Flag Cake Felonies (MURDER IN THE MIX Book 23)

by Addison Moore

  Noah shrugs. “Don’t know. I spoke to her the day of the murder. She said Valerie had it coming, but it wasn’t her that did it.”

  Everett nods. “The battle cry of both the innocent and the guilty.” He looks my way. “Do you know where to find her?”

  “Not yet. Bizzy offered to track her down. And don’t either of you worry. We’re hoping to speak with her in a public venue.”

  Noah’s expression grows stern. “And do you plan on bringing Ethel along for the ride?”

  Ethel is the name I gave the Glock handgun both Noah and Everett teamed up to buy me a few months back.

  “Yes, and no. Mostly no.” I cower a moment. “But in my defense, I’m too lazy to head to your place to retrieve her.” It’s true. She’s been sitting in Noah’s gun safe ever since Evie popped into our lives. For a time, Evie was actually staying with me, and I didn’t feel safe having a gun in my underwear drawer with a teenager in the house.

  Noah closes his eyes a moment. “Lottie, the gun can only protect you if you have it on your person.”

  “I know. And believe me, I’ve been thankful for all the times it’s protected me before. I’ll try to be more diligent about it.”

  Noah’s phone pings and he glances at the screen before letting out a hard moan.

  He looks my way. “Lottie, have you seen the new cover for your mother’s book?”

  “No, do I want to?”

  Noah flashes his phone our way, and both Everett and I recoil at the very same time.

  “What is that?” I lean in, trying to get a better look at the monstrosity.

  Noah pulls his phone back. “I believe that’s my father’s chest with the appendages of several women glued to it.”

  “I guess the hot wax debacle made the final cut.” I glance over at the disaster once again. “I don’t think this is going to garner her any additional sales. If anything, numbers will run retrograde.”

  We finish up dinner and head on out.

  I offer Noah a quick hug. “Hey, I forgot to ask you if you had anything new on the case. Are you holding something back from me, Detective Fox?”

  Noah takes in a lungful of the warm night air. If tonight’s heat wave is any indication, tomorrow will be a scorcher.

  “Not much. We did confiscate a few items from Ambrosia’s condo, some paperwork, her laptop. And I’ll be talking to Jessie Lane again tomorrow. She’s been pretty helpful with the investigation as far as filling me in on who had a bone to pick with whom. I’ll let you know if it yields anything.”

  We say a quick goodnight as Noah hops into his truck and takes off.

  Everett wraps an arm around my waist. “You want to head back to my place and kick your shoes off?” His lids hood low, and judging by that devilish grin twitching on his lips, he’s hoping I’ll take off more than my shoes.

  “Not so fast. There’s something I didn’t share with Noah.”

  “I like where this is going already.”

  “I stopped by the Honey Hollow Library and checked out a certain book called In the Judge’s Chamber by Jackie Hart.”

  His eyes round out before the hint of a sly smile curves on his lips.

  I take in a quick breath. “Did you read it?”

  “A secretary of mine clued me in on it a few years back when it first hit the shelves. She gave me her copy and I did read it.”

  “How much of that book was a work of fiction? Inquiring wives want to know.”

  His chest pumps with a quiet laugh. “Her name and mine.”

  “So about page thirty-three…”

  Everett swipes his thumb over my lips.

  “Page thirty-three will blush when it hears of the things I’m about to do with,” he picks up my hand and kisses the ring he placed on my finger, “my wife.”

  Everett and I head over to his place and blow page thirty-three to pieces.

  And the one left blushing is me.

  Chapter 11

  When I heard the words rage yoga, I should have quickly deduced exactly which town would have the angst needed to hold such classes.

  And as the universe would have it, all raging roads always point to Leeds.

  Bizzy texted last night and let me know that not only did she find Tallulah Velvet, but that she was heading up a yoga class the very next day.

  It’s early morning, far too early for keeping both eyelids open at once, let alone venting my rage out on the world, but as fate and my intense thirst for justice would have it, Bizzy, Macy, Georgie, and Carlotta have all driven down with me to the Body Fit Yoga Studio on a strip of land on the outskirts of Leeds. Although, my inability to keep my eyes open might have more to do with the fact I had an exceptionally late night and early start to the day.

  Everett made sure to not only demonstrate page thirty-three, but to improve on it, many, many times into the wee hours of the night. And seeing that I had to get up extra early to bake so that I could be here in time for our little rage party, he was kind enough to hit the pause button so we could both get a few winks of shut-eye. This morning we may have hit the shower at the very same time to conserve water, but seeing that we were highly distracted in that tiny little water closet of mine, we probably used more water than either of us would have otherwise. Nonetheless, he came down to the bakery with me this morning and worked on his laptop until it was time for him to head to the courthouse.

  I will say it was bliss.

  More than bliss.

  There’s been a smile on my face and a spring in my step ever since.

  The yoga studio is minimalistic, white walls, white wood floors, and a bevy of yoga mats to choose from if you didn’t bring your own. The five of us sign in and ante up for the one hour howl of terror and are quickly directed out back into what looks like a hayfield that sits under a pristine blue summer sky. The temperatures have already skyrocketed and are nearing triple digits, and there’s no hope of keeping our cool out here, literally or figuratively.

  “I was sort of hoping we’d be letting out all of our pent-up rage in the confines of an air-conditioned studio,” I say, slapping a trickle of sweat as it runs down the back of my neck.

  Georgie bumps her shoulder to mine. “I bet you need to cool off after that wild night you had.”

  Both Georgie and Carlotta have donned matching pink kaftans with bright green leggings underneath. I won’t even ask.

  “How do you know I had a wild night?” I bite down on the smile I’ve been trying to harness all morning.

  Macy rolls her eyes. “First of all, we know who you went home to.”

  Carlotta pokes me in the ribs with her finger. “Second of all, we know the two of you can’t keep your hands off each other.”

  Bizzy gives a sly smile. “Thirdly, your need to investigate page thirty-three probably got the better of you.”

  “It’s true,” I say as we step out into the midst of dozens of women already posing and stretching on the yoga mats. “Let’s just say, Everett made sure to meet and exceed everything written in that naughty novel. And if I’m being truthful, he’s already outperformed every move between those covers long before I ever cracked the book open. Everett says he saved his top gun moves for me, and that I inspired him to invent a few new ones to boot.”

  The four of them moan and swoon in unison, and if I’m not mistaken, I could swear I heard a couple of oinks in there as well.

  Sure enough, a spark of light goes off bright as a nuclear blast and Bingo appears in a clearing just shy of the yoga mats and throngs of women.

  “What on earth are all these people doing here?” she warbles as she ambles in close and takes a seat on her belly, ready and willing to observe this strange human condition we’re subjecting ourselves to.

  “Bingo’s here,” I whisper to Bizzy with a wink and lead us over to her where we lay down our mats and begin to stretch as if we know what we’re doing.

  I look to Macy. “How was your night with Alex?”

  Macy rolls her eyes. “The man is
insatiable. And it doesn’t hurt that I am, too. He’s taking the day off to gear up for our hot date tonight. He’s taking me out for a picnic on Honey Lake.”

  “Ooh,” Georgie coos. “That sounds romantic. I bet he’s looking to get lucky.”

  Macy shrugs. “He is, and he will. I’m making sure that boy misses me something fierce once I leave. He’s already making plans to visit Cider Cove.”

  “Wow,” I say. “If you and Alex end up getting married, we might actually be related.” I suck in a quick breath as I remember the fact I’m not with Noah at the moment.

  My ring catches the light and Bizzy reaches over and snatches up my hand.

  “Oh my God, Lottie. Did Everett give you this?”

  I give a rather shy nod as the four of them gather around to inspect my bling.

  Carlotta flicks it with her fingers. “That’s a real one, Lot. If things go south, you can hock it and gain a fortune.”

  “I will never hock it.” I hold it protectively close to my heart. “This was a gift from my husband. It means the world to me.”

  Bizzy tips her head and looks up at me from under her lashes. “You’re really getting serious about this marriage. I’m starting to think it’s not just a business arrangement anymore.”

  “It’s true, it may have started as just that, with Everett needing to do the matrimonial deed in order to collect his full inheritance, but now that we’re together, it does feel like something more.”

  Carlotta shoots me the stink eye. “But what about Foxy?”

  “Yeah,” Macy says with a touch of protest in her voice. “I thought we were going to be related, remember?”

  I bite down on the inside of my cheek. It’s hard to keep my emotions in check.

  “Great news? He’s still my boyfriend,” I say, shaking my head as if it wasn’t great news at all. It’s confusing news is what it is. I’m not even sure it’s true.

  A thin-framed girl with blue hair pulled into a ponytail, holding a megaphone waves from the front in an effort to get everyone’s attention.

  “That’s her,” Bizzy whispers, and I nod in confirmation.

  “Hello, everybody, and good morning!” The chipper girl bounces as she strides back and forth shouting into the apparatus in her hand.

  Good thing there isn’t a residential housing tract for miles or I could imagine this would be a rude wake-up call.

  “My name is Tallulah Velvet, and not only am I a super sensational yoga monster, but I am an awesome author as well. If you’re angry, frustrated, or an overall irate person, you’ve come to the right place. Rage yoga is all about exerting raw, unfiltered emotions through balanced and controlled exercise paired with your ability to shout your rage into the void of the universe. Are we ready to get started?”

  “I’ll say!” Georgie barks. “Let’s get this screaming party started!”

  A wild cheer ignites as Georgie commandeers the troops, and before we know it, Tallulah lands us in what she calls a meditative pose, sitting straight up with our legs folded, arms out on our knees.

  Bizzy sucks in a quick breath. “I think everyone is giving the one finger salute.”

  I take a look around and, sure enough, that special finger I’ve seen waved my way every now and again on the interstate is being held high by the plethora of women. Something tells me this isn’t their first rage rodeo.

  Carlotta honks out a laugh. “Look at that, Gray. They’re freely giving the bird. Let’s join in on the fun.”

  “I’m not joining in on the fun,” Bizzy says, leaning her back into the sun.

  “Me either,” I say, mimicking her relaxing move.

  Carlotta grunts, “That’s because neither of you are fun. Come on, Macy. Pick up the slack.”

  I peer over to confirm she’s doing just that.

  Tallulah groans as if she were giving birth. “Okay, ladies. Now it’s time for our very first cry of fury for the day. I want you to dig deep. Hone in on your biggest frustration, your sharpest grief, and let it all out via your vocal cords. On three!”

  As if we were being attacked by an entire herd of hungry vultures, every woman in the vicinity belts out a wild cry that stretches to the sky.

  “Come on, Lot Lot!” Carlotta screams through her own grunts. “Give us what you got!”

  I start out low with sort of a yelp as if someone stepped on my toe, and Carlotta gives a disapproving shake of the head my way.

  Even Bingo has gotten into the action, snorting her ghostly furry head off, and it almost sounds as if she’s trying to harmonize with some of the other women.

  Tallulah leads us into another pose, the downward dog, and it feels good to stretch my legs out while my hands are pressed to my mat.

  “Got your bum in the air, girls?” Georgie shouts.

  “Yup!” Bizzy shouts back.

  I catch Macy looking my way.

  “Page sixty-seven,” she calls out and all five of us break out into cackles.

  Tallulah gives us instructions on letting out our ferocious feelings, and, I’ll admit, it’s much tougher to scream while in this contorted position, but I give it my best shot anyway.

  The next few poses come at us fast and furious as we perform warrior pose one and two. Finally, I’m getting the hang of it, stretching my body while stretching my soul, and soon I’m howling with the best of them. I belt out all of my frustrations regarding my feelings for Noah and Everett, my frustrations that the universe gave me two gorgeous men on a platter, and my anger toward myself for not being able to choose. I scream and howl so loud that my vocal cords feel as if I’m shredding them to pieces.

  A hard tap lands on my shoulder, and I pause momentarily to find Carlotta standing over me.

  “You can stop with the shouting now. We’ve been done for close to five minutes.”

  “What?” I cower a moment as I note the eyes of every woman, and one ghostly swine, in this field are pinned on yours truly.

  Tallulah makes her way over with a laugh in her mouth.

  “Don’t worry about a thing. Every now and again, we get someone who needs a little more time to unleash their frustrations. I’m just glad you didn’t clam up. We get women who can’t even squeak out a hello. I’ve even had a handful ask for their money back. You’re not going to ask for your money back, are you?”

  “What? Heck no.” I quickly traipse off my mat as Bizzy and I head over to her.

  The rest of the crowd has broken out into social circles as a happy hum of voices surrounds us.

  “I’m Lottie Lemon. I think we met at that author signing on the Fourth.” I figure we should get right to the nitty-gritty.

  Bizzy nods as if affirming the fact. “My sister is still raving about your book, Love’s Resurrection. And as soon as I can pry it out of her hands, I’m reading it next.”

  Tallulah belts out a friendly laugh. She’s shorter in stature but full of spunk and life. The blue highlights in her hair show she’s got a bubbly personality that can’t be contained.

  I lean in. “How on earth did you get started in this?”

  She nods as if she’s been asked that a thousand times.

  “My therapist suggested it. In fact, she’s become a regular here. It’s safe to say she’s a fan.” Her smile fades a touch. “So you were both at the signing that day.” She shrugs. “Well, I hope you had a great time.”

  “Oh, we did.” I block her path in the event she’s thinking of bolting. “But did you hear? There was a murder that took place.”

  Her jaw clenches as if the thought enraged her, and judging by Bizzy’s quarter-sized eyes, she’s picking up on some less than savory thoughts.

  “I know all about it.” Tallulah exhales as if she were breathing her way through the trauma. I bet she’s reliving it. That might explain why Bizzy is cringing just a bit.

  Bingo lumbers her way over, batting those extra-long eyelashes our way.

  “Is the angry one the killer? Fancy that. A woman who profits off rage can’t control
her own.”

  “Good point,” I whisper without meaning to, and Tallulah looks my way.

  “Yes, well, it’s over now and we can all move on with our lives.”

  Bizzy offers a puzzled glance her way. “Did they catch the killer?”

  Tallulah shrugs. “I doubt it. And I doubt they ever will. Ambrosia made so many people upset, the poor sheriff’s department would have to question the entire Western Hemisphere to get to the bottom of it. Some cases simply grow cold. And unfortunately for Ambrosia, she’s growing cold, too.” She shudders. “Sorry, I’m sure that sounded insensitive. Ambrosia wasn’t exactly my favorite person, but then neither was I to her. There was no love lost between us. And apparently, there’s a killer out there that I’m betting feels the very same way.”

  Bizzy and I exchange a quick glance.

  “Tallulah,” I say her name softly and yet my voice still feels strained. “Can I ask why you felt that way about each other? She really did seem like a well-loved author. My mother is one of her biggest fans.”

  She nods. “She has a rabid fan base. Believe me, I know all about them. Ambrosia and I started out as genuine friends, much the same way all of her present enemies did. In fact, we had a shared friend named Ronald Stigman. We met ages ago at a café where Ambrosia and I used to meet up and write side by side. Anyway, long story short, Ambrosia had a boyfriend at the time so I went for Ronald. He was smart, funny, handsome, everything a girl could want. Little did I know that what I had mistaken for friendly behavior on Ambrosia’s part was actual flirting. I guess she was on the prowl and I didn’t pick up on it until it was too late. Not that I was about to hand Ronald over on a silver platter. Ronald and I dated. We got serious. We talked marriage.” Her chest bucks. “None of that made any difference to her. She saw how happy I was—and how miserable she was with Henry—and she sabotaged both of our relationships. Her boyfriend cheated on her and she exposed him to his whole family. I told her that was a lousy thing to do. I didn’t know she was about to do something even lousier than that to me.”

  Both Bizzy and I lean in at the very same time. I can’t imagine what could be lousier than that, but then Ambrosia did have a wild imagination.