Lethal Lemon Bars: MURDER IN THE MIX 9

by Moore, Addison

  “You’re mine,” I say, looking right into those stormy eyes. “All mine.”

  His lids lower a notch, and the tips of his lips threaten to curl. “And you’re mine, Lemon.” If Everett has ever called me by my first name in all the months I’ve known him, I honestly can’t recall. It’s a part of his “dark knight bordering on bad boy” charm, and I’ve eaten up every delicious detention-worthy morsel of it.

  “Now, where’s that kiss I asked you to give me?” I bite down on my lower lip to keep from giggling like a schoolgirl. I happen to know firsthand that Everett loves it when I bark orders at him. But when the bodies hit the fan, it’s him barking orders at me, and I’m more than quick to comply.

  His lids drop another notch, and his eyes glaze over the way they’re known to do.

  “Front and center, Lemon. I’m going to give it to you right here, wet and wild.” Everett lands his lips over mine, soft at first, then demanding right before he claims my mouth.

  When Everett Baxter kisses you, rest assured, every cell in your body will be apprised of what’s happening and brilliantly stunned into submission. This isn’t some drive-by peck on the lips he’s doling out. It’s a work of art by a master.

  Everett kisses me as if I was the only woman on the planet—as if every other kiss he’s ever doled out was simply practice for this one, the most important of them all. My stomach bisects with heat as those butterflies that go off whenever he’s around flutter at top speed. I’m suddenly dizzy and weak and want nothing more than to rake all of the lemon bars off this island and take Everett up on his indelicate offer.

  “All right. I’ve seen enough.” An all too familiar voice booms in through the back, and Everett and I turn to find Detective Noah Fox walking in with a bouquet of blush pink roses, the look of disdain rife on his handsome face.

  Noah, my aforementioned ex, is also handsome to a fault, dark hair that turns red in the sun, dimples for days, evergreen eyes, and enough wit and charm to take down even the most hardened of hearts—he did mine.

  “Hey, beautiful.” He offers up a warm smile as he says it, his gaze pressing into mine as if we were the only two people in the room—as if I weren’t in another man’s arms entirely. “These are for you.” He hands the bouquet my way, and I take a breath and hold it, unsure of what to do with the situation.

  Everett grunts, his arms still very much secured over my body. “Thanks, sweetie.” He manufactures a short-lived grin for Noah. “There’s a toilet in the back. Why don’t you put them in there? I’ll get around to flushing eventually.”

  “Everett.” I laugh while swatting him on the chest. “The flowers are innocent. Here, give them to me.” I take them from Noah and plop them into a pitcher in the sink. “Thank you, Noah. That was very sweet of you. They’re beautiful.”

  Noah gives a sly wink before looking to Everett. “That’s always been your fatal flaw. You’ve never appreciated the fact that women love to be wooed. It’s all wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am.” Noah looks my way. “Did you know he’s a pro at running all the bases on opening night?”

  Everett and Noah used to be stepbrothers way back in high school. Noah’s father took financial advantage of Everett’s wealthy mother, and that good time didn’t last long. But while they were forced to live under one roof, Noah thought it was a good idea to steal Everett’s girlfriend from beneath him—Cormack Featherby, and these two boys haven’t been the same ever since. Yes, the same Cormack Featherby who is the very reason we’re all standing in the kitchen of my mother’s B&B.

  But as for Everett and Noah, today their relationship hinges on something just this side of hatred. And now that Everett has, in Noah’s opinion, exacted his revenge after all these years by stealing me away—lies I tell you, a fantasy built on half-truths—well, that old rivalry has reignited itself full steam.

  A dull laugh bounces through Everett’s chest. “If you’re such an expert with women, why are you buying flowers for my girlfriend?”

  My mouth rounds out with surprise. “Let the record show this is the first instance in which the good judge has referenced me as such.” I float back and quickly land a peck to his cheek as a reward even though I’m pretty sure the pet name was invoked strictly to anger Noah. It’s working, too.

  Everett moans after the innocent peck I gifted him as if I had done a heck of a lot more to pleasure him. “Thanks, sweetness.” His lips pull into a brief line as if to expound his point.

  Noah glowers over at Everett as if he were about to shove his face into a mound of lemon bars and end him by way of my sweetness.

  I’m about to say something, anything to calm the impending storm since I happen to know that both Noah and Everett were invited guests to today’s unorthodox festivities, when the ghost of Greer Giles, looking exceptionally stunning this afternoon, might I add, with her long dark hair, smooth and glossy, her signature white ruched dress looking exceptionally dazzling, comes waltzing right through the pantry, and along with her is a rather handsome man with a winning smile and all-around affable aura about him. He’s tall, muscular, with brilliant white teeth that he doesn’t mind showing off, curly brown hair that looks soft to the touch like lamb’s wool, and heavily squinted half-moons for eyes, mostly because he hasn’t stopped smiling as they carry on their conversation.

  “Oh my goodness!” My heart begins to quicken at the sight before me. If he can see Greer, hear Greer, and carry on a conversation with her, he must be like me.

  I quickly pull him to the side, filled with unmitigated glee. “I can’t believe this,” I whisper, trying not to arouse Noah’s attention since he’s not apprised of my supersensual standing. Of course, Everett knows all about my ability to see the dead—and if he holds my hand, he can hear them, too. “Are you like me? Are you transmundane? I’m actually further classified as supersensual. There was a meet-up with our kind at my bakery a few months back. This is just incredible. When did you realize you could see those that have long since passed?”

  He pauses a moment to glance at Greer, and she shrugs while tossing her long dark hair. Her gray eyes used to glow like paper lanterns while she was still alive a few months back, but after her murder, they glow like floodlights.

  Greer was a sorority beauty queen—just about the same age as me when she perished back in February. She actually chose to eschew paradise in order to haunt my mother’s B&B along with her two-hundred-year-old boy toy Winslow Decker. They’re quite the success, considering the fact my mother’s haunted B&B tours are sold out for the foreseeable future. All parties seem thrilled with the paranormal arrangement, so it’s pretty much a ghostly win-win.

  “What’s your name?” I shake my head at this marvel of a man. “Can I get you a lemon bar? I just can’t believe you can see the dead!”

  Any trace of a smile has since dissipated from his features. “I’m not just seeing the dead. I am dead.”

  Chapter 2

  His words swirl around me like a slippery fish my mind refuses to grasp.

  “You’re dead?” I let his words sink in for a moment.

  A pained smiled crosses his face. “I’m sorry to spring it on you like that. I’m not used to speaking to the living—at least I haven’t for the last few years. In fact, I had no idea at all I’d be summoned back from paradise.”

  I suck in a lungful of air and nearly inhale all of the lemon bars in the vicinity in the process.

  “Oh my God!” I howl at what this all means.

  Noah rushes over. “Lottie, is everything okay?”

  I pivot on my heels as I shoot a quick look to Everett. Everett is the only person on the planet, sans my birth mother, Carlotta Sawyer, and the small portion of the transmundane community I had the privilege to meet, that actually know of my peculiar abilities.

  “Everything is”—I do my best to search for words—“running very off schedule. Noah, why don’t you help take one of these platters out to the conservatory? Everett, you can help me put together another plate.”
>
  Noah growls low, “You’re trying to get rid of me. This has to do with that thing, doesn’t it? The secret you were going to share with me? We can do it now. What is it, Lottie? You’re rattled. I can tell.”

  A quivering breath escapes me as I look back to the handsome man once again chatting it up with Greer as if they were old friends.

  “Not here.” Everett narrows his gaze on that seemingly vacant space I’ve been staring at in horror as if he senses something. “We can do it at my place tonight. After Lemon and I finish up in the bedroom, we’ll come out and tell you all about it.” A mischievous grin spreads over his face, his double entendre purely drummed up for Noah’s sake.

  Noah’s jaw tenses, and it makes him look that much more handsome. “There is going to be a homicide today.”

  I watch as Greer and the mystery man walk right through the wall and out toward the conservatory.

  “He’s right. There is going to be a homicide today.” I nod to Everett and pick up a platter. “And for once, I’m going to try to get to the bottom of it before the Grim Reaper has a chance to score another homicidal home run.”

  I head out and am greeted by the sound of happy chattering voices. The conservatory is a new addition that my mother recently tacked onto the B&B. One of my exes, Otis Bear Fisher, built the structure for her.

  Bear broke my heart in high school, which in turn sent me running for big city pastures out in New York where I went to Columbia for my bachelors, but before I could think about grad school, I met yet another cad, Curt Vanderlin, and he broke my heart twice as hard as Bear ever did. Basically, Curt proposed, I said yes, he slept with my roommate, and I said goodbye. He was recently in town, and we’ve since mended fences. Suffice it to say, I’ve never been lucky in love.

  The bustling crowd in the conservatory jars me back to reality. The room itself is a large glass and steel structure that gives you that outdoor feeling while you’re still snug inside. Cormack, the woman who caused the great divide between Noah and Everett years ago, paid to have a design team come in and put up posh tables at standing height, no chairs. They set out several large white sofas scattered around the periphery, and hung ridiculously large yet stunningly opulent crystal chandeliers in hues of baby blue from the ceiling.

  It’s almost wall-to-wall bodies in here, exclusively female thus far, and the sound of classical music pops from the speakers.

  I spot Keelie and Meg going at it near the refreshment table, and I can’t help but frown. They’ve both been quasi-dating Hook Redwood for the last few months. Let’s just say they’re not a happy little threesome. I wish one of them would back down. It’s not healthy to have three hearts tangled in a knot when there’s clearly only room for two. Noah and Everett bounce through my mind, and I do my best to bounce them right back out.

  Out on the refreshment table behind Keelie and Meg, there’s an ice luge of some kind that shoots out liquor, complete with a bartender at the helm. To his left is a sushi chef making rolls to order, and just beyond that is what looks like a small hibachi barbeque with lighter fluid and briquettes as if we were about to grill up some steaks.

  “Lolly!”

  I turn to find Cormack, the formidable real-life Barbie with her golden blonde hair, light green doe eyes, waving at me. She’s clad in a pink hip-hugging dress with a plunging neckline and what appears to be an ever-shrinking hemline. To my surprise, standing next to her is her doppelgänger, albeit with chestnut-colored locks and a bright yellow dress, equally as hip-hugging and suggestive.

  Cormack has never bothered to get my name straight, and I don’t bother correcting her anymore. Not to mention the fact she’s got the serious hots for Noah, whom I still have the serious hots for as well—mostly because I can’t seem to find the shut-off valve.

  Cormack needs to stand in line, though. It just so happens that Noah’s wife hit the pause button on their divorce and is forcing him to undergo another round of counseling. Noah says it won’t avail much since he’s already emotionally removed himself from the marriage, but I suppose only time will tell.

  Cormack wraps an arm around my shoulders and abruptly pulls me close as if we were suddenly besties. “Don’t you just love the way things turned out? I’d move the moon to make my sister happy. That goes for the big boss in my life, too.” She gives a quick wink. By big boss, I’m certain she means Noah. I’ve heard her reference him as such in the past, and it turns my stomach each and every time. “Lonnie, this is my sister, Landon. Landon, this is Leighla.”

  Both Landon and I gawk at Cormack in wonder. Cormack is a bright woman, and, yet, she doesn’t seem to be egging me on while badly mismanaging my name.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Landon.” I offer a hand and she shakes it, so light and ice cold she makes the limp fish feel like an aggressive arm wrestling match.

  Landon glances at the burgeoning crowd of what appears to be hordes of Miss America contestants. I’m half-expecting a bathing suit competition to break out. Although, to be honest, this doesn’t look like the thong and pasty crowd you might find down at Red Satin where Meg works. These women come from money. Honest to God, I can smell it on them just as sure as their pricy perfume.

  Landon leans in. “All of my best friends are here. Oh, and my ex is stopping by in a few. Sort of a celebrity appearance, if you will.” She honks out a laugh that sounds like a flock of geese heading south for the winter, and my eyes double in size because in the span of thirty seconds both Featherby sisters happened to amaze me—and not in any good way.

  “Your ex? Now there’s a twist.” And oddly, I have a feeling he will be the least strange thing in this room.

  I scan the area and spot Greer with her boyfriend, Winslow Decker, and he looks good and fighting mad. Come to think of it, Greer looks pretty red-faced, too. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they were having an argument.

  Just past them I spot the man of the ghostly hour chatting it up with Carlotta, my biological mom—who just so happens to share my quirky gift. I can’t help but snarl at the sight. Carlotta should know better than to prattle on with a poltergeist in the midst of ordinary people, but, apparently, she lacks common sense.

  Landon waves off the idea of her ex. “He’s with Viv now.” She nods to a bleached blonde with ice blue eyes and a svelte waist that looks impossibly tiny as exemplified by the belt cinching her off like a bracelet. She looks strikingly like one of those old-time movie stars, long thick lashes, red velvet lips, smokey eyes. She’s the modern embodiment of Carol Lombard, and I could easily find myself staring at her for hours the way you would a creature in a zoo habitat.

  “But I’ve moved on, too,” Landon continues. “I’ve got the breakup brunette going.” She plucks at one of her chestnut curls. “And I’ve upped my Pilates classes to four times a week. Now that I’ll be staying in Honey Hollow, I’ll need a full list of local recommendations—nails, hair, lips, esthetician, masseuses, the name of the cutest bag boy at the grocery store—we’re talking full monty.”

  I think on this for a moment just as Keelie’s evil twin steps in my line of vision. Naomi took a harsh disliking to me a million years ago when she decided she wanted Bear for herself. She wasn’t the one he cheated on me with, but Naomi and I have never been friendly.

  “You’ll want to speak with Naomi Turner.” I nod over to her just as a crowd bustles between us. “She runs the Evergreen Manor and is in the know on all things—high-maintenance.” I wanted to say shallow, but the truth is, I like a good massage as much as the next girl.

  Landon jerks as her entire body freezes. “Here she comes,” she mutters under her breath, and Cormack follows her gaze to a group of girls entering the conservatory from the rear entrance.

  A trio of brunettes heads this way. The one in the middle with the fiery chestnut locks has her shoulders back, a cutting look on her beautifully chiseled face. She has high cheekbones, full lips, just about everything else a supermodel requires, and she could easily be just that. The girl
to her right has a pushed-in nose, tiny lips, and an angry look that suggests she might be the potential killer.

  I try to shake the thought away. I shouldn’t think like that. It’s repulsive. But the fact Carlotta is laughing at whatever Ghost Boy is telling her, firmly suggests otherwise. In the last eight months, there has yet to be a specter’s presence that has not resulted in someone’s impending doom. Honestly, though, murder is the last thing I want to think about.

  My attention reverts to the trio of brunettes. The girl on the end ensconcing the trio’s clear leader has a sour puss, too. She sports a short copper bob that nearly matches her honey-colored skin. She’s pretty, petite, and pardon my French, she looks decidedly pissed.

  Landon gulps audibly. “Nessa!” She trots forward and grabs the hands of the redhead in the middle.

  Ha! I knew she was the queen bee.

  Nessa’s lips tug with disdain as she glances around. “I don’t see DJ Dash. He did my mother’s divorce party and Lindie’s.” She shoots a look to the girl with the pushed-in nose and tiny lips who I’m guessing is Lindie before looking to the copper-haired girl. “Jenson, find me a cocktail that isn’t pink and doesn’t have an obscene name.”

  Landon threads her arm through Nessa’s. “Let’s look at the legal documents. I’m having a freedom fire in about ten minutes and we’ll toast with champagne!”

  Nessa chortles. “So tacky.” She shoots me a careless glance. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Totally,” I agree without thinking, and Landon’s mouth falls open in horror.

  “I’m sorry,” I’m quick to apologize, but it’s too late. She’s already dragged Nessa off to ogle the vodka luge.