Murder in the Mix Boxed Set 8

by Addison Moore

  I twist my lips. “Only if they throw one in for Bizzy and me when they’re through. I have a feeling after keeping track of the sweet treats and keeping the afternoon on a schedule, we’ll need one, too.”

  “You got it, chief.” Meg salutes me as she takes off.

  Bizzy nods me over a few steps away from the crowd.

  “Something Evie said yesterday had me thinking.”

  “You want a sheriff’s cruiser to escort you to the baby shower?” I tease.

  “Funny.” She shakes her head. “I did a little digging and found that Henry had a few domestic disputes on record.”

  “Filed by Ambrosia?” My mouth falls open and she nods. “You think he fed us a crock of lies the day we spoke with him?”

  “Any one of them could have lied to us,” she’s quick to point out.

  “And they all probably did. Is there anything you found out?” I ask, anxious to hear it.

  “Jackie had a brief restraining order against Ambrosia. She was livid that Ambrosia blatantly stole her ideas.”

  I glance in that direction and catch Jackie laughing it up with the long line of readers anxious to speak with her.

  “She was angry,” I say. “Ambrosia could have rubbed salt into the wound that day. They might have exchanged words. What about Tallulah? Anything on her?” My eyes snag on the blue-haired woman currently with her nose to the grindstone as she signs a copy of her latest novel.

  Bizzy shakes her head. “Nothing much. She has a dating profile up. It looks as if she’s getting on with her life. Ronald is in the rearview mirror, and she’s driving straight ahead.”

  “Good for her,” I say as Georgie and Carlotta barrel on over in a set of black and white matching kaftans with what looks to be inspirational quotes all over them.

  “I love your dresses.” I try to read as many uplifting quotes as possible while my head keeps turning at an angle to accommodate them.

  “Thanks, Toots.” Georgie rocks her hip my way. “I brought them along in the event Carlotta and I needed to do a little light reading. Little did I know we’d be hitting the books.” Georgie gives her gown a prideful tug. “Hey, Bizzy, hope you don’t mind, but Sherlock and Fish wanted to run free out back. And don’t worry. I threatened them within an inch of their furry lives. They’re not to leave the property.”

  “That’s fine,” Bizzy says. “I think they’ve been craving a little nature.”

  “Speaking of craving.” Carlotta holds out an empty tote bag latched to her shoulder. “We need to go load up on some books.”

  “Good thinking.” Georgie hooks her arm to Carlotta’s. “I’ve got a suitcase on wheels we can use once these fill up.” They trot off and quickly get lost in the crowd.

  Something catches Bizzy’s attention at the door. “Jasper’s here. Let me see what he’s up to. I’ll be right back.”

  She takes off in his direction and my feet take off in the direction of another man—one who happens to be standing near that cutout of Ambrosia Whispers, speaking to her fans as if he had a right.

  “Henry Watson,” I say as I come upon him with a smile. “Nice to see you here.”

  He tips his sandy-colored fedora my way. “Lottie Lemon. Good to see you again.” He ticks his head toward the cutout of his ex. “Jessie let me know they were doing a memorial of sorts. A part of me needed to be here.”

  “Henry,” I whisper as I turn my back to the crowd. “I’m sorry, but I heard an awful rumor that you were arrested for a domestic dispute with her. Is that true?”

  Henry closes his eyes. “You have it partially true. The charges were filed against Val. Ask anyone at the sheriff’s department. It was Val who liked to take things too far, and I was on the receiving end of the terror.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” And there’s something in me that insists he’s telling the truth.

  A tall, rail-thin blonde appears in our midst.

  “Henry?” Jessie pulls him into a warm embrace. “It’s so good to see you.” She gives a mournful smile. “And you, too, Lottie. Oh, and great news. People are really responding to your mother’s new cover.” She taps Henry on the shoulder. “See me before you leave.”

  “I will.” He nods, and we watch as she zips back to tend to the authors.

  “Great lady,” I say.

  “You think?” He lifts a playful brow.

  “Well, yeah, she’s doing all this with her own free time. She’s a volunteer.”

  His lips press white as he glances her way. “That she is. But you know what they say. Even a volunteer finds a way to get paid. Jessica doesn’t do anything for free.” He gives a sly wink. “I’d better grab some dessert before the proverbial cupboard goes bare.”

  He takes off just as both Bizzy and Bingo stride up.

  I shed a cheesy grin Bizzy’s way. “Bet you didn’t know you were herding dead swine.”

  “Hello, Bingo.” She gives a friendly wave to her left and right.

  “Hello, girls.” Bingo licks the cardboard cutout and it begins to tip backward before I save it from toppling.

  Bizzy steps in close. “Anything come from that conversation you were having with Henry?”

  “Not really. He said Ambrosia was the one the cops came for during those domestic disputes and I tend to believe him.” I glance to the life-size version of Ambrosia offering me a winning smile. “No offense,” I tell her lifeless countenance. A thought comes to me. “Hey, Biz? What did your background check turn up on Jessie?”

  “Nothing but a bunch of author signings as expected.” She pulls out her phone. “But I didn’t look up Jessica Lane. Let’s see what her proper name yields.”

  We stare down at her phone together as it’s quickly populated with pictures of a woman who is clearly not Jessie.

  “How about the next page?” I ask and Bizzy heads on over.

  “There’s a Jessica Delaney dominating this page. I guess nothing exciting about Jessie outside the book world.” She’s about to put her phone away when something catches my eye. “Geez, look at that headline. Delaney family loses home and lives in act of arson.”

  Bizzy grunts, “Look at this headline. Arsonist caught. Mystery solved.” She accidentally clicks into the article below it. “Oops.” She’s about to click back, and I stop her.

  “It’s too late. My curiosity has gotten the better of me.”

  The two of us quickly scan the article.

  “So one of the sisters set the fire?” Bizzy shakes her head.

  “I guess so.” I point just below the incriminating paragraph. “It says she claimed to be heavily abused by her father. That she was trying to protect her sister the only way she knew how. The girls weren’t that young at the time, seventeen and eighteen.”

  Bizzy moans, “It says she’s serving ten years at the Burlington Women’s Correctional Facility.”

  A breath hitches in my throat as I read on. “It says here not only did the father perish, but the mother did, too. Bizzy”—I gasp—“the mother’s name was Katherine Delaney. Initials K.D. That’s a wild coincidence. You don’t think that’s our K.D., do you?”

  Bizzy dots her finger to the screen. “The daughters’ names are Yvonne Delaney and Jessica Delaney.” She clicks on a black and white picture of the family during happier times and expands it so we can get a close-up of the two girls, and we do.

  Bizzy and I exchange a stunned glance.

  There just might be a killer in our midst.

  Chapter 17

  The conservatory at the B&B fills up with enough people to break every fire code in all of Honey Hollow. And yet with all of the people here, I still have the distinct feeling of foreboding laying heavy on me. How I wish I had brought Ethel along for the day. Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret my decision to leave her at Noah’s?

  Bizzy takes me by the hand and navigates us through the crowd until we come upon Jessie Lane herself.

  Her blonde mane is tousled, her blouse sits askew, and she’s panting
as she struggles to squeeze her way to the back of the room with a couple of empty boxes in her arms.

  “You need any help with that?” I offer, taking one of the boxes from her.

  “Thank you, Lottie.” She lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Tallulah sold out of all her books and asked me to get another box from the trunk of her car.”

  “We’ll help,” Bizzy says as she clears a path out of the conservatory and into the parking lot behind it.

  Bingo materializes and moseys her way over, and if I’m not mistaken, I think there’s a touch of my flag cake left on her little pink nose.

  “I’m feeling moody, Lottie,” she belts it out. “Is this the killer?”

  I shrug her way. I may not know, but I’m determined to find out.

  The sun scorches the top of my head as it bears down over us. The wall of evergreen trees to the left has surrendered their oils and perfumed the air with the earthy scent of pine.

  Jessie holds out a key fob and a blue sedan chirps to life.

  “I can’t thank you girls enough. If you’re both willing to take a box of books, that will save me a few trips in this heat.”

  “No problem,” I say, taking the empty box from her and tossing them next to the dumpsters. “What do you think of the turnout today?”

  “Are you kidding? I’ve never seen so many eager people waiting to get their hands on a book. But it doesn’t surprise me. Romance is a hot genre. There’s a reason they call it the bread and butter of the bookstore. People just love it. Mostly women. But we get a few good men, too.” She gives a little wink.

  Bingo struggles to keep up, and before you know it, she’s gliding alongside me.

  “For Pete’s sake”—the tiny pink poltergeist snorts—“ask the woman if she killed my sweet Valerie. I may be without a body, but I’m not a fan of this heat either.”

  I bite down over my lip as I look to Bizzy and she nods as if she agreed even though she can’t hear a thing Bingo just said.

  “Jessie?” Bizzy leans in and catches her eye. “I was just talking to Henry and he said something I can’t get out of my mind.”

  Jessie grunts, “What half-truths is he spewing now? I wondered if inviting him would be an error. I guess I’m about to find out.”

  Bizzy and I exchange a quick glance.

  “Actually”—Bizzy takes a breath—“he mentioned that you and Ambrosia had a pretty big falling-out recently.”

  Jessie gazes out at the woods a moment as if she were considering her options.

  “We did have a falling-out.” She shrugs. “I mean, who didn’t? She wasn’t exactly the easiest person to get along with. She had a history of that sort of thing. But it’s all water under the bridge. It was nothing anyway, and she’s gone, so it’s over. I choose to focus on how much I appreciated her, and how much I appreciated the things she did for me.”

  A mean shiver rides through me. “Jessie, can I ask if you ever gave her a book to publish for you?”

  Jessie’s face bleeds out of all color, and then just like that, she blinks back to life and opens the driver’s side of Tallulah’s car, releasing the trunk.

  “Nope.” She sheds a tight smile. “But I heard the rumors. Crazy, right? That must have been painful for her to keep being accused of publishing books that weren’t hers. I guess we’ll never know the truth. Last I checked, the dead don’t speak.”

  Bingo belts out a raucous oink. “Sure, we speak. You just don’t have the privilege of hearing us.”

  I suppress the urge to smile over at her. Something tells me this is the wrong time to grin like a loon.

  “Jessie?” I step forward just in time for her to hand me a small box of books, I’m presuming, but it’s so heavy it might as well be lined with lead. I rest them on the bumper a moment. “Can I ask you a question that might be hard for you to hear?”

  “Anything”—she says, handing Bizzy an even bigger box of books and Bizzy’s knees dip from the heft—“shoot, Lottie.”

  “Is your real name Jessica Delaney?”

  Jessie gives an audible gasp. Her body jerks and she drops the box she just picked up, spilling a load of books over the parking lot.

  “Where did you hear that? Is that what Henry is saying?” Her cheeks burn bright like a couple of Christmas ornaments. “It’s something I’ve heard before.” Sweat beads along her temples. “Ambrosia—it was another one of her dirty accusations. I didn’t get her the top spot in one of my bigger signings, and she thought I had it out for her. She started making up all sorts of wicked things about me. Jessica Delaney? I don’t even know who that poor girl is.” She yanks another box of books out of the trunk with marked aggression. “Let’s get these inside. I’ll clean this mess up later.”

  Jessie takes a step toward the B&B and Bizzy steps in front of her.

  “Your name is Jessica Delaney,” Bizzy asserts. “We saw a picture of your family. It was you, Jessie. You don’t have to hide it from us. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Jessie’s chest bucks as she hikes the box of books over one hip.

  “Okay, fine. That’s my name. And you’re right. I’m not exactly proud of it. I’m assuming you know the rest.”

  I nod. “Your sister burned down your home. Your father and mother were both killed.”

  She sucks in a quivering breath and covers her mouth with her arm for a moment.

  “It was an accident.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “It wasn’t. The article said that your sister was being abused. She meant to kill your father. She said she wanted to protect you, too. She’s at the Burlington Women’s Correctional Facility. You mentioned to me that you had a sister in Burlington. That’s where you’ve been going to visit her, haven’t you?” Her lips part as if to respond, but I don’t wait for it. “I asked you once if you put pen to paper, but you said your mother was the creative one. Her name was Katherine Delaney. The manuscripts the sheriff’s department found on Ambrosia’s laptop had a folder marked K.D. And those manuscripts were the exact same books that people had accused Ambrosia of stealing. They knew it wasn’t her voice. They came out of nowhere. You yourself said that Ambrosia didn’t have to steal those books. You said the author was dead.”

  Bizzy winces my way and shakes her head.

  Oh shoot! Jessie didn’t say it; she was thinking it.

  Bizzy shrugs over at Jessie. “The books came from you. The two of you had an arrangement. And I’m betting when Ambrosia stopped paying you for them, you lost your temper.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s like you’re reading my mind or something.” She gives a panicked look around. “You mentioned that the sheriff’s department knows? This is terrible.”

  “The fire was terrible,” I say. “You’ve been through a lot.”

  Bizzy’s eyes grow wide as if she just heard a whopper of a thought fly through Jessie’s mind.

  “Your sister didn’t act alone.” Bizzy gazes deeply at her as if she were about to crawl into the woman’s mind. “The fire—it was set by both of you.”

  Jessie’s eyes narrow in on Bizzy’s.

  “Yes, my sister and I both did it. So what?” Her chest palpitates dramatically as if she had just run a marathon around all of Vermont. “She took the blame. We both agreed it would be the right thing to do. She was still a minor. She begged me not to confess. She took the fall and went to juvie. She only has six more months to serve. They won’t keep her past twenty-five. We can get our lives back on track again. But Val, she didn’t live up to her end of the bargain. She took my mother’s books, and things started out great at first. She gave me a cool ten grand for the entire catalog. But she made millions. The books were her bestsellers. I threatened to expose her, but she just laughed at me. She turned the tables on me and said that I would be the one, exposed—as a killer.” Jessie looks my way. “She was going to make sure I lost my job.”

  “You argued at Honey Lake that day.” I take a bold step toward her.

  Bingo lumbers forward
as well. “For goodness’ sake, get her to confess already. I’ve got my eye on those fresh baked brownie platters inside.”

  Bizzy entraps Jessie from the other side. “You killed Ambrosia Whispers that night, didn’t you?”

  “I had to!” Jessie’s voice hikes to the sky. “She was about to ruin everything. She was greedy. She wanted me to go away. That woman owed my sister and me millions, and she wasn’t going to give it. My mother wrote those books with all her heart and soul. She was a brilliant writer. But my father—he wouldn’t allow her to publish them, let alone continue to write them. He liked keeping a lid on her. He certainly didn’t have time for a successful woman in his life. If she so much as mentioned her stories, he would hit her. He was a horrible, horrible man. The things he did. He deserved to die. Not her, though. Not my precious mother. But when the fire started to engulf the house, she just had to run back to try to save him. She didn’t know we had set it intentionally and that he was right where he was supposed to be—passed out on hard liquor. The roof collapsed and that was it. She was gone, too.”

  Bingo bows her head in grief.

  “Lottie, she needs help.” Bingo nudges her head my way. “This woman is a killer. Do something.”

  “Jessie”—I land the box in my hands back in the trunk—“I think you’d better talk to the sheriff’s department. I’m sure if you explain—”

  “I’m not explaining anything.” Her eyes grow wild. “Get out of my way. I have to go.” She tosses the books in her arms toward Bizzy and ducks past me as she jumps into the driver’s seat.

  “Bizzy, get Noah,” I shout as I dive into the passenger side without wasting a moment to shut the door.

  The car takes off with a start.

  “Get out, Lottie!” Jessie gives me a hard shove as the car veers to the right, and with one loud bang, Bizzy flies over the hood of the car before rolling right off on my side.

  “Oh my God, Bizzy!” I scream.

  “Now look what you made me do.” Jessie turns the car in the other direction.