Everett glances his way. “Then you’ll love me.”
“Judge Baxter!” The women at the other table belt out a few catcalls.
I nudge Everett. “We should go over and say hello.”
The crooner up on stage brings her song home and the room lights up with a raucous applause. I don’t know why, but it feels as if the crowd is getting rowdier by the minute.
A man takes the stage and waves to get everyone’s attention. He has dark hair and kind eyes and a boy next-door appeal to him in general. He’s wearing a navy polo shirt, and there’s something oddly familiar about him. I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before, but I can’t quite figure out where.
“Thank you to Ms. Tallulah Belle. And good luck getting that ticket to Hollywood next month!” More applause. “Up next is the crimson vixen—the killer catcher herself. Give it up for Detective Ivy Fairbanks!”
My mouth falls open as I stick an elbow in Noah’s rib. “I bet this is where Ivy wanted to take you! How about that? You showed up for your hot date anyway.”
Everett’s lips curve. “It must be like destiny.”
Ivy takes the stage in a slinky red dress that clashes with her long and surprisingly loose tresses, but hey, who am I to judge?
“I don’t think I’ve seen Ivy with her hair down,” I say. “She’s drop-dead gorgeous.”
“Lucky you, Noah.” Everett winks over at him.
Noah frowns at the stage. “I’m not feeling so lucky.”
Ivy pulls the microphone to her lips. “I’d like to dedicate this song to someone special. Someone who I’ve had my eyes on for a very long time and I’m hoping he’ll come around.”
The room ignites with whoops and hollers—sans our table, of course.
I’m suddenly fuming. Noah looks disgruntled. And Everett’s chest is silently rumbling with laughter.
“Hear that, Noah?” Everett doesn’t even bother hiding his mocking tone. “I think we all know she’s talking about you. Why don’t you make Ivy’s night? Run on up there and belt out a few bars with her. Maybe close with a big smooch. A crowd like this is practically begging for a feel-good ending.”
Noah growls, “My fist is going to give your eye a feel-good ending—as in it’ll feel good for me when I break your nose as a bonus. Let’s see how sexy the women find that.”
“All right, down, boy,” I tease as I watch the man in the navy polo exit the stage and then it hits me. “Hey, I just realized where I recognize that guy from.” I do my best to point over to him discreetly. “He was at the lake on the Fourth. I saw him twice—once arguing with Clark, and then after the murder, he was comforting Sammy. Do either of you know who he is?”
The two of them shake their heads as they examine him.
Noah takes a breath. “But I’ll make sure to speak with him before we leave.”
“Lemon will beat you to it,” Everett assures him.
“He’s right,” I say. “But don’t feel bad, Noah.”
“I won’t,” he says. “Because I’ll be right there with you. I don’t plan on leaving your side tonight.”
Ivy croons and swoons, and darn it if she’s not just that good.
“Hey, if this detective gig doesn’t work out, she can always break into the music industry,” I say. And I’m silently rooting for her to do just that.
“Judge Baxter,” Fiona teases as she curls a finger his way. “We’ve made room for the three of you right here.” She pats the seat next to her, and I note the seat next to Betsy is free so I fly on over.
A jag of lightning appears before me on the table as Leo materializes, grooming himself in a quasi-offensive fashion.
“Charlie says we’re going to a real club after this,” Leo growls it out in a deep voice. “She knows all the best places to wiggle and giggle.”
“I bet she does. I wouldn’t trust her if I were you,” I snip, and Betsy turns my way.
“Ah.” She nods as she looks past me, and I glance that way to see a bunch of young women all but accosting Everett—heck, they are accosting him. “I see the problem.”
“Hey,” I bark out just a notch above Ivy’s crooning, and all eyes at the table are feasted on me. “Hands off, ladies. You can look, but you can’t touch.”
A few of them offer polite nods my way, but for the most part they’re right back to swarming him. Everett is a superstar among them, and each one looks hungry enough to take a bite out of the choicest piece of him. I can’t blame them. He’s dangerously handsome and exudes enough testosterone for sixty men.
Leo chuckles. “I remember when the ladies couldn’t keep their hands off me. Clark would take me everywhere. Sammy used to call me a fan favorite. I’ve been a fan favorite in paradise, too. Like Sammy used to say, ‘You can’t hold a good cat down.’ She didn’t want to hold down Clark, though.”
My lips fall open as I try to decipher what he might mean.
Noah clears his throat. “Earth to Lottie.” He raises his brows at me. “The waitress asked what you wanted, so I ordered you a virgin cocktail.”
“Oh, sorry—thank you.” I can’t help but notice a few of the girls across from us seem to be drooling at Noah as well. Their eyes run up and down his body freely as if he were the exact snack they were craving, and I bet he is.
I shoot them a look that says sorry, ladies, but the kitchen is closed.
“Betsy”—I say, forcing a smile as I turn her way—“how did you like the cookies?”
“Confession”—the cute blonde giggles as she says it—“I ate the entire box on the way over. The fudge brownies were my favorite.” Her eyes roll into the back of her head as if she were reliving them.
There’s something about her that reminds me of Keelie—not just the blonde hair, but the easy, happy-go-lucky attitude she seems to exude. She leans forward a notch. “Hi, Detective Fox.” She gives Noah a friendly wave—maybe a little too friendly. “How’s the case going?”
Boy, I love it when a suspect dives right into the deep end of the investigation. And I’ve had both innocent parties and killers segue into the topic this way, so I can’t quite use it as an indicator of innocence or guilt.
“It’s going,” he says. “But I could still use a few good tips.”
Her lips twist as she grips the glass in her hand. “I wish I had them to give you.”
“You worked with him, right?” I ask and her mood changes on a dime.
“How did you know that?” She takes a sip of her pink drink and doesn’t take her eyes off me.
“Bridger mentioned it.” I shrug.
Geez, I didn’t realize this would be a point of contention.
Leo mewls and I take up Noah’s hand so he can listen in, too. “Maybe she’s embarrassed by this? She does have a rather professional career going for her at the moment. She might have felt working weekends at the antique shop was beneath her.”
Noah nods my way because Leo could be right.
“I did work with him, but it was just a seasonal thing.” Betsy swallows hard, and that action alone makes me wonder if embarrassment has nothing to do with the shift in her mood. “Hey, have you talked to Sammy?” she asks Noah, keeping her eyes pinned to his.
Leo’s whiskers twitch. “She’s changing the subject. Something isn’t sitting right with me. Do you think she had an affection for Clark?”
Noah quirks a brow my way as if to ask the very same thing. He looks back at Betsy.
“I did speak with Sammy. Briefly,” he says. “Nothing too in-depth. Have you?”
“We’re not close.” She shakes her head emphatically. “My connection to the Willoughbys was purely through my employment there.”
“How long did you work for them? “I ask just as a red fruity concoction lands in front of me and I quickly thank the waitress.
“Almost a year.” Betsy shudders. “And to be truthful, that whole violent break-in they had just hovered in the back of my mind the entire time. I saw the pictures on the internet of the two of them
bloodied and being carried out of their home on stretchers. And they continued to live there after the fact. That was the strange part.”
“It was after my time,” Leo says. “I would have rather been there. I would have clawed at the beasts who dared to hurt the Willoughbys.”
I nod his way because I have no doubt it’s true.
Betsy leans in, her eyes pinned back to Noah once again. “I’ve heard rumors for years that Sammy was being abused by Clark. So when I got the job I was terrified of him. But you know what? He was the kindest man on the planet. I guess you really don’t know what someone is capable of behind closed doors.” She nods to Noah. “It’s not talked about a lot, but there was a theory circulating at the time of the break-in that Clark orchestrated the event.”
“I heard that, too,” he says. “But the reason that rumor got started is because Clark was seen turning off the security cameras. He was questioned about it, though, and as it turned out, he said they were making a loud buzzing noise that night. He said neither he nor Sammy could get to sleep, so he shut them off at about two-thirty in the morning. The armed men broke in at three-fifteen, and Clark chalked it up to bad timing on his part concerning those cameras.”
Leo sits straight up and looks regal while doing so. “I don’t believe in bad timing. Something smells fishy to me.”
I don’t either. I’ll have to deep dive into that break-in when I get a chance.
“What did you do at the stores?” I ask.
She swallows hard once again. “I ran the cash register. Clark was in charge of procuring the merchandise, accounting, that sort of stuff.”
“What about Bridger?” Leo asks and I repeat the question to her.
Betsy shakes her head. “He was my manager, but for the most part, we did the very same things. He ran the register, helped the customers. I guess he does the staff scheduling, too. Clark did all the heavy lifting, but Bridger was his right-hand man. Bridger was interesting, though. He’s basically a software genius. We had a few hiccups with the computers and he fixed it in a flash. He said he was fluent in three different coding languages.”
“Really?” I say as if I knew what it meant.
“That’s right.” She bites down on her bottom lip until it turns bone white. “You should really look into Sammy,” she tells Noah before leaning in. “I’m just going to say it. I don’t know if the rumors are true about her being abused by him, but I did see scratches on Clark’s arms multiple times. He always said it was his cat, but when I asked Sammy about their cat, she said their cat died ages ago. And then one day he came in with a banger of a bruise on the side of his head. He said he walked into a hanging plant on his trellis, but something didn’t feel right about it. He had bruises on his arms a couple of times, too. And then out of the blue, I heard that he and Sammy were separating. They still lived together, though. I thought that was weird. Anyway, I can’t imagine what it would be like to live with someone you no longer want to be married to. It sounds like a miserable existence. It sounds like a pressure cooker.” Her eyes hook to Noah’s, and it looks as if she’s just named her number one suspect.
The music dies down, and that man in the navy polo takes the stage once again, thanking the crimson vixen for belting out a few tunes for us.
Betsy gives a wild applause as she looks his way.
Leo taps my hand with his paw. “Ask her who he is. I saw him the day Clark was killed. He looks familiar, but I can’t quite place him.”
That’s what I said.
“Betsy, who is that man?” I tick my head toward the stage. “I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before. Does he work at the courthouse, too?” I just threw that last bit out, hoping she’ll correct me.
“Oh no, that’s Quincy Calvin. He owns this place.” A tiny giggle titters from her. “He’s Sammy’s longtime boyfriend. They’ve been together for a while. He’d come around the shop with Sammy. Clark really hated him. It didn’t seem natural, you know? Here he was dating Clark’s wife essentially. Bridger once told me that Quincy had a habit of staying over at the house with Sammy—overnight. I know Clark and Sammy slept in different rooms, and that Sammy got to keep the master bedroom. Can you imagine having that go on under your nose? It’s sickening is what it is. Clark was still in love with her and he had to face the fact that she was sleeping with someone else just inches away. I’m not sure what was really going on in that marriage. But whatever it was—it wasn’t good.”
“And now”—Quincy waves a small white card in his hand—“I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Sexy and his luscious Lemon!”
I suck in a quick breath. “That’s me! I can’t do this.” A ripe panic enlivens in me just as Charlie, Cormack, and Naomi pluck me from my chair and navigate me to the stage. “I’m a baker,” I shout in protest but to no avail.
Noah has Everett’s hands behind his back as if he’s about to arrest him and lands him up on stage next to me.
I glance out at the crowd and I get a bad case of tunnel vision, my stomach begins to churn, and my knees are begging to give out. “I can’t do this. Everett, help,” I hiss over at him. “Oh dear Lord up in heaven, I can’t sing!”
The music starts up. Both Cormack and Noah are handed a microphone, and just as they’re about to hand it to us, Everett tucks his mouth to my ear.
“Follow my lead.”
Charlie and Naomi dart off the stage, and as Noah lets go of Everett’s wrist, Everett shoves him to the front of the stage. I do the same with Cormack, and before I know it, Everett has us back into the fold of the crowd.
I glance up at the stage as Cormack belts out a few bars of some sappy love song.
Noah spots us and shakes his head in dismay. And as he’s about to hop off the stage, Cormack links her arm through his and the crowd goes wild.
Women begin to catcall like mad, and I even hear a few of them chanting Hot Cop, an ode to the internet fame Noah procured a few months back thanks to Evie.
Cormack’s lyrics come to an end and the music thumps on. Noah looks to the giant screen in front of him as the lyrics roll on without him.
Then in an unprecedented turn of events, Noah talks his way through the next few verses and you would think he took off his shirt the way the women in here are screaming like mad.
Everett nods. “Our work here is done.”
I give him a high-five, and as I do it, I spot Quincy Calvin by the bar.
“Actually,” I say, taking Everett by the hand. “We’re not done by a long shot.” I fill him in on what Betsy told me about the man: the fact he was sleeping with Sammy under the same roof Clark was living, and in the same bedroom that she once shared with Clark.
The ghost of Greer Giles zooms our way with her dark brown tresses floating all around her as if she were underwater. Dead or alive, Greer is a knockout.
“I can’t believe you two,” she says as if she were incensed. “Everett, I was really looking forward to hearing you sing. And Lottie, I’ve heard you humming to yourself at the B&B. You have a range. Okay, so it’s not great, but still, that’s not the point of karaoke.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I tell her. “But do you mind? We’re about to quiz another suspect. I just love it when I get a two-fer like this.”
“Tell me it’s not Quincy.” She rolls her eyes just as Leo floats over, and she scoops him up before landing a kiss to the top of the celestial kitty’s head.
“It is Quincy,” I say to her as Everett and I continue to traverse our way through the dance floor. Noah and Cormack are really putting in the work up there. “Did you know him?”
Greer makes a face. “I dated him a couple of times. The thing is, he was a nice guy. And well, nice guys weren’t my speed back then. Plus, he didn’t have two nickels to rub together.”
Leo jerks his face up to get a better look at Greer. “Is this Quincy you’re discussing? When you left, Lottie, I heard Betsy say under her breath that she would have taken him for herself but wanted nothing more to
do with the Willoughbys.”
I shrug over at Everett. “I can’t say I blame her.”
We hit the bar and Everett and I each order a drink.
Quincy glances our way and his smile expands. “I see you’ve expertly evaded the stage.” He laughs as he closes the distance between us. “The drinks are on me.” He points to the bartender, and just like that, Everett and I have our libations covered for the night.
Greer floats in close. “Didn’t I tell you he’s a nice guy?” She makes a face. “If I had made things work with him, I might still be alive today. Although, I just love Winslow, Lea, and Thirteen so much I couldn’t imagine my afterlife without them.” She drops another kiss to Leo’s spotted little head. “And I just love you, too. Yes, I do.”
“Thanks for the drinks,” Everett says. “Everett Baxter.” He holds out a hand and Quincy shakes both his and mine.
“Lottie Lemon,” I tell him. “So a friend of mine just told me you own this place.”
“I sure do,” he says. “Going on three years. It’s not entirely mine. I’m in deep with three buddies of mine. But I like to work the floor.” He tips his head to the side. “Wait a minute”—his demeanor darkens—“I think I saw the two of you at the lake that fateful day.” He blows out a breath. “That was some tough stuff.”
“It sure was,” Everett tells him. “I think I remember you as well.”
“That’s right,” I say, playing along with Everett. “I think I saw you with Sammy Willoughby—the widow.”
His cheek cinches on one side. “That was me. I was doing my best to comfort her. Actually, we dated for a while.”
“Oh? You’re not seeing her anymore.”
He shakes his head. “We were just having fun in the beginning. She was separated from her husband at the time. And as we grew more serious, I thought she might want to move in with me, but she declined the offer.” He gives the back of his neck a scratch. “She was still living with him in that house. At first, she made it sound like a transitional thing that was going to take a minute or two to work itself out, but it dragged on for months, and well, I grew impatient.”
Red, White, and Blueberry Muffin Murder Page 13