Gingerbread and Deadly Dread: MURDER ON THE MIX 4

by Moore, Addison

  “I see a man sending out an SOS if ever there was one.” She bites down on her lower lip seductively. “Excuse me while I rescue me a tall, handsome legal eagle. You’d better hide that nightie from me or I might just snap it up for myself.” She takes off with a wiggle in her hips, and I’m about to make my way to Noah before Nell hobbles my way and blocks me off at the pass. Nell will be ninety-three in January, and I can’t wait to help celebrate her birthday with her. She doesn’t know it, but Becca is planning to host a giant bash at the Honey Pot Diner.

  “Merry Christmas, dear one.” She lands a kiss to my cheek, and Dutch hops up as if he wanted one of his own. She turns to him and chortles. “Oh, goodness. You are a lively one, aren’t you?”

  I’m about to laugh and agree when suddenly the air is knocked right out of my lungs.

  “You can see him!”

  Nell looks up, her mouth agape, her eyes set wide. “Oh me, oh my.” She lifts her hand to her mouth and seals it. “I’m sorry, Lottie. I should have told you sooner.” She looks over her shoulder as Becca comes over with Nell’s coat extended.

  “Goodnight, Lottie.” Becca gifts me a warm embrace. “I’m afraid it’s past my bedtime. Yours, too, Mother.” She helps Nell with her coat and begins hustling her away.

  “Nell,” I say, shaking my head, stymied by what’s just happened.

  Nell takes a step back and grabs ahold of my arm, her head inching toward mine. “It’s time I told you everything, child.”

  “Mother”—Becca rolls her eyes with a jolly laugh bouncing from her chest—“you can tell Lottie all the stories you want after the big day tomorrow. William is coming into town, and we need to get up early to start the turkey if we plan on eating at three.”

  “Oh, you.” Nell is quick to wave her off, before reverting her full attention back to me. “I promise you, dear.” Her pale eyes fill with tears. “I will tell you everything. No truth will I withhold from you any longer. It’s high time you knew,” she whispers before the two of them head for the exit.

  Noah breaks away from Mr. Rutherford and wraps his arms around me. “Everything okay? You look as if you just saw a ghost.”

  I glance past him at Dutch who has resumed the task of trying to open the gifts himself.

  “A ghost. Imagine that?”

  We head out ourselves, and Everett joins us as we take off and head for Country Cottage Road, for home.

  * * *

  Noah parks in my driveway, and the three of us—four of us if you count one rambunctious Golden Retriever—amble out, and I invite Everett in because I happen to have a gift for him.

  “You parked in her driveway.” Everett ticks his head toward Noah. “Did you pencil that in last week?”

  Noah growls, and I can’t get the door open fast enough. We burst in, and I turn on the lights, rousing Pancake from the luxurious nap he was having on the sofa.

  “I have a gift for you,” I say, looking to Everett as I turn on the twinkle lights wrapped around the tree, and the room explodes in holiday wonder.

  “I’ll start a fire,” Noah volunteers as I fish the small package out from under the Douglas fir, which seems to be losing needles at an alarming rate. It’s safe to say there are actually more needles on the floor than on the branches, but thankfully neither Pancake nor I are bothered by it.

  “Here you go.” I hand the small red box to Everett, and Dutch hops up onto the sofa as if wanting to see it for himself. “I insist you go first.”

  Everett lifts a brow as he looks to Noah. “Take note, Fox. I’m her first of the night.” He unwraps the package with ease and opens the lid to the small box, revealing a pair of sterling silver cufflinks.

  “Ah, yes.” His lips curve upright for a moment.

  “Apparently, a man in demand such as yourself can’t have enough of those. Don’t give those to Lily.” It still makes me roll my eyes that she convinced him that giving a girl your cufflinks was the new class ring. Who knows what she’s doing with those cufflinks at night? If I were him, I wouldn’t want them back.

  “Are you kidding? These are from you.” He lifts the box my way. “It works both ways, you know. I guess this makes us a thing.”

  Noah groans, “You’re a thing, all right. Ever hear of the phrase three’s a crowd?”

  “Oh, wait!” I say, pulling up the box that Everett came over this afternoon to wrap. I made him cocoa, and we sat by the fire talking about our favorite gifts we received as a child. Mine was a doll almost as tall as I was at the time, and his was a scooter on which he promptly broke his leg and decided to go somewhere safe like law school. “Let’s see what’s in here.” I give Everett a wink. “The girl equivalent of cufflinks?”

  I unwrap the box and burst on into it—pulling up—“A cushion?” I say, trying to make heads or tails out of the pale blue—“Bed!” I shout as I hold it out and inspect it in a whole new light.

  “That’s right. It’s a bed for Pancake. It’s terrifying to see that poor cat trying to balance himself on the armrest. This way he gets his own space. Everyone needs their own space. Isn’t that right, dude?” Everett scratches Pancake behind the ears, and I don’t know what’s funnier—the fact Pancake is purring like a jet engine or the fact Everett just called him dude.

  “Speaking of space.” Noah stands next to me as a devious grin glides over his face as he stares down Everett. “Don’t you have a place of your own?”

  “You’re subtle. I like that.” Everett glares at him a moment. “Merry Christmas.”

  Noah reaches out and shakes his hand, and something about the action warms me. “Merry Christmas, Everett. Please extend the holiday greeting to your mother and sister tomorrow.”

  “I will.” Everett heads to the door, and I walk him out as Noah tosses in a few extra logs into the fire. I step out onto the porch and offer Everett a firm embrace.

  “Merry Christmas, Everett. I hope you find everything you want in that stocking of yours once you wake up.”

  A soft chuckle bounces from him. “Same to you. Merry Christmas, Lemon.”

  I give a quick glance over my shoulder. “There’s something I have to tell you,” I whisper. “She saw him tonight. Nell Sawyer saw Dutch with her own two eyes!”

  “What?” he hisses, inspecting me as if I’ve lost my mind all over again.

  “Yes. And she said she’s going to tell me everything once Christmas is behind us.”

  “Lottie, this is great. It sounds as if you’re going to get the answers you’ve been looking for.”

  “I know. I can’t believe it. This is really turning out to be the best Christmas ever.”

  “That’s great.” He glances over my shoulder back into the brightly lit house. His lips purse, and he looks decidedly angry for a moment. “So, you and Noah, huh?”

  “Oh, right”—I say awkwardly, hitching my thumb back at the living room—“we’re you know...”

  “Finalizing plans.”

  “Yes, that.” My cheeks burn with the heat of ten thousand suns.

  “Tonight.” He nods stoically as if he’s coming to terms with something horrible.

  “Yes, um. I guess, tonight.”

  “You sure he’s the one?” Everett needles me with those cobalt blue eyes. He’s penetrating me right down to my soul as if he were trying to subliminally rouse me from a terrible dream.

  “Yes.” I shake my head as I look to him. “Everett, are you trying to say something?” My heart jumps in my chest at the thought of what might come from his mouth next.

  “No.” He swallows hard, and his eyes cast to the ground a moment. “But just so you know, you shook your head when you said yes. In a courtroom, I would have assumed you were lying.” He turns to leave, and Dutch bounds out of the house and follows Everett down the walk.

  “Oh—it looks as if Dutch is following you home,” I shout after him.

  “Can’t blame him.” Everett waves with a lift of his hand as he makes his way up the street. “He doesn’t want to stick ar
ound for the carnage. He’s welcome to spend the night.”

  Noah reels me in as we seal ourselves back inside. “Who’s welcome to spend the night?” he asks as he dots my lips with a kiss.

  “You.” I lift a shoulder as I reach past him to that bag Keelie gave me.

  “What’s that?”

  “Something from Keelie and me to you.” I wrinkle my nose as I mention my bestie during what’s about to be a very intimate moment.

  “A gift to me from two women? This night only gets better.” His dimples dig in, and my stomach drops through the floor. I can’t believe I get this handsome man all to myself.

  “You bet it does.” I pull it out and hold the frilly frock between us, and a dark laugh pumps from him.

  “It is going to be a very Merry Christmas, Lottie Lemon. But first, I have something for you.” He pulls out a small navy box with a miniature red bow sitting on top of it.

  “Noah! The only thing I have for you is, well, me.” I lift a shoulder with a coy smile. “I might have a T-shirt that says I belong to the baker, but it’s really for Ivy.” I smack my lips as if I were going to be sick at the mention of her name.

  Noah bucks with a silent laugh as he hands me the box and I lift the lid, exposing a pair of diamond stud earrings.

  He pulls my hand up and kisses it. “I thought they sparkled like your eyes.”

  “Noah, it’s too much.”

  “It’s not enough,” he says as I struggle to take my eyes off them.

  “You’re enough.” I hike up on my tiptoes and crash my mouth to his, suddenly hungry for something that couldn’t be found on that buffet spread my mother had out tonight.

  Noah and I amble our way back to the bedroom, our kisses growing in ferocity. I land the earrings down onto the kitchen counter as we pass it by, and my fingers rake open his shirt.

  His eyes remain trained on mine as he gives a dark laugh. “Turnabout is fair play,” he says as he lifts my sweater right off.

  “I don’t think I’m going to get a chance to wear this nightie,” I say, tossing it over my shoulder.

  “It’s the thought that counts,” he says as he sweeps me off my feet and into his arms.

  “Why do I get the feeling things are about to get a little wild and out of hand?”

  A dirty smile glides over his lips. “Let’s just say I’m not a baker. When I frost cookies, things tend to get messy. And believe me when I say I plan to be highly creative with the endeavor.”

  “How creative, detective?”

  Noah belts out a laugh as he carries us into my bedroom, the bed already drawn in anticipation. You might say I was hopeful this afternoon. The battery-operated candles are flickering away—hey, a girl can’t burn her house down while she’s at her mother’s—and the scent of the cinnamon wreath hanging over my bed gives the air just the right amount of spice it needs on a night like tonight.

  “Let’s just say Everett may have given Pancake something to purr about, but I’m about to make you sing.”

  “Oh?” I can’t help but giggle. “Is this your way of saying your package is bigger than his?”

  A dark laugh strums from him “There are some things you should find out for yourself.”

  I swipe the Santa hat off my dresser that’s been a part of my uniform down at the bakery for the entire month of December.

  I run my finger along Noah’s strong jawline and over his lips. “I sure hope Santa fills my stocking to the brim tonight.”

  The idea of a dark laugh strums from him as he lands the hat over his head.

  “Brace yourself, Cupcake. I’m about to frost your cookies.”

  Noah shuts the door with his foot, and we spend the rest of the evening conducting a very thorough investigation of everything we’ve ever wanted to know about one another—many, many times in a savory night.

  Suffice it to say, this officially goes down as the best Christmas ever.

  Pick up Seven-Layer Slayer (Murder in the Mix 5) and read NOW! Enjoy!

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  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.

  It’s January, and this month brings two special birthdays that the entire town is looking forward to celebrating: Eve Hollister and Nell Sawyer’s. Well, in truth, not many people are looking forward to celebrating Eve Hollister’s birthday. In fact, the way the people at her party are acting, you’d think she were the most hated woman on the planet. Add one ornery black bear who is well past his earthly prime, along with the Grim Reaper, and poor Eve’s birthday turns into a supernatural catastrophe. One thing is for sure—no one in Honey Hollow will ever be the same.

  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.

  Pick up Seven-Layer Slayer (Murder in the Mix 5) and read NOW! Enjoy!

  Chapter 1

  Lottie

  I see dead people.

  Okay, so it’s very, very rare, but I do seem to see creatures of the furry dearly departed variety on the regular. And, believe you me, it is never a good sign to their previous owner. It is always a harbinger of terrible things to come. Up until a few months ago, the horror used to amount to nothing more than a scraped knee or a horrible tumble. But these days, it almost always amounts to death.

  Just a few weeks ago, Tanner Redwood’s Golden Retriever, Dutch, bounded back into reality—my reality anyhow. Apparently, I’m the only one with vision that extends right into eternity. Wait—that’s not entirely true. I just recently discovered that my best friend’s Grammy Nell can see these fantastic phantasms, too. But anyhow, Dutch was the first creature that I not only saw but heard. He’s a beauty with long golden hair, wears a smile for most of the day, and loves to cuddle with my Himalayan cat, Pancake.

  I’m pretty sure Pancake can’t see or hear him, but he definitely senses a disturbance in the force. It’s probably best Pancake, nor anyone else can see the majestic beast—aside from his transparent qualities, he has eyes that blaze like fire, and it’s really quite alarming. Aside from that, Dutch is the first furry phantasm that has not disappeared after his owner’s murder was solved. Strangely enough, he’s taken up firm residency in my living room.

  “Lottie!” Mom waves to me, frantic as an entire herd of women stream into the oversized living room of the B&B. It’s not only the day that her historical book club meets up for the month, but it also happens to be the birthday of the founder, Eve Hollister. “Lottie, please make sure the dessert buffet is kept well replenished.” She jabs a finger to an elongated table near the entry of the room that I’ve laden with every sweet treat that the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery could muster. It’s especially laden down with Eve’s favorites, like the chocolate chip peanut butter swirl cookies, dark chocolate dreams, and rocky road brownies. Eve Hollister has had a sweet tooth for as long as I’ve known her.

  “Will do!” I note the brownies are running low and head to the kitchen to replenish the supply.

  I’m not halfway there before I come upon the birthday girl herself, Eve Hollister, and a couple of her guests. Eve is actually the same age as my mother, but she’s had a rough go of it, and unfortunately looks as if she could be my mother’s mother. In Eve’s defense, my mother has found the fountain of youth and is willing to deny its existence until her dying day.

  Miranda Lemon looks like she could be in magazines with her shoulder-length butter yellow locks, her svelte physique—and the fact she is always overdressed for any and every oc
casion doesn’t hurt either. I’m convinced my mother came out of the womb looking impeccably put together.

  In contrast, Eve looks like your stereotypical grandmother with short white hair, a hobble to her step, and wrinkles worn proud like a badge well earned. Both Eve and my mother lost their husbands around the same time many years ago. Eve hasn’t dated since, that I’m aware of, but my mother has more than made up for it for the both of them. Miranda Lemon has a steady rotation of men she likes to keep warm by her side. As of late, she’s dating an abhorrence of an individual, one that happened to be cheating on his ex-wife just a few months back—the same ex-wife who tried to poison him. Brad Rutherford has an insatiable appetite for both women and a wild time—clearly a double whammy of reasons why he should be nowhere near my mother, and I’d go as far as to say no one else’s mother either.

  The two younger women standing with Eve appear to be locked in a heated argument with the poor frazzled woman, and on this her birthday. They have a familiar look, and I can’t quite put my finger on where I know them. One girl looks to be about my age but far more polished, with her chocolate brown hair slicked back into a bun, her pencil skirt and heels both something I would eschew. I’m more of a pony, jeans, and sweater girl myself. My cozy shearling boots are perfect for running around the bakery and making deliveries this frozen time of year.

  January in Honey Hollow, Vermont rarely calls for stilettos, but you can’t tell my sister Lainey that or apparently this woman either. The other girl locked in the heated debate looks younger, with pleasant wide-set features that would appeal to any man, a shock of red lipstick, and sleek glossy hair dyed a jarring shade of silver.

  The one with gray locks leans in—it’s an ironic hair color, considering the fact she looks younger than I do at twenty-six. “You won’t get away with this forever.”

  The brunette is quick to wave off the ingénue. “You know, ever since Daddy died, she’s been tighter than those shrunken jeans you’re wearing. You can’t teach an old horse new tricks.”