Murder in the Mix Boxed Set 8

by Addison Moore

  Cormack slams her hand down over the table. “How in the heck did he pull that off?” She plucks her phone out of her purse. “I need to schedule a meeting with Daddy’s legal team. This is utter nonsense. We’ve got more money than every Bentley on the planet combined.”

  “Lovely,” I say as I toss my pizza slice back on my plate. “There goes my appetite. I bet Cressida is indulging in a nice juicy steak. I guess we’ll have to break the news to Evie. She’ll probably see Cressida rearing her smug mug around town.”

  Everett’s cheek flinches. “Cressida is cruising the French Riviera to celebrate.”

  “A self-imposed exile? I kind of like that.” I look to Cormack. “Feel free to join her.”

  Cormack’s fingers dance over to Noah’s before latching onto him with a death grip. “Not without the Big Boss by my side. And since he burned what little vacation time he had with you last month, we’ll just have to wait for it to accrue again.”

  Noah reaches across the table and picks up my hand and I can’t help but note how odd we look with Cormack still firmly attached to his other hand.

  “Lottie Lemon,” Noah bears those forest green eyes my way, “it was an honor to spend my vacation days with you in Cider Cove.”

  “I agree.” Everett plucks my hand from Noah’s and lands a kiss to the back of it. “Where should we honeymoon?”

  A gurgle of a laugh strums from Cormack. “Don’t worry, Limon. I’ll keep an eye on all the important things, namely Noah.”

  I think about it for a second. “I guess I always envisioned a cruise for my honeymoon. All the food and privacy you could want.”

  Noah grunts as if he were mortally wounded. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

  Everett’s chest thumps. “This is my cruise, buddy. Find your own boat.”

  “Speaking of boats,” I say. “Any luck in that department?”

  A smile twitches on his lips. “Don’t tell Evie, but I’ve got two I’m seriously considering.”

  “Sounds as if we’ll be getting that cruise sooner than later,” I say. “I’m excited.”

  Noah nods. “I’ll get my fishing pole ready.”

  Cormack scoffs. “This is disgusting. It’s as if the three of you actually get along. It’s as if you’re not even warring over her anymore and you’ve simply accepted your fate. Noah, you have a better option. Essex, we all know you have more than fifty better options. What’s the real lure here?” She squints over at me as if trying to decipher this for herself.

  “She’s the mother of my child.” Everett’s lids hood a moment as if the thought were enough to seduce him. “Speaking of Evie, when I stopped by the house to pick her up for dinner, she refused because she said she had some reading to catch up on. I saw the covers, read the titles.” He dips his chin my way. “Lemon?”

  “I can explain everything,” I say. “She gave me two options, reading—or hands-on learning—and I opted for the celibate option.” I shrink in my seat. “She’s a young girl full of hormones. If we’re not careful, this won’t end well. Besides, how much harm can come of this?”

  My phone buzzes and it’s a text from Carlotta that says before right above a picture of Evie making out on the sofa with one of her boy toys and I nearly drop the phone in an effort to turn the screen from Everett. Another text pops up that reads after. A picture follows with what looks like a shoe being thrown at the boy at the base of my driveway.

  “And there’s that,” I say, burying the evidence deep in my purse. I knew it was a brilliant idea to have Evie head to my place while we were at dinner. I never thought I’d say this, but thank God Carlotta was there to moderate. At least this way Evie won’t get into any more trouble—I hope.

  Everett eyes my purse. “Everything okay?”

  “Just dandy.” I land a slice of pizza on his plate. “Mangia, Mangia,” I sing.

  Good Lord. I had better have a talk with Evie about the evils of teenage boys. I can use Carlotta and myself as exhibits A and B.

  “Anyhoo.” I sit up straight. “I found out some new info regarding Norman Pemberley’s murder.”

  “Lottie.” Noah ticks his head to the side as if to remind me of our little conversation.

  “I can assure you I didn’t seek this out. I ran into Hartley Kendricks at my mother’s B&B.”

  Cormack swirls the drink in her hand. “Book club,” she says to Noah. “Ms. Snow and the Seven Plumbers.” She points to Everett. “Bet that’s what your baby girl is reading. Nothing like a little tawdry literature to put a little fire in your pants.” She winks his way and Everett nearly chokes on his food.

  I pat him over the back. “Evie doesn’t have any fire in her pants. She’s a smart girl. She doesn’t need to chase men to make her feel complete.” I squint over at Cormack. “And if we teach her anything, it will be to respect other people’s boundaries. She won’t latch onto someone who is clearly not interested.”

  She glances to Noah. “I don’t mean to decode this for you, Big Boss, but she’s talking to you.”

  “I’m not talking to him. I’m talking to you,” I say before looking to Noah and Everett. “Hartley pointed the finger at Jenson. She also said she heard rumors about an antique mall out in Fallbrook.”

  Cormack’s red lips part. “That old antique mall? My mother loves that place.”

  “She hinted they might be selling fakes.” I give a few quick blinks her way.

  A whistling sound emits from her throat as she quickly cinches her purse to her side.

  “Fakes?” She jumps from her seat. “I’ve got to get home to Mama. I’d better pick up some sage to cleanse the house with. This is worse than those junk bonds Daddy invested in a few decades back.” She’s out the door, leaving only a trace of her sugary perfume.

  A breath expires from my lungs. “All these months of wondering how to evict Cormack from our midst and all I had to do was start a rumor about a bunch of counterfeit art pieces?”

  Noah chuckles. “I’m tucking that in the back of my mind.”

  Everett shakes his head. “Maybe you can tell her you’re a fake?”

  “I don’t think Noah counts,” I say.

  A dull laugh pumps from Everett. “I didn’t say it. You did.”

  “Not funny,” I tease as I look to Noah. “You count plenty.”

  Noah glowers over at Everett. “You always go for the jugular.”

  Everett dips his chin as he looks across the table. “I come from a long line of attorneys. It’s in my blood.” He points a finger over to Noah. “You’re competitive when it comes to women. I’m not.”

  “Oh?” Noah balks. “Because you don’t need to be?”

  A crooked grin manifests briefly on Everett’s face.

  “Please.” Noah scoffs. “Cormack bruised your ego over a decade ago, and you’re still making me pay.”

  “Noah.” I shake my head. “Everett’s feelings for me are real. I’m not a part of some revenge strategy.”

  “It’s okay,” Everett says, dropping a wad of bills onto the table. “He’s singing the only song he knows. It’s his ego he’s concerned about, not mine.”

  I shift in my seat uncomfortably. “Well, I’m concerned about both of your egos. And I’ll do my best not to hurt them. Now, who’s up for dessert?”

  We order the tiramisu and talk about boats and fishing and our plans for the Fourth of July. We segue to the Pemberley case and toss out theories regarding the mind of the killer.

  It feels so very normal.

  And sadly, murder seems to very much be the new normal in Honey Hollow.

  Chapter 12

  The Pemberley Antique Mall in Fallbrook is just a stone’s throw from Everett’s mother’s estate, and after dropping Evie and her friends off at Grandma Eliza’s house—a title that she’s gingerly accepted—Everett, Carlotta, and I head over to the antique mall to hunt for a killer.

  The building itself is plain and white, spanning from one end of the Earth to the other, deposited right on th
e exit of the highway, and has two major thoroughfares encircling it.

  “Choice real estate,” Everett says, looking around as if he were thinking of investing. “Come on, Lemon. Pick out something nice. My treat.”

  Carlotta scuttles in close to him. “How about me, Judge Baxter? I’m technically you’re mother-in-law. I say that entitles me to a little bauble now and again.”

  The muscles in Everett’s jaw stiffen a moment and, I’ll admit, just when you think Mr. Sexy has hit his sexy zenith, he outdoes himself by a heart-stopping mile.

  “All right.” He nods her way. “Don’t make it hurt.”

  Carlotta chortles as he holds the door open for us.

  “If I had a dime for every time a man said those words to me.” She struts off as soon as we head inside and I take a moment to look around.

  I’m not sure what I expected, but this place is cavernously huge. It’s simply one large warehouse laden with rugs, mirrors, vases, dinner plates, crystal, china, an entire section dedicated to the holidays, and they even have a section devoted to antique typewriters.

  “Ooh.” I gravitate toward the old typewriters with their black enamel base and their round keys with clear lettering. “I bet it would take my mother a year to write a single page on this contraption.”

  Everett points to a small piece of paper sitting in front of it. “Says here it’s missing the letters A and E.”

  “Even better,” I muse. “It might take her ten years to finish her next steamy novel.” A thought comes to me. “You don’t think she’s using Wiley as her muse, do you?”

  He ticks his head to the side. “She’s got to do her research somehow.”

  “Reason four hundred and twelve on why I am never reading that book.”

  “How about we write our own book?”

  A playful smile crests my lips and I bite down on it. “Judge Baxter, are you propositioning me?”

  Carlotta pops up. “Don’t mind me. Take him up on the offer, Lot. I won’t tell Noah. They’ve got beds in the back. The headboards might come from a different century, but the mattresses are brand spanking new, and if you ask me, they need some breaking in.”

  I make a face before noting an adorable miniature goat in her arms.

  “Bruiser!” I take up Everett’s hand so he can listen in. “If you’re here, that means so is a suspect.”

  “Two of theeem.”

  My mouth falls open. “It’s a twofer!” I give a little hop as if I just won the suspect lottery, and I’m hoping I did just that. “Well, let’s not stand here. Carlotta, lead the way to those mattresses.” I might be a crime-fighting baker, but I’m no fool.

  Carlotta leads the charge to the back where there are a bevy of lushly made up beds. Each one has a heavy jewel tone comforter on it in blue velvet, gold lamé, and rich brocades. Each of the headboards is intricately carved and dusted with silver paint and gold inlays.

  “Wow,” I muse. “These beds look as if they were ripped right out of a history book.”

  Carlotta blows out a quick breath. “Do you know what else is history? This top.” She whips off her T-shirt before I can stop her.

  “Carlotta,” I hiss. “You’re going to get us kicked out before we meet up with the killer.”

  “Killer?” Bruiser bucks his way through the air as he floats on over. “That would be faaabulous if I were sent back to paradise today. Norman must be wondering where I am. He was just a child when we met. But, oh, how he adored me. Although those cake pops of yours will be missed. At first, I was leery because of their off-putting shape.”

  “That’s right, Bruiser.” Carlotta digs her fists into her hips. “They go in round and come out the same shape. My Lot Lot does aim to please.”

  I close my eyes. “Carlotta, that doesn’t even make sense. Now put your shirt back on.”

  The sound of voices escalating emanates from behind.

  Bruiser perks up. “What luck. Here they come now.”

  The argument between the two only seems to be heating up, and I can tell it’s between a man and a woman.

  I give Everett’s tie a quick tug. “Hit the bed.”

  Everett and I dive onto the mattress, and Carlotta dives right in after us, before pulling the lush emerald comforter over our heads.

  The voices grow louder until it sounds as if they’re right on top of us.

  “You don’t get to make decisions like that,” says the woman. “I’m the chief operator. You’re my subordinate. Don’t you usurp my authority again.”

  A dark laugh comes from the man in question. “I wouldn’t have to usurp your authority if you paid more attention to quality. Your bone-headed move is costing us our reputation.”

  “I told you, it was a mistake,” she shouts.

  Everett’s chest expands wide. “Lemon,” he rumbles. “Save that move for my place.”

  “What move?” I whisper back.

  “Whoa.” His body flinches. “That move.”

  “Everett?” My heart lurches into my throat. “I’m not touching you.”

  It takes two seconds for Everett to whip off that comforter.

  “Carlotta!” I bellow without hesitation and my old wily doppelgänger continues to lie back while staring at the ceiling with a ridiculous dreamy look on her face.

  The man and woman appear above us, and I cringe when I see it’s Debbie Pemberley and Jenson Pauper. Debbie has her blonde hair in a knot at the base of her neck and Jenson looks fit to do a corporate takeover in a pinstripe suit.

  Jenson’s pale eyes do their best to soak in the strange scene. “What’s going on?”

  Carlotta hikes up on her elbows, her flesh-toned bra exposed for all to see.

  She looks up their way. “Either of you have a cigarette?”

  A hard moan comes from me.

  Debbie leans in. “Lottie?”

  “That would be me.” I close my eyes a moment because some days I wish it wasn’t.

  Debbie’s mouth rounds out in horror upon further inspection of the crazy woman hunkering down at the other end of the mattress. Carlotta and I have neatly ensconced Everett, and I’m guessing that it’s not a first with him.

  A sickly moan escapes Debbie’s throat. “What exactly is going on?”

  Everett takes up my hand. “My wife and I are furniture shopping. She wants to freshen things up, and I’m all about pleasing my wife.”

  Debbie bites down hard on her lower lip as if she were swooning.

  “Wow, Lottie,” she purrs. “You are one lucky lady.” Her eyes narrow in on Carlotta with suspicion, and I don’t need to be a mind reader to know she’s thinking about calling security—or a psychiatric evaluation team.

  Everett nods his head toward the brassiere-clad menace. “And this is my mother-in-law. She’s in the market for a bed, too.”

  Carlotta slaps her hand over his back. “That’s right, son. I’m looking for a cloud to melt into, but what you and the missus want is a no-squeaker. Now get bouncing, kids, and let’s put these springs to the test.” She dive-bombs onto the mattresses with her bottom and Everett and I are nearly expelled to the ceiling.

  Both Everett and I take it as our cue to land our feet on the floor, and we do just that. A spray of purple stars lights up in a dazzling display over the bed, and soon Bruiser joins Carlotta in her bouncing feat.

  “Hmm.” I force a smile over at Jenson and Debbie. “I don’t hear any squeaks. We might just have a winner.”

  Jenson’s brows furrow. “Not many people come in here to buy a mattress, but if you’re interested in the headboard, I’ll knock a few hundred bucks off the whole thing.”

  “Sweet,” I say a tad impressed, momentarily forgetting that all of my bedrooms are chock-full of furniture, as are Everett’s. “Say?” I look to Debbie. “Any word on the investigation involving your father’s killer?”

  Debbie shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m starting to think the Ashford County Sheriff’s Department is run by a bunch of incompetents.”
/>   Everett sniffs. “That would be the homicide division in a nutshell.”

  “Exactly,” Debbie is quick to agree with him.

  Bruiser glides over. My God, he’s so tiny and cute, and don’t get me started on that soft brown fur and those clear baby blue eyes. I make a mental note to snuggle up with him once we get home.

  “Loootie,” he brays. “Ask about the investment deal on the property. I heard them going off about it. Something about a land deal.”

  Huh.

  “So, great property,” I say, nodding to the two of them. “Who owns the place?”

  Jenson glowers at Debbie. “She does. For now. Once the vultures have their way, I’m sure it will be split into pieces like everything else.”

  Debbie shudders in her pink silk blouse. “It’s true. My father has more ex-wives than I can count, and they all want a piece of the pie.”

  Jenson’s chest expands. “And they’re getting it. I’ve worked with this place since the beginning. I’m hoping I can remain. I travel the globe looking for the right treasures to stock the place with. We’ve had such exquisite pieces, it’s put us on the map as far as treasure hunters go.”

  Debbie folds her arms across her chest. “I do the same. And I’d like to add, I bring the same quality pieces to the table.”

  Jenson lifts a brow as if calling her out on it.

  “Okay”—Debbie tosses a hand in the air and three chunky gold bracelets clatter together—“last month I pulled in a few pieces that turned out to be questionable, but they were never found to be fraudulent. The way the rumor mill has it, you’d think we’ve been selling counterfeit items for years.”

  “It doesn’t take much to ruin a reputation. Mistakes ruin it just as much as greed.” Jenson’s tone is set heavy just for her.

  “And I will fix it,” she snips, looking visibly upset. “This place was my father’s pride and joy. He had many corporate and real estate holdings, but antiques were where his heart was. I was with him the day he laid eyes on this property. He had an eye for real estate and he just had to have this place. My father never let anything stand in the way of what he wanted.”

  Everett cocks his head. “Was the land for sale?”