“I will do no such thing,” I’m quick to counter. “Not on purpose, anyway.” I shrink a little. “Noah, I love you. I’d die if anything happened to you.”
“We might both die if we’re not careful.” He takes up my hand. “What else do you know about Norman Pemberley?” There’s a look of resignation in his eyes that can’t be misconstrued as anything else. It’s clear Noah isn’t all that thrilled to be helping, but I’ll take what I can get.
“Nothing really. I was there right after he fell over Keelie. Whoever did this could have killed her, too—and her baby. This isn’t some random crime. This is personal, Noah.”
His lips pull back a moment. “I get it. Okay, I’ll tell you what I have so far, but you have to promise me something.”
“You don’t want me to investigate any further?”
He shakes his head, his dimples going off without even trying. “I would never ask you to promise me that. At least not anymore because I know that’s one promise you can’t keep.”
“All right.” I wrinkle my nose because we both know he’s right. “Name it, then.”
“Promise you’ll tell me before you head off to question a suspect. That way, if I know they’re about to be surrounded by a hundred guns, I can give you the heads-up.”
“Smart. I like that. Consider it done.” A knot builds in my belly because I know that I’ve just promised to confess where I’m headed to Noah, and now I’m afraid he’ll try to stop me.
He sighs a moment as he gives my hand a squeeze. “I know what you’re thinking, and I realize I can’t stop you. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
“So what have you got?” I ask. “Are you close to catching the killer? And please tell me Keelie is no longer on the suspect list.”
He winces. “She’s not an official suspect, but legally I need to keep her on the table.”
“That’s lame. Her wedding is coming up, and her father’s own department has an eye on her in a homicide investigation.”
“It does make things interesting for her. But Sheriff Turner instructed me not to bother her about it anymore. He knows she’s innocent, and unless a red flag gets thrown my way, she’s off the hook.”
“Good. So who’s not off the hook?”
“I can’t legally give you that information. It would not only put my neck on the line, but I don’t have the heart to start rumors about people who are most likely innocent.”
“Fine. We’ll go about it another way. What clues are you looking at?”
He tips his head. “There was a pocket square found near the entry where the killer was believed to have left from. It could have been dropped by anyone. A lot of people left in haste the second they heard the gunshot.
“And the killer ran right out the door with them. What about the gun? Did you find that?”
“No. But the bullet fired hit him right in the heart. That tells me it was no sloppy hit.”
“Right over the heart,” I echo his words. “Wow, that’s a lucky shot.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t believe in luck, Lottie. Whoever shot Norman was an expert.”
“That would have made sense if the mob theory were still on the table.”
“You really believe Luke?”
I shrug. “I do. And I can’t tell you why. But, if none of my other leads pan out, I’ll certainly revive the theory and track down Johnny Lazzari.”
“Spoken like a seasoned detective.” He pats my knee.
The tiny braying of a baby goat pierces the air, and I give Noah’s hand a squeeze.
“Bruiser?” I call out and the tiny adorable beast appears with his eyes glowing the same shade as the pale blue sky.
“I tooold you there would be trouble,” he brays.
Noah grunts, “I like this kid.” He blinks a smile at his own pun.
“Did you glean anything?” Bruiser bites down over Noah’s pants as if he were in the mood to graze.
“Not really. But don’t you worry. I’ll make sure Norman gets justice for his killing.” No sooner do the words leave my mouth than I spot a woman who looks more than vaguely familiar, and then it hits me where I know her from. “Noah? I’m going to get you another bottle of water and some ice. I’ll be right back.”
I thread my way into the melee of medical workers mingling with law enforcement. But it’s the woman with dark hair, older than me by maybe ten to twenty years that’s my target.
“Brandy?” I call out as I get a few feet from where she’s setting out medical supplies onto a plastic pop-up table.
That’s right. She said she was a nurse right here in Leeds.
She looks up and her eyes glow hazel under the bright afternoon sun. It takes her a moment before a surprised smile graces her face.
Her brows furrow. “Where do I know you from?”
“The Pemberley mansion.”
Her expression immediately darkens. “Oh yes.” She closes her eyes briefly. “That was a terrible day.” She nods to the mouth of the building behind us. “And so is this apparently. I don’t know what this world is coming to, all of this violence and crime. It’s enough to scare a person into moving, but where do you go? The entire world is off-kilter if you ask me.”
“And I agree with you.”
Bruiser pops up behind her, his tiny face tucked onto her shoulder, and it’s enough to make me gasp.
“What is it?” She turns quickly and a look of relief hits her when she realizes there’s no one there. “You scared me.” She gives a little laugh. “I’ve been more than a little jumpy ever since that horrible day. How’s your friend doing? The one that Norman fell onto? She’s okay, right?” Her eyes water a moment, and it touches me that she cares so much about my bestie.
“She’s fine. She’ll be better once she’s no longer a suspect, though.”
“They’ll clear her. That poor girl has a wedding and a baby to think about. I’m sure they’ll catch the real killer.”
“Here’s hoping,” I say. “So did you find your dress?”
She blinks over at me. “What dress?”
“For your friend’s wedding. My best friend, Keelie, the one with the wedding and the baby, she’s still in the same bind.”
“Oh, that.” She shakes her head. “Nope. I think I’ll just pick something up off the rack. My friend says I can wear whatever I want. I hope Keelie finds a dress soon, though. Seeing she’s the bride, I’d think hers was far more important.”
“It is. And if she doesn’t find one soon, she’s threatening to wear her bathrobe.”
Brandy belts out a laugh. “I like her more already.”
“So what did the sheriff’s deputies say when you told them about the man you saw running out after the shooting? Were you able to remember anything else?”
Her eyes latch to mine. “I didn’t exactly share that with the sheriff’s department.”
“What? Brandy, you have to. You might have been the only witness.”
She grimaces. “I know, I know, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the man who ran might have just been spooked.” She glances to the building a moment. “Besides, I don’t know if you remember, but I mentioned that he came back. I saw him heading into the mansion as I was getting ready to leave.”
“You did?” I do remember, but I need to keep her on topic as best I can. “What did he look like?”
“Um—well, he had dark hair and a suit and light eyes.”
“Jenson Pauper?” I don’t mind playing along.
“Yes.” She gives an enthusiastic nod. “Come to find out, that’s his name. Do you know him?” She pulls a baseball cap with the initials FFR out of her purse and slips it over her head as the sun bears down hard over us.
“Jenson Pauper. I guess he was one of Norman’s stepchildren.” Hartley, Carlotta’s dizzy friend who was also married to Norman once, said that Jenson and Norman didn’t get along. Analise told me at the western bar that Jenson and Norman were enemies. Come to think of it, I saw him roug
hhousing Analise at the mansion just before the killing. I guess things aren’t looking so good for Jenson right about now.
Brandy nods, a sad smile building on her lips. “That’s the guy. I guess his mother was married to Norman for a while. That is, until she saw him for the fool he is—or I guess I should say was.”
“Fool?”
Her chest thumps with a quiet laugh. “That old coot was nothing but a pervert and everyone knew it.”
“I won’t fight you on that.” I spot a shockingly handsome judge quickly heading this way and hold my breath a moment. “It was nice talking to you, Brandy. I own the bakery in Honey Hollow. Please stop by if you ever need anything.” I bolt before she can respond and meet Everett halfway.
In an instant his arms are wrapped around me tight, and his lips are on mine.
“Lemon.” He pulls back, and I can see the anger and fear mingling in his eyes. “What the hell happened?”
“Funny you should ask. A goat, a baker, and her zany look-alike walked into a butcher shop.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“That’s because I haven’t gotten to the good part.” I take him by the hand.
“The good part is you’re still breathing.”
“I’ve still got an appetite, too. You up for the Wicked Wok?”
“With you? I’m up for anything.”
We ask Noah to join us, but he insists on getting back to his desk.
It’s just Everett and me and a bagful of Chinese food that doesn’t stand a chance.
I fall under the spell of Everett’s deep blue eyes, and something tells me I don’t stand a chance either.
Chapter 10
The next morning my mother called and asked me to bring dessert to the B&B for about ten to fifty people. There’s nothing a caterer likes more than having a nice spread between numbers.
It’s the day of one of my mother’s infamous naughty book club meetings. About a year ago, Mom’s historical naughty book club merged with Naomi’s plain ol’ naughty book club and now they’re one big dysfunctional historically naughty book club.
Evie is playing the part of my assistant today as we head over to my mother’s bed and breakfast. My mother bought this place not long after my father died. And once my sisters and I moved out on our own, she moved into this place and it became her fourth child.
It was struggling for a while, but then one murder led to the next and now she’s got the ghost of Greer Giles and her entire poltergeist family living here. I helped solve Greer’s murder over a year ago. Then she came back to help me solve another murder and, well, she’s never really left. I don’t know how or why, but I’ve learned not to question these things. Anyway, Greer has a two-hundred-year-old boyfriend named Winslow Decker, a blond cutie who used to be a pig farmer on the land my mother’s B&B was erected on. Then there’s little Lea, a holy terror if ever there was one. She’s about six and likes to wield a hatchet to avenge the slaughter of her family that occurred over this plot of sacred dirt, and last but not least, there’s an adorable black cat named Thirteen. He’s ornery but wonderfully spooky.
“Did you read the book?” Evie asks as she helps me carry platters of sweet treats into the conservatory. I also brought along a bucket full of colorful cake pops for the women to enjoy today. I’m trying to perfect my recipe for Keelie’s wedding, and the ladies of my mother’s book club will be the beneficiaries of that endeavor.
“I didn’t,” I say. “But I think Carlotta has a copy at the house. I’d be hesitant to crack it if I were you. Their book selections have been known to be on the spicy side.”
Evie’s eyes bulge. “Are you kidding? I live for that.”
“No way. You’re too young. You can’t read it.”
Evie scoffs. Her dark hair is pulled up into a bun that sits directly on top of her head, and she’s wearing her favorite black ripped jeans and a black T-shirt to go along with them. I don’t remember wearing such dark colors when I was in high school, but then, I basically had a marshmallow for a brain. Evie is miles smarter than I was. All I wanted to do was get a boyfriend and fool around. And I did. I landed Bear Fisher, and all he did was fool around on me—not so much with me. Here’s hoping he’ll be a much better partner to Keelie. In fact, I’m sure he will be. Or at least he had better be.
“Fine,” Evie snips, letting me know in no uncertain terms it is not fine. “I won’t read those spicy books. I’ll just live them.”
“What?” I screech as we enter the palatial glass room my mother had tacked onto the B&B. The conservatory is a gorgeous tranquil room where you can look outside of its glass walls and ceiling to see the evergreens that fringe this part of the property. My mother’s flower garden is in full bloom this time of year and it just adds to the eye candy. “I’m sorry, Evie, but it’s a hard no,” I say, landing my goodies onto the refreshment table before taking Evie’s platter and doing the same. “No way, no how, young lady.”
Meg pops up with her long black hair, her icy blue eyes, and surprisingly she’s wearing just about the same outfit as Evie.
“Hey, Aunt Meg.” Evie does her best to sulk, and I’m guessing pull a little sympathy from her newly minted aunt at the very same time.
“What’s got you down, buddy?” Meg slings an arm around her. “Who do I have to put into a chokehold?”
Meg can put anyone in a chokehold with the best of them. After all, her alter ego is known as Madge the Badge.
Evie sighs dramatically. “Mom says I can’t read spicy books. She thinks I’m going to get ideas or something. Newsflash, Mom, I can actually control myself around the opposite gender.”
I make a face. “You just said if I didn’t let you read the books you’d live them. That doesn’t sound like control to me.”
Meg chuckles. “Aw, come on, Lot. Mom didn’t let us read those kinds of books, and look what happened?”
I suck in a quick breath. I went out and lived them! I guess Evie’s not kidding.
“Okay, fine,” I say. “But just the novel assigned to the book club. That way you’ll know I’m reading it, too.”
“Eww.” She looks ready to puke. “Way to ruin it for me. I see Carlotta up front. Maybe she can give me the summary and bring me up to speed.”
She takes off, and I shake my head. “Why is it that if I do a read-a-long I’m ruining it, but if Carlotta gives her all the dirty details it’s perfectly acceptable?”
“You’re the mom. Carlotta is the fun grandma.”
“I see your point.”
“Ta-da!” a woman trills from the entry and we look over to find our mother, Miranda Lemon, dressed in a white dress with red roses printed all over it. She just so happens to be holding one of those long-stemmed wonders as well, and it makes me wonder what she’s up to.
Meg grunts, “Something tells me she’s going to be full of surprises today.”
Mom gets straight to tending to her guests just as Lainey, my pleasantly plump sister, waddles our way. Lainey and I share the same caramel-colored waves and hazel eyes, and because of that, I used to think that my parents got the details of my adoption wrong. Clearly it was Meg who was different in just about every way. So what if she dyes her blonde locks that gorgeous raven hue? It was clear to my six-year-old self that Meg was the one who was adopted.
Lainey finally lands before us in her cute denim maternity dress that fans out comfortably around her. There’s a row of tiny red roses around her neckline, and it’s one of my favorite dresses on her.
“You look like a fairy-tale princess,” I say.
“Yeah,” Lainey snorts before holding up a fistful of my pastel-colored cake pops. “If that fairy-tale princess was knocked up.” She bites the head off a cake pop with vengeance.
“And I love your dress,” I add. “Be sure to save your maternity clothes. They’re beautiful.”
Lainey’s eyes bug out. “Why? Are you knocked up, Lottie?” Her lips curve with glee. “Who did it? Who’s the daddy?”
Meg smacks her lips. “Ten buck says it’s Mr. Sexy. I know he’s been sneaking into your window at night.”
I avert my eyes. “Everett doesn’t have to sneak into my window. And it wasn’t Everett. I haven’t slept with him in months.”
Lainey sucks in a hard breath, and I’m half-afraid she’s just inhaled a cake pop.
“Lottie Lemon,” she belts my name out like a reprimand. “That man deserves more than you’re giving him.”
Meg chuckles. “Yeah, Lot, give it to both of them. Reverse harems are all the rage.”
“Yup,” Lainey is quick to agree as she brandishes a paperback at us. “That’s what this little nugget was all about.”
I take a peek at the cover, which depicts a woman in a red dress bending over a kitchen sink—sort of an off-putting image in general. The title reads Ms. Snow and the Seven Plumbers.
A hard groan comes from me. “There’s no way I’m letting Evie read that. Who picks this garbage?”
Lainey snatches the book close to her chest. “I’ll have you know I’m the one who put in the request. And it was a very informative piece of literature.”
Meg’s chest bucks. “More like a very detailed piece of literature.”
Lainey takes a breath, looking every bit affronted. “I’d better find my seat up front near Mom and her friends. They’re not nearly as judgmental.”
Meg laughs. “That’s because they’re just as randy,” she calls out before following her over.
Carlotta runs past me, waving her hands in the air as she gives some poor woman in a floral print dress a tackle-hug. That pom of red frizzy hair looks familiar. And as Carlotta pulls back, I’m able to confirm my suspicion. It’s Hartley Kendricks, one of Norman Pemberley’s many ex-wives.
Before I can make my way over, Keelie waddles in. Her hair looks limp, her skin sallow, and she has genuine bags under her eyes.
Murder in the Mix Boxed Set 8 Page 8