Murder in the Mix Boxed Set 8

by Addison Moore

“Not like this.” Everett lands his mouth over mine, and every last cell in my body responds with a firework explosion of its own. There has always been something animalistic between Everett and me. Something visceral that could never be denied. And despite his rough and rugged demeanor, he is very much all about putting my needs first and making me the center of his world whenever we’re together. And boy, does he ever put my needs first in the most spectacular way.

  He pulls back with his lids hooded dangerously low. “I can park the van for you if you like.”

  “I would love that. I have so many cakes to cut and serve. And I don’t know what I was thinking not bringing cupcakes.”

  His eyes sparkle with a smile of their own. “Are you having fun with Bizzy?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m in heaven. Is it horrible that I wish their inn would burn down and they would all have to move to Honey Hollow forever?”

  A rumble of a laugh lives and dies in his chest.

  “Lemon.”

  “I know. It’s not nice to have disaster fantasies about other people’s lives. How’s Jasper? I heard he’s itching to get out on your new boat.”

  “Our new boat,” Everett counters as he gives my waist a squeeze. “And we’re making plans for some time this week.”

  “Sounds wonderful.” My mouth opens again, but I don’t have it in me to breathe the words that have been circling my mind.

  Everett nods. “Noah’s okay. He told me to tell you so. He’s with his mother and keeping a loose eye on Alex right now just to make sure things with Macy don’t go sideways.”

  “Oh, they will,” I assure him. “Macy has plans to go every which way with that boy.” Although Alex is no boy. He’s a finance guy just a smidge younger than Noah—early thirties—and he’s been in Honey Hollow for almost a year now causing a scene with his shocking good looks and ability to break a girl’s heart in a single bound.

  Someone calls my name from afar, and I tick my head that way.

  Everett jingles the keys to the bakery van in his hand. “I’ll get this monster off the lawn.”

  “And I’d better get back out there,” I whisper. “Oh, before I forget—I may have seen a little cute piglet who is no longer among the living, but don’t you worry, Everett. I’m staying out of trouble,” I say as I head back toward the crowd.

  “Lemon?” Everett’s eyes widen with worry, and I blow him a kiss.

  Outside of Carlotta, who actually shares my ability to see the dead, Noah and Everett are apprised of not only the fact I can do it, but what it means as well. And it almost always means murder. Of course Bizzy, Jasper, and Georgie are in the know. It’s a little unnerving widening the pool of people I need to trust with my secret, but I’m confident my secret is safe with this crew.

  I head back into the thick summer crowds in their half-dressed state as the patriotic festivities ensue around me. Colorful buntings decorate the booths that are set out, and the scent of the barbecues dotted around the lake enlivens my senses with fresh grilled hot dogs and sweet corn.

  I spot Bizzy standing with Carlotta and Georgie underneath the tent Wiley erected to keep the bevy of local romance authors from getting scorched by the sun. Bizzy has a wide-brimmed sunhat on and a white crocheted cover-up wrapped around her waist, while both Carlotta and Georgie have donned their star spangled kaftans.

  “The transformation into the Bobbsey Twins is officially complete,” I say as I come up on them.

  Carlotta is quick to wave me off. “Don’t pay her any mind, Georgie. All sorts of crazy things have been popping out of her mouth ever since she did the boyfriend switcheroo.”

  “I say good on you, girl.” Georgie gives a hard thumbs-up my way. “Just because you’ve got two muscle cars doesn’t mean you have to keep riding the same old, same old. Once in a while you need to alternate and take the judicial hot rod around the block before his batteries die out. You did the right thing, sister.”

  Sherlock Bones, the cute freckled dog, lets out a bark as if agreeing with her.

  Bizzy can’t help but laugh. “Sherlock says muscle cars are the best.” She gives a wink my way. Bizzy has the uncanny ability to read the animal mind, too, and I give the cute little pup a quick pat for his innocent thoughts.

  “Hey, Lottie?” Georgie catches my attention once again. “Carlotta says there’s the ghost of a cute little baby piglet oinking his way around the shoreline. Do you know anything about this? It’s not that same piggy poltergeist you saw back in Cider Cove, is it?”

  I shake my head. “No, this is a different one. Although it is an odd coincidence.” I glance to Bizzy. “And I haven’t had a chance to speak with him or her yet.” It’s true. About a year ago, my powers began to grow, and not only could I see the dead, but they garnered the ability to move things in the material world. Then they began to speak—thankfully in a language I can understand—and as of late they’ve garnered the ability to eat. Don’t ask me where it goes, or why, but every ghost that’s had the ability to wolf down a stack or two of my pancakes has been more than grateful to the gifts my strange abilities have afforded them.

  “Well, I know if it’s a him or a her.” Carlotta cinches a tote bag over her shoulder that reads Reckless Fear and next to it my mother’s moniker, Mirandy Lemonade. Beneath it is written stories sizzling with sin. I can’t help but make a face. A part of me doesn’t want to admit that Wiley Fox just might be a good publisher for my mother after all. But with all the rabid romance fans lining up under the signing tent, the great advertising for my mother’s books, I guess it’s hard to deny.

  Carlotta sniffs with a smidge of pride. “The portly piggy is a bossy little girl named Bingo, and she’s got the longest eyelashes you ever did see. Why is it men and pigs always end up with great lashes? What did women ever do to get the short end of the hairy-eyed stick? Aren’t we the ones that give birth? Are we the ones that have to put up with men and pigs alike?”

  “Yeah!” a woman calls out from somewhere in the tent. “Men are pigs!”

  “Good grief,” I say. “Keep it down, Carlotta. Men are not pigs. You’re about to incite a gender riot.”

  Bizzy wrinkles her nose. “You would think romance readers would love men.”

  Georgie pushes up the sleeves of her holiday-inspired kaftan.

  “Not this one.” She hitches her head toward the literary battlefield at hand. “Just because I read about swoon-worthy men doesn’t mean I want to share the remote with them. Come on, girls.” She passes a matching Mirandy Lemonade tote bag to both Bizzy and me. “Let’s load up these bags with books the way the good Lord intended and find us the perfect man in the process—one who can be contained within the pages of a steamy read.”

  We head on into the tent, where a long line of authors sits behind a series of tables stacked with books featuring saucy-looking covers.

  Mom has positioned herself primarily right next to Ambrosia Whispers who happens to have a line fifty-deep filled with women just dying to get her autograph. And in contrast, Mom doesn’t have a single soul standing in front of her, not even that Wiley Fox who got her into this erotic debacle to begin with.

  Carlotta and Georgie make Ambrosia’s line that much longer, while Bizzy and I head off to put my poor mother out of her misery.

  “Oh, Lottie,” Mom wails as she spikes to her feet. “This is a disaster.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I say. “What can I do?”

  “I’ll help, too,” Bizzy offers. I introduced my mother to Bizzy and the rest of her new guests back at the inn.

  Mom shakes her buttery curls. “That’s very nice of you girls, but there’s nothing either of you can do. I’m a louse of a writer. I’m nothing but a fake. I haven’t sold a single book since I’ve arrived. Not one person is interested in Reckless Fear.”

  Bizzy quickly plops down a ten-dollar bill onto the table. “Congratulations, Miranda. You’ve just made your first sale of the day.”

  “No.” Mom shakes her head. “That’s very kin
d of you, but I can’t take money from people I know.” She quickly pulls forth a book and proceeds to sign the interior. “Here.” She hands the book to Bizzy. “Consider it a gift from me to you.”

  “Mother.” I frown over at the diminished book pile next to her. I caught a glimpse of the tower of books that were there when we arrived. “You haven’t been giving your books away, have you?”

  “Of course, I have, Lottie. Like I said, I can’t take money from people I know.”

  “Mom, if I had that same philosophy, I’d be broke. We both know just about every soul in Honey Hollow. Of course, you can take money from people you know. You’re running a business, not a charity.”

  “Oh, pish posh.” She waves me off. “I haven’t had a single stranger, a single real potential buyer come forward and so much as ask a question about my novel. And just so you know, Wiley says it’s a good thing to gift your book to friends and family. Once they fall in love with it, they’ll tell ten friends and so on. It’s the only way to go virus these days, Lottie. Everyone knows that.” She hugs herself as she sniffs the air, and I don’t have the heart to correct her use of the word virus versus viral.

  An uproar erupts at the table next to us as the line to see Ambrosia Whispers disassembles, and there’s a mad rush as women begin to mob her. Women of all ages begin to grab for her books, and there’s even a man in a fedora eyeing the ruckus. The cagey redhead pops up like a cork in the middle of the madness, and soon Wiley runs over and pulls a megaphone to his mouth.

  “Attention, attention!” he bellows, looking eerily like Noah’s twin. Actually, both Noah and his brother Alex look like carbon copies of their father, same black hair, green eyes, and dimples for days. “The authors are taking a well-deserved thirty-minute break. Please enjoy the coffee and the desserts in the next tent over and come back for more stories that sizzle!”

  I glower over at him without meaning to. Okay, I meant it.

  Bizzy leans in. “My God, he looks exactly like Noah.”

  I nod. “Just an older version. At least we know Noah ages well.” But then, I never doubted he would.

  Wiley crops up next to us. “Ladies.” He nods our way, and I quickly introduce him to Bizzy.

  “It’s a pleasure to have you here.” A smarmy smile takes over his face. “I see you have a copy of Reckless Fear. We hope you enjoy it. Look for the sequel coming next fall, Reckless Mattresses.”

  My lips part, and just as I’m about to ask my mother about her squeaky sequel, Ambrosia Whispers pops up with the thin blonde I met back at the inn, Jessie Lane the coordinator. And next to Jessie is another girl, too, who looks more like a throwback to the eighties with her wildly teased mane—mostly long dark hair, but on either side of her face, there are thick hot pink streaks that match that caustic hue on her lips. She’s got an elastic smile and rows of pearly white teeth that take over her face.

  “Jackie Hart—stories with Hart.” She shakes my mother’s hand. “Quite an event you’re putting on here today, Mirandy. We have a local romance writers meet-up every now and again. You’ll have to swing by.”

  Mom claps. “Let’s do it soon! I own the B&B. We can have a meeting at the end of the month in my conservatory. I’m just dying to be a part of your community. I’d like to get to know all of your tips and tricks to selling books. I haven’t sold a single copy yet today.”

  “Don’t worry, Mirandy.” Jessie gives a commiserating laugh. “We still have plenty of time left. And the meet-up at the inn sounds fabulous. I’ll coordinate with you, and I’ll make sure to invite all the local authors. Expect between thirty to fifty.”

  “Oh, it sounds great.” Mom oozes with relief as if this were the exact stepping-stone she were looking for, and it might be.

  “Mirandy.” Ambrosia leans her way. It’s a bit unnerving to hear them all reference my mother by her pseudonym, but I suppose they’re all using theirs as well. “The first step in selling like hotcakes is getting a top cover model to grace your cover.” She points to Bizzy’s copy and Bizzy holds out the book. “See that? Rose petals falling on a simple white background? That’s not going to attract a lot of attention. What you need is some serious beefcake. I’m talking a real hottie with a bare chest.”

  Both Jackie and Jessie nod furtively as if it were a must.

  Mom grunts over to Wiley, “It looks like it’s back to the drawing board.”

  Jessie lifts a finger. “I can help you with that. In fact, I’ll be by the inn tomorrow to pick up the things I left in the conservatory. I can share the names of some top photographers with you.”

  Mom’s face brightens. “You know, I’ve got a camera.”

  Wiley says something in response, but my attention is hijacked by a rather lumbering little piglet who just bounced her ghostly self through three different people.

  Oh dear God, we’re staring right down the barrel of a cloven-hoofed homicide! I’d better text Noah and Everett. Although, Everett’s most likely already spilled the homicidal beans to Noah.

  Bizzy gasps as her eyes hook to mine and I nod, affirming my thoughts.

  Jackie Hart, the author with Hart, leans in, and her sugary perfume suddenly hits me and cuts off my oxygen supply.

  “Ambrosia, why don’t you share some of your tips and tricks with Mirandy Lemonade?” She gives a wink Ambrosia’s way.

  Why do I get the feeling that woman somehow just slighted my mother?

  Jessie huffs, “Sorry, Mirandy. That vault has been on lockdown for years.” She gives Ambrosia an icy look. “There are just some industry secrets that authors are willing to take to the grave with them.” She sniffs hard as she looks to Jackie. “You have a few yourself, Jackie, haven’t you?” A moment of thick silence slices by. “Excuse me. I hear there’s flag cake for dessert. I hope the berries are fresh.”

  “Oh, they are!” I call out after her. “Grown locally and organic!” But I doubt she heard. The festering crowd has swallowed her whole. Honey Lake is a hot spot this time of year in general, but it seems as if all Vermont heads this way on the Fourth.

  Jackie rolls her eyes, her pink streaks lifting in the breeze as light as cotton candy. “Leave it to Jessie to stir the pot.” She glowers over at Ambrosia for a moment. “I hear His Ardent Wishes spent three weeks on all the best-seller lists. I guess congratulations would be in order. But you won’t get them from me.” She stalks off into the swell of bodies and leaves the rest of us with our mouths agape.

  Ambrosia waves it off. “And that’s what happens when you hit it big, Mirandy. You need to watch your back, because the one who smiles at you one moment will be the one who stabs you in the back the next.” She glances around. “But I don’t have time to worry about that. The only thing I want to worry about is writing my next bestseller. Excuse me. I’m anxious to try those delicious desserts.”

  She takes off and my mother quickly pulls Wiley to the side and begins brainstorming ways to land naked hot men on her cover.

  I nod to Bizzy. “I think this is our cue to find our own hot men.”

  “With temps nearing triple digits, every man here qualifies as hot.” She shudders as we make our way out of the tent. “Lottie, I think we need to find the killer before the killer finds their victim.” Something to the left catches her eye. “Speaking of hot men.”

  We head over to the lawn just outside of the white sandy beach that surrounds the lake to talk to Noah, Everett, and Jasper about our concerns, but the consensus is that there’s not much we can do. Noah calls in for extra security for the event without trying to sound too cryptic.

  The sun begins to set, and everyone is noshing on a slice of flag cake with its creamy whipped topping and fresh berries set in the pattern of the American flag. Almost everyone has gone back for thirds, and there’s nothing more that pleases a baker than that.

  A tangerine glow fills the sky as dusk sets over Honey Hollow and the landscape takes on a dreamy magical appeal.

  Noah nods over to Everett and me.

&nb
sp; “Do you two mind if we have a quick word?”

  My stomach cinches. A part of me insists I run, but I agree instead as Everett and I follow Noah over a few steps near the woods that line the north end of the lake.

  Noah takes a breath, and his dimples invert as he looks to the two of us. His chest expands, and if I’m not mistaken, it looks as if he’s having a hard time getting his words out.

  Everett clears his throat. “I’d like to say something if you don’t mind.”

  Noah nods for him to proceed and looks a little relieved.

  “Noah”—Everett’s chest expands—“I know things haven’t been easy for either of us, but I want you to know that it stretched me more than I wanted when I suggested to Lemon that she see where things could go between the two of you. I just want to thank you for returning the favor.”

  Noah gives a curt nod. “You’re welcome, but I think it should be noted it was merely a suggestion. Lottie wanted to do this. She’s not with you because I asked her to be. She’s with you because she wants to be.” His expression softens as he looks to me. “Just know I’m here, Lot. I’m not going anywhere. The two of you are married, so it makes sense that you’re together. But I want you to know I’m not a closed door, not unless you close it.”

  I clear my throat. “Duly noted.” I take up his hand. “Noah, I’m not in this to hurt either one of you. I just want everything to be okay between us.” Tears blur my vision, and I do my best to blink them away.

  “It is.” He gives my fingers a quick squeeze. “In fact, I expect us to get right back to sharing pizzas at Mangias without missing a beat.” He gives a slight wink, but I can see a patina of hurt in his eyes. He looks to Everett. “Have fun while it lasts.” He takes off and I hold my breath a moment.

  “Wow, those sounded like fighting words,” I whisper mostly to myself.

  “Don’t worry, Lemon.” Everett wraps his arms around me. “I’m used to his vitriol. Noah’s never been good about coming up empty.” He shakes his head in the direction Noah took off in. “I’d better get the guy a beer. How about I meet you down at the lawn in two minutes?”