spikes. “I thought you said she was successful?”

  “She was until her business took a downturn, and I’m not talking about her flower shop either. Rhonda Gilbert was”—he winces as he cranes his neck to the door as if someone might hear it.

  Curt ticks his head at him. “Go on, she’s dead. What’s the truth going to hurt?”

  I hate to say it, but props to him for moving things along.

  “Rhonda Gilbert was a go-between for loan sharks. She got them the business, then she got a piece of the take. It was simple as that. Felicity had to have known something like this was coming down the pike.”

  I click my tongue at the thought. “You mean Felicity knew that her mother was counting coins in shark infested waters?”

  “You bet she did. But it was one of those unspoken family secrets. Anyway, I borrowed through the bank of Rhonda”—he waves his hands at his surroundings—“and I paid most of it back. If the mob comes a knockin’, I have a safe filled with cash ready to give them.”

  “So, you didn’t have any beef with Rhonda?” I’m finding Simon here a little too simple indeed.

  “Nope. She liked me. She hated the guy Felicity dated before me so much that I was practically a saint. And once Felicity and I clear the air, I’m going to ask her to marry me. Too bad Rhonda won’t be here to see it. Just like she wasn’t able to see her favorite author that day either. Whoever killed her knew what they were doing. Felicity said the sheriffs told her it was done in a heated rage, but I don’t think so—not entirely.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. Think about it. Rhonda’s killer could have taken her out just about anywhere, but they chose to do it just minutes from Rhonda meeting her idol. I bet they rubbed it in her face, too. They not only wanted her dead, they wanted her to suffer above and beyond the physical circumstances.”

  Curt grunts, “Did you speak with Rhonda before the murder?”

  “I wanted to. But she was too busy chewing out her crazy niece.”

  Curt straightens because he just so happens to have a direct link to the crazy niece in question.

  Simon looks from Curt to me. “You should really look into that head case. Felicity has told me some things. She’s not all there upstairs. Apparently, she’s dragged some deadbeat with her from New York. The dude doesn’t have a dime to his name.”

  Curt sputters and coughs as his face turns every shade of red.

  Which reminds me what Hook told me at dinner that night at Mangia. Dear old Curt is on the suspect list himself. Do I really think he’s capable of murder? No. Not one bit. Did I really think he was capable of cheating on me? Nope. Not one ironic bit. That alone should bump him to the top of the suspect list.

  See? If he had just managed to keep it in his pants, he wouldn’t be up suspicion’s creek without a decent alibi.

  A customer appears from nowhere, and Simon excuses himself as he heads to the register.

  “What do you think?” Curt whispers a little too close for comfort. His breath holds the heavy scent of mint, and as much as I don’t want to smell any part of him, I suppose it could be worse.

  I’m about to say something when I notice Simon pulling out a bag from behind the counter—a white plastic bag with a bright yellow happy face on the front!

  I suck in a breath and hold it until I start to get light-headed.

  Of course! I sent Keelie on a shopping spree in Honey Hollow when I really should have sicced Meg on all of downtown Leeds. God knows I would never do that to my bestie. And besides, in a strange way, Leeds is far more my little sister’s speed.

  Without thinking, I quickly riffle through a stack of comics in a bright red box and pull one out with the least hideous cover.

  “Buy this for me,” I whisper to Curt. “I need to get ahold of one of those bags.” I nod over to it.

  He snatches it up and scowls at it. “This is a collector’s copy. It’s twenty-five bucks. Find something cheaper.”

  “I will not find something cheaper. It might arouse suspicion. I’ll tell him my sister is a collector. He’ll totally buy that.”

  He grunts while scanning the counter. “Here”—he picks up a figurine of an alien that’s priced at two ninety-nine—“I’ll buy you any one you want. Knock yourself out.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I want this comic, and I don’t have any cash on me.”

  His cheek flickers with disapproval. “Do you still impose a credit card embargo on yourself?”

  “How do you think I managed to stay out of debt all these years?”

  “By making other people pony up for your comics.” He drops the book back into the box. “You won’t need to spend a dime. I’m a pro at this kind of stu—” Curt gags as his entire body bucks and jerks.

  “Oh my God!” I slap him on the back in the event he swallowed a tooth, or that alien he was fondling, but Curt continues to retch as if a reprisal of his lunch were immanent.

  Simon runs over. “Geez! Get him out of here.”

  Curt enters into a prolonged faux hurling session, and then it hits me.

  “A bag!” I point over at it. “Give me a bag and I’ll get him to the car.”

  Simon shoves at least five my way, and Curt and I race for the door.

  “How’d I do?” Curt gives his belly a congratulatory pat as we make our way to the car.

  “Too good. Something tells me you’ve employed that retching routine on more than one occasion.” We get in the car, and I take off with what might be a direct link to the killer in the back seat. “Curt, can I ask you a question?”

  “Anything for you, Lot.” He takes off his shoes and lands his smelly socks on the dash.

  It’s funny how time and distance can make you forget a person’s horrifically unhygienic habits.

  “Why are you having financial troubles?” Seeing that I’ve slept with the guy on more than one regrettable occasion, I figure that gives me a pass to cut to the financial chase. “I mean, last I heard you were doing pretty well for yourself.”

  Curt leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes.

  “Anything but that, Lot.”

  He doesn’t answer the question.

  And it makes me wonder what he has to hide.

  Chapter 11

  “Good job, Lemon.” Everett’s lids hood low. He looks mean and lean and ready to rumble—under the covers, that is.

  “Does this earn me one of your magical kisses?” I bite down over my lip as I do my best to flirt—as good a job as can be expected while a bevy of nearly naked beauties stroll among us in sequin pasties and matching thongs.

  As soon as Curt and I got back to Honey Hollow, I dropped him off at my mother’s gloriously haunted B&B—there were three tourist buses there at the very same time! Suffice it to say, I didn’t get a chance to see my mother or admire the new conservatory Bear just put in for her, but she had bigger fish to fry—at eighty bucks a pop. And I know for sure she sent them all to the Cutie Pie afterwards because she’s been pretty set on sending them my way for what’s been dubbed as The Last Thing They Ate Tour. Yes, as in those poor unfortunate souls who just so happened to meet an untimely demise by way of a good old-fashioned Honey Hollow homicide. But I digress.

  I bat my lashes up at Everett’s brilliant blue eyes as a crooked grin struggles to take over. Everett drove us out to the Red Satin Gentlemen’s Club just down the street from where I was earlier today with Curt. As much as I really am elated by my plastic bag find, this is Meg’s only evening working at this den of depravity since she usually works days. It turns out,
the management really appreciates her hair tugging, body grappling moves—so much so they’ve hired her on as a coach to work with the girls. And seeing that my sassy little sis is here, I figured she could give Everett and me an in to talk to someone in the loan shark department about Rhonda. It’s all a part of the underground network of mob bosses, gambling casinos, and sex clubs that this cave of criminality houses. Come to think of it, Red Satin really does provide some serious one-stop shopping—seedy as it might be.

  Everett steps in and takes up my hand as I try my best to ignore the fact Macon is suddenly hovering over his shoulder.

  “Do not ruin this moment,” I hiss up at the fine-feathered specter without bothering to take my eyes from this granite carved wall of muscles before me.

  Everett’s brows hike, amused. “I think I like it when you talk tough.”

  My mouth opens, and I’m about to tell him that I was talking to the bird but think better of it.

  “Kiss me now and kiss me hard.” I bite right back down on my lower lip to keep from giggling.

  “Kiss me now! Kiss me hard!” Macon squawks twice, and Everett turns his head in his direction. Since we’ve discovered that Everett too could hear the dead, so long as he was holding my hand, it’s been a bit of a supernatural joyride for him. And I’m guessing that would apply to anyone unlucky enough to latch onto me at exactly the right undead moment.

  Everett tips his head my way. “A woman who gives commands. I can get used to this. Just know that I am more than willing to comply—and turnabout is fair play. I expect my commands to be adhered to.” He bows in for the kill, and I take in a deep lungful of his woodsy cologne. I swear on all that is holy, Everett’s cologne is akin to pheromones dipped in a vodka tonic—dangerously delicious, and if you take in too much, you might have to surrender more than your keys to him at the end of the night.

  A breath hitches in my throat, and a tiny moan escapes me before he ever hits home.

  “Show ’em how it’s done, Lot!” a female voice belts it out from the side, and I turn to find Meg scantily clad in what looks like a metallic black bikini. I’m fully ready to scowl at her for killing the mood, but my mouth falls open at the sight beside her. Noah stands there, dressed casually in jeans and a flannel, and it makes him look like a frat boy—a decidedly hot frat boy, and it’s him I decide to scowl at.

  “Did I kill the mood?” His dimples dig in with amusement.

  “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

  Everett and I part ways, slowly as if it were the last thing we wanted to do and not like a couple of teenagers caught in a closet.

  Everett’s chest pumps with a silent laugh as he looks to Noah. “Stop in for a drink and a show?”

  Noah openly frowns at his former stepbrother. “That would be your MO. I saw that Lottie was here, and I headed on over.”

  I lift a finger, confused. “How exactly did you know I was here? Do you have a GPS tracking device in my car?” It comes out incensed until I realize I didn’t drive.

  “Your phone.” He tips his head to the side. “And I didn’t put it there. The manufacturer did. You have your locations open for all to see.”

  “And you didn’t stop me?” I fumble with my phone a moment before I realize I have no clue how to turn the darn thing off so I bury it back in my purse.

  “I like knowing where you are in the event you stumble into an unsavory environment like this one and some bullish oaf decides to wrap his arms around you and do God knows what.” He glowers at Everett as if a fistfight were next.

  A dark laugh rumbles in Everett’s chest. “Let’s be clear on one thing. She knows what, when, and how to get it.” A greedy grin flickers on his lips.

  “When and how to get it!” Macon caws. “Lottie’s getting lucky!”

  “Oh shush, you,” I whisper as both Everett and Noah widen their eyes my way.

  Noah chuckles. “It sounds as if she’s not buying your bull.”

  Meg scoffs at the disgruntled detective by her side. “Lottie-da, detective. I say, it looks as if the judge is about to lay down the law.” She steps in close and narrows those baby blue peepers at me. “And honey, something tells me he knows how to dole out a punishment or two.”

  Everett’s left eye comes just shy of winking, and Noah clears his throat.

  “So you found the bag?” Noah takes a bold step in.

  As soon as I got home, I texted both Noah and Everett. And I may have sent Meg on a plastic bag goose chase on her lunch hour.

  “Yup,” Meg answers for me. “And I ran up and down Leeds looking for another one like it, and there’s not a single establishment that passes out bags with that annoying little smiley face on it. I think you’ve got a killer on your hands—and, yet again, you have my big sister to thank for finding him.”

  I press out a wide smile at Noah.

  He nods a moment. “Unless he’s being framed. If that’s the case, we have a calculated killer still very much on the loose.”

  “What if”—I pause mid-flight—“what if it was a coincidence? Like maybe the killer found it in the trash? Or Rhonda had it and they took it from her and used it against her?”

  Everett shakes his head. “If you ask me, the killer left it like a calling card. The kid either did it or he’s being set up.”

  Meg purrs as she sashays her way over, “And our man Essex is smart as a whip. I’d bet good money he knows how to wield one, too.”

  “Would you stop?” I come shy of swatting my sister.

  “She’s right.” Everett’s chest expands as if he were proud. And I’m not sure if he meant that she was right about the fact he’s smart or that he knows how to wield a whip. Both I’m guessing. “Now take us to the loan department. I have a sudden urge to visit good old Martinelle Finance.”

  Last November when Everett himself was in the hot seat as the prime suspect in his ex’s homicide investigation, that thorny road led right to this underground operation. It’s safe to say Everett and I are familiar with this establishment and all of its wicked ways, far more intimately than either of us would care to admit.

  Meg averts her heavily drawn in eyes. On anyone else that makeup blunder would look about as appealing as two black eyes, but on Meg, she actually manages to pull off that ever-elusive smoky-eyed look.

  “They’re closed. But I can get you downstairs.” She pulls a thin silver key from the left triangle of her bikini top and dangles it before me. “And since I’m such great friends with Bojangles, the bouncer, I can get you where you need to be.”

  I gasp as I wrap my hand around the key. “Are you crazy? The people who run this place are not above burying a body in the back!”

  The affect melts right off Meg’s face. “I’d love to see them try.”

  In truth, they are all probably just a little afraid of my sister, so I go with it.

  I glance over and spot Macon sitting front and center at the foot of the stage—mesmerized by the sequined sight before him, and I have a feeling he’s going to be completely useless for this one.

  The rest of us follow Meg downstairs into the hotbed of all things illegal, and she leads us right into that broom closet Everett and I sat in a few months back, otherwise known as the nexus of these loan shark infested operations.

  She slips Noah the key. “I’ll keep a lookout,” she says, trotting to the edge of the hall.

  Noah lets us in, and thankfully the light is still on. These are people who think nothing of breaking a limb or two in the name of financial retribution. If they really cared about the bottom line, they wouldn’t be so quick to waste resources like leaving the lights on after hours. But, then again, they do charge a premium when it comes to their interest rates. I’m betting they make sure their customers absorb all of their overhead costs. And by customers, I mean the horn-dogs that frequent Red Satin. It’s becoming clear the same thugs that run Martinelle own and operate Red Satin. I bet it’s not all that uncommon for the mob to branch out to seemingly innocent
states like Vermont as they try to stay one step ahead of the feds.

  Everett takes a seat at the desk, and the computer monitor lights right up. “No password. That’s what arrogance does. It causes you to keep your guard down. Seen it a million times.”

  Noah glances back as he pulls open a file cabinet. “They had a lock on the door. A bouncer they thought they could trust. If they find one thing amiss, that bouncer is dead. Seen it a million times.”

  An orchid sitting in a pot catches my eye. Its delicate blooms are colored a unique shade of off white with purple veining, and I can’t help but admire how stunning it looks. I turn it my way and note a tiny white pick staked into the soil.

  “Look at this! It’s from The Enchanted Flower Shop. Rhonda must have brought it during one of her visits.”

  Noah glances over. “Then that’s the only sign of her because I can’t find a thing inside this filing cabinet.”

  Everett shakes his head. “There’s nothing here either.”

  “That’s because they probably didn’t use her name.” I make my way over and look at the screen as Everett scrolls through the documents. “Maybe look for something to do with flowers or maybe they just used her surname? Men are like that. Especially the tougher they are—or at least they think they are. It’s last names all the way.”

  Everett pauses to shoot a stern glance my way.

  “Ooh, sorry.” I wrinkle my nose at him. “You’re the real deal, and we both know it.” I study the screen once again, and Everett and I come upon it at the very same time.

  “Enchanted Gilbert,” I say as he clicks into the spreadsheet. “They didn’t do a lot to disguise it.”

  Noah chuckles. “Arrogance at its finest.”

  Everett points to the bottom of the screen. “Fifteen pages.”

  “Here, I’ll take a picture with my phone.” And I do just that. I snap away while Everett scrolls through as quickly as he can.

  Noah leans in close, his body relaxing gently over my back. “Looks to me as if Rhonda brought in more revenue than those girls upstairs.”