Red, White, and Blueberry Muffin Murder

by Addison Moore

  She’s not far off by any means. There is certainly a dirty club called the Jungle Room on the premises, and oddly, Everett, Lottie, and I have hit it a time or two but purely for investigative purposes. Besides, the next time I head that way with Lottie, Everett’s not invited.

  Miranda and my father turn around and take us in. Miranda has a tight red dress on, and my dad is wearing a ridiculous red suit, looking like the man downstairs himself. And for all I know, he might be that diabolical persona.

  “Great news, Miranda!” Carlotta beats us to the punch. “The prize derived from Foxy’s cookies is a powerful good luck charm! Look at the spare change she just drummed up for me.” She rattles the bucket of quarters and nickels and it makes an impressive noise.

  Miranda’s mouth falls open. “Oh, sweet baby Lyla Nell!”

  Lottie lifts a brow at Carlotta. “Hear that? A grandparent who is rightfully incensed. There’s a reason I let one of you babysit and not the other.”

  Miranda stands and plucks Lyla Nell into her arms. “Finally, I might be able to get a little luck around here.” She looks to Carlotta. “I snuck all three of my stinkers into this casino when they were Lyla Nell’s age and they didn’t help a bit. It’s good to know we’ve got a wee one that can pay the bills.”

  Carlotta holds up a hand and Miranda gives her five.

  “Lottie, why don’t you deal with this madness, while I deal with my father?” I say.

  I pluck my older, not wiser, look-alike out of his chair and march him ten feet away while Everett joins us.

  “What the hell are you thinking?” Everett shoves a hand to my father’s chest.

  Dad looks irritated as he glances my way. “Are you going to just stand there and watch as he roughs me up?”

  “Yeah, I am,” I tell him. “And then I’m going to finish you off. I hope your vision is good because you’re going to need a sharp eye to pick your teeth up off the floor. What are you thinking dragging Miranda down here with you?”

  “Listen to me”—Everett yanks him in by the shirt—“I’m stopping by the B&B tonight and I’m picking up my money. That’s right, it belongs to me. If I find any of it missing, I’m going to shove your head through a wall and not think twice. You won’t even know you have teeth when I’m done with you.”

  “It’s not there.” His hands fly to the ceiling. “I promise you, Everett. I got rid of every red cent. Rooster is back. He’s already tried to henpeck the staff, looking for it. Thank God Cormack got to him and subdued him in her bedroom. That was the only thing that gave me a minute to dump the cash.”

  “What do you mean dump the cash?” I squint over at him.

  “What I said.” He nods. “I had Manny Moretti swing by and I told him to take it. The green wasn’t worth the trouble.”

  “Manny Moretti.” Everett drops my father’s shirt and sighs. “Great.”

  I nod to my dad. “So how much did you manage to squirrel away?”

  Dad’s dimples dig in deep. “Seventy-five grand clean, son. I didn’t come to play.” He gives his dress shirt a tug and winks up at Everett. “Enjoy your night, boys.” He takes off and Everett and I exchange a glance.

  “I’m a dead man,” Everett says without one ounce of emotion behind it.

  And I’m terrified he’s right.

  We head back and find Jimmy already charming the socks off Miranda and Carlotta. Although judging by the way his hand is snaking up and down Miranda’s back, his arrow is pointed firmly in her direction.

  He lifts his silver head our way. “Gentlemen, nice to see you. How can I help you this fine evening?”

  “We need to talk.” Everett hitches his head and the three of us step back about ten paces. “Look, what do I have to do to get this hit of yours off of me? I’ve already got Luke and Manny crawling up my back. Enough’s enough. Tell me what I have to do to be done with this nightmare.”

  Everett looks both angry and anxious, and I’ve never seen him quite this way before. I get it. He’s got everything else going for him right now. The last thing he needs is the Grim Reaper chasing him down.

  “What’s with you?” Jimmy nods my way, not so much as giving Everett the time of day.

  I feel for the guy. Hell, I should be the one bleeding for him.

  I take a deep breath. “I want you to place his hit on my shoulders. I did that to your niece. He was acting on my word. That’s the reason I came to see you tonight.” I look over at Everett. “And that’s the God’s honest truth.”

  Jimmy chuckles. “Such a nice guy.” He slaps his hand over my back and shakes his head at me. “I’ll have to think about it.” He glances to the ceiling. “No can do. You see, I’ve got you where I need you, Detective. I have no use for a crooked judge. I’ve already got a few of those in my back pocket.” He winks over at Everett. “How’s your two-step?”

  “You want to slow dance?” Everett doesn’t miss a beat.

  Jimmy doesn’t crack a smile. “Just a heads-up, sometimes my men get frisky and pepper the ground with bullets. It’s good to be light on your feet.” He shrugs over at him. “Why are you wasting your time with me? Word is Moretti is still hopped up over the fact you wouldn’t land him a girl—Carlotta Junior the Third. Luke says Manny wants to blow your house up. And then there’s Luke himself. He’s not impressed that the money is missing. That’s a lot of money, Judge Baxter.”

  “Fine. I’ll cut him a check tonight. Hell, I’ll have cash for him in the morning. In the meantime, call your dogs off. I’m as good as under Luke’s protection.”

  Carlotta scrambles this way with Lottie and Lyla Nell right behind her.

  “Jimmy!” Carlotta falls over him. “Rooster’s back and he’s threatening me something awful. You wouldn’t happen to be running any specials on hits these days, would ya?”

  “Carlotta.” Everett shakes his head at her.

  Although I might be siding with Carlotta on this one.

  Jimmy shakes his head. “Not tonight, Carlotta.”

  “Well, I need a hundred grand,” she snips.

  Jimmy shakes his head again. “Why don’t you ask the judge here? He seems to have deep pockets. I’ve already given Ms. Featherby a one hundred K advance. I need to mind my nickels, if you know what I mean.”

  Carlotta jolts upright. “He’s got to you, hasn’t he? See that, Lot? Rooster’s already running the mob. Didn’t I tell you he would be harder to kill than a cockroach?”

  “That seems to be the case,” I say. “Jimmy, if you’re not budging on anything, we’ll get out of your hair. But just know that I’m easier to get along with if someone is nice to my friends.”

  Jimmy lifts his chin as he inspects me. “You call this man your friend? He’s sleeping with the mother of your child—the woman who should rightfully be your wife. You should call him your enemy.”

  It’s probably wrong that I feel a pang of pride at this moment. It’s nice to be validated even if it is coming from a killer.

  I shake my head at the killer before me. “I call this man my brother.”

  Carlotta starts in on a slow clap and Lyla Nell squeals and jumps as if she, too, approves.

  I nod to Jimmy. “You might have me in your back pocket, but as long as you’re firing bullets in his direction, know that I consider you my enemy.”

  Jimmy’s eyes harden like stone. “Duly noted. Now get the hell out of my club before I fire a few bullets myself.”

  He takes off and Everett shakes his head at me.

  “Wrong time to start a bromance, buddy. You’re Lyla Nell’s father. You need to stay one step ahead of that medieval mastermind.” He pokes a finger in my chest. “If I die, the girls are going to need you around to raise them. You do not get to lie in a casket next to me. So help me God, I will find a way to mangle your soul in eternity if I see your face show up before another six decades are through.”

  “Hey.” Lottie pulls Everett back. “You don’t get to talk that way. Not around me, never around Lyla Nell. Nothing
is going to happen to you. Got it, buddy?”

  Everett’s lips flicker. “Got it.”

  “Let’s get out of here,” I say, landing an arm over Lottie’s back.

  Carlotta waves to Miranda. “Next time you get stuck with Little Yippy, give me a holler, would ya?”

  Miranda gives a covert nod as I do my best to navigate us the heck out of here.

  I lean toward Lot. “We’re going to have to supervise your mother’s time with the baby from here on out.”

  “Yup,” Lot says without missing a beat.

  We make our way out into the balmy evening, and I nod for Everett to hang back a moment.

  “You’re not getting outfitted for a casket anytime soon,” I tell him without anything real to back it up.

  “You’re a lousy liar, Noah.” His cheek flinches. “But a pretty good brother.”

  We head back to Honey Hollow, and all the way home I wonder who will take that dirt nap first, Everett or me.

  And my heart hurts for Lottie and the girls either way.

  Something deadly is coming down the pike. I can feel it in my gut.

  One of us is about to hit the ground, but which one and by whose hand?

  A part of me doesn’t want the answers to those questions.

  Everett

  Last night’s jaunt to Leeds left me with a bad taste in my mouth. I don’t know what death tastes like, but I’m betting that was it.

  It’s Friday, and I’ve just hauled myself through the wringer in my courtroom, trying to control the defense from talking over the prosecuting attorney’s objections. Typically, my courtroom is civilized, but on occasion it breaks out into an all-out circus. And as much as I find the circus draining, a part of me knows it’s what a handful of those jurors were wanting to see. The public always seems to want an element of a knock-down, drag-out fight. In fact, I wish Evie were here to see it. I’d bet good money she’d sign up for law school on the spot if she could.

  “Judge Baxter,” a cheery voice calls out as I make my way down the main hall that leads to the exit. Bodies are streaming that way as the courthouse drains of its employees, and I look up to find Betsy Monroe headed this way with her blonde hair pulsing around her face like feathers.

  “Oh, Judge Baxter”—she runs up—“I have to tell you I’ve been having ridiculous cravings for your wife’s cookies. And those blueberry muffins? They were to die for.” Her lips twitch from side to side. “Sort of a morbid thing to say, considering Clark Willoughby died with one in his mouth.” She gives a little shrug. “At least we know he somewhat enjoyed the last thing he ate.” She winces. “That wasn’t very nice of me either, was it?”

  “Don’t worry. Once I’ve stepped down from my seat for the day, I’m no longer in the business of judging people.”

  A laugh trills from her. “Thanks.”

  “Betsy, can I ask you something about Judge Gorman?”

  Something hasn’t sat right with me ever since Quincy Calvin all but accused Dan Gorman of being a dirty judge. I knew Dan. We talked, we had drinks. Not once did he strike me as a dirty dog who’d wheel and deal with the mob.

  “Anything.” She blinks up at me and I sense an air of innocence about her anticipation of my question. Not the reaction I’d expect if she were washing cash for the guy.

  “Betsy, were the rumors true?” There were no rumors, but there was no easy way to slice and dice this theory either. “Was he knee deep with the wrong people? I just thought you were close enough that you might notice.”

  Her lips part as her forehead wrinkles. “Judge Gorman? I think we both know he was as upstanding as you could get. What kind of people do you think he was mixed up with? His wife Wanda and I still keep in touch now and again. She sends me pictures of them on what she calls their retirement tour. They look so happy. And believe it or not, Judge Gorman is actually smiling in a few of those pictures.” She’s back to giggling. “Anyway, it sounds like maybe you got him mixed up with someone else.”

  “I think maybe you’re right.” If she wasn’t washing money for Judge Gorman, what was she doing that got her canned? “Betsy, can I ask you bluntly why Clark fired you from the antique shop?” Her entire body seizes. Her eyes grow wide and she looks as if she were caught red-handed.

  Caught doing what exactly? Was she really washing money?

  She sighs hard as she looks to the floor. “I don’t know what happened. We were in the middle of the Christmas season. Clark still needed me in the shop. But the way he went about it, you’d think I was taking off with some of those pricey watches he kept under lock and key. I wasn’t. I would never steal. I work in a courthouse, for goodness’ sake. I love the law. And to be truthful, that night at the lake, I was hoping to get an answer. Instead, well, I think we both know what Clark got.” She nods to the entry. “I’m sorry, I have to go. I’m late for a dinner date. Will you be at the lake tomorrow? I hear they’re having that hot dog eating competition again. I might actually enter this time. But it’s the fireworks that bring me back each weekend. I just love that they’re shooting them off each Saturday night this month.”

  “It’s something they do.” I nod. “I’ll be there. And I’ll be at that competition right there with you.”

  “All right, bring it on.” She lets out a howl. “Game on, Judge Baxter.” She laughs as she strides out the door.

  “Essex,” a sharp voice calls from behind, and I see Fiona clip-clopping her way in my direction. She looks just as impeccably put together at the end of the day as she did at the beginning. Something I’ve come to expect from her, considering Fiona is impeccable at just about everything when it comes to her career. “Please tell me you aren’t back to your tomcat ways.”

  “Tomcat?” I shake my head at her. “I thought you knew I was a tiger.”

  Her voice hikes as she laughs. “Fair enough.”

  “And no, I’m not interested in any woman other than my wife.”

  “You’re really smitten with this one. If I knew better, I’d be jealous. You really are a catch. If I were ready for a commitment, I might have fought to keep you.” She grins as she says it because we both know she’s well content on her own.

  Fiona has always been a female version of the aforementioned tomcat I was.

  “Judge Baxter?” a man calls out and I lift my head to see Luke Lazzari heading this way. Dark suit, henchmen ensconcing him on either side, and a smirk on his face because he knows he has the upper hand.

  Fiona leans in. “What the hell is he doing here?” she whispers.

  Luke tips his bald head my way. “May I have a word with you? It will only take a second.”

  “Sure.” I lead us a good twenty feet from Fiona and her prowling ears. “What can I help you with?” My lips cinch because I know darn well what he wants—something I can’t give him. And I’m also well aware of the consequences he outlined for me a few weeks back. If Manny Moretti walked, and he did when he made bail, I was to find that mad money he had in that briefcase and wash it for him.

  “My money.” He sheds a greasy grin. “Did you ever manage to get that patina off of it. You know the one, the greedy slime that makes it look dirty?”

  “That’s because it is dirty. I don’t”—I’m about to tell him I don’t have it when a thought occurs to me. “Not all of it made it back to me.”

  “Moretti’s man took his take?”

  By Moretti’s man, I assume he means Rooster.

  “Yes.” I nod. “But the good news is, I managed to get a good chunk back, and I’m plowing my way through it for you.” Luke won’t know if the clean money I give him is mine or not. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.

  “Oh.” His head bobs up and down as if he were amused. “I see. And what fine establishment are you using to pencil this out in?”

  I hesitate a moment. I’d lie, but I don’t have one handy. “The B&B up in Honey Hollow. A few fake guests added up pretty quickly. The books look good.”

  “Brilliant.�
�� His brows dip and I can tell he’s got my number. “Now that I know you were able to eat the appetizer, I’m going to give you the whole meal. The one hundred K was the tip of the iceberg. I’ll have a lot more coming your way. It’s a lot of cash, so you might want to start thinking of where to store it. Maybe buy a safe.”

  An expletive slips from me. “No.”

  “Excuse me?” He gives an amused blink.

  “I said no. I’m not turning my home into a holding tank for your dirty money. I get it. You want me in your back pocket.”

  “That’s where you’re mistaken. I don’t want you in my back pocket; I have you in my back pocket. Now I’m going to tell you what your next step is, so you can keep that ticker going and I can make some use of those government-issued bricks I’ve got lying around from the sales of some very fine weaponry in the event you’re wondering. I don’t dabble in illegal substances like some people.” His shoulders jerk as he mentions his nemesis in not so many words, Jimmy Canelli. “You’ll open a shell company, get creative. Maybe you and the missus can go in on this venture together? We’ll make the money dance until it finds its way back into my bank account. Just like you’re going to make the money you’re cleaning through the B&B trickle back home where it belongs. I have a feeling we’re going to make great business partners.” He winks. “You’ll be in the business of protecting my financial interests, and I’ll be in the business of protecting you.”

  I’m about to say something when he holds up a finger and cuts me off at the pass.

  “This might be your house, Judge Baxter, but I get the last word no matter whose roof we’re under.” He takes off and his henchmen take a moment to glower at me before accompanying him outside.

  Fiona trots up, looking more than a little miffed, and slaps me hard across the cheek without warning.

  “Oww,” I say as my hand comes up to comfort the sting. “What the heck was that for?”

  Her eyes breathe a fire of their own. “I’d ask what the heck that was for, but I think I know,” she says, pointing in the direction Lazzari left in. “I don’t know how or why, but you’ve mixed yourself up with the mob again. As if the Canellis weren’t trouble enough for you a few months back.” She takes in a quick breath. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. Jimmy wanted his own justice when the courts wouldn’t allow for it, and he’s put a hit out on you for kidnapping his niece.” Her eyes move slowly to the ceiling as she takes an exasperated breath. “And then you, being motivated by your malfunctioning noggin, thought you’d hire Lazzari to counteract the hit. And what exactly is his payment for protection, Essex?”