Flag Cake Felonies (MURDER IN THE MIX Book 23)

by Addison Moore

  I look around at all of the gorgeous gifts, the precious bassinets, the tiny clothes that look as if they couldn’t fit a doll, the tiniest shoes known to man, and it’s apparent everything is about to change in just a few short weeks.

  And nothing will ever be the same.

  Just as we’re cleaning up, Meg’s big gift arrives. A group of handsome men who drove up all the way from Leeds treats every one of us to a much-needed massage. Now there’s a gift I wouldn’t mind receiving on repeat. And lucky for me, Everett doesn’t mind doling them out on the regular.

  Sunday afternoon, I asked Lily to man the bakery while I made my way back to the house. Fish and Sherlock had a little pet sleepover with Pancake, Waffles, and Toby at my place last night, and Bizzy and the gang are about to pick them up on their way out of town. And as fate would have it, they pull in front of the house at the same time I do.

  Noah and Everett come over to say goodbye and it’s one big group hug in the living room.

  I scoop up both Pancake and Waffles and hold them up to Fish who sits nestled in Bizzy’s arms.

  “Say goodbye, boys. Or better yet, until we meet again.” I press Pancake’s nose to Fish’s.

  Bizzy belts out a laugh. “Fish says she plans on marrying both so we’ll have to move in together.”

  Waffles bleats out a meow and Bizzy nods.

  “He says he’s open to marriage but wants Fish all to himself.”

  “Aww.” I can’t help but coo.

  Sherlock Bones strides up and gives both Pancake and Waffles a quick lick over the paws and a sharp bark.

  Bizzy twitches her nose. “He wants more time with his feline buddies next time. He thinks they should be allowed to run free at Honey Lake.”

  Pancake meows right at him.

  Bizzy shakes her head. “He thinks Sherlock should take more naps with them instead.”

  I shrug. “That’s par for the course with these two.”

  The room drains as we head for the door and spill out onto the porch.

  Georgie dots a kiss to my cheek. “You’re one of the luckiest girls in the world, Lottie Lemon. Keep those boys guessing. It keeps you in the power position, as it should be.” She gives a quick wink as Carlotta walks her over to the waiting van.

  Jasper steps up. “Thanks for everything, Lottie. Like I told Noah and Everett, you’re all welcome to come to Cider Cove anytime.”

  “You are.” Bizzy gives a frenetic nod.

  Macy dives over me with a quick embrace. “It was a blast.”

  “Hey, where did things leave off with you and Alex?”

  Macy gives a sly wink. “We’re not leaving off—we plan on going on and on and on. I have ways of making sure he doesn’t forget about me anytime soon. It involves FaceTime and a nightie.”

  “Good to know,” I say, waving as she traipses down the stairs.

  Noah and Everett help bring Sherlock and Fish’s bedding to the van as we stroll down to the lawn.

  Jasper hops into the driver’s seat as I pull Bizzy in for one last embrace.

  “You have no idea how much I’m going to miss you,” I say with tears blurring my vision.

  “Consider yourself missed already.” She gives a little shrug. “You’re like a sister to me. Please text—often.”

  “I will. Daily. Friendly warning: you’re going to get sick of me.”

  She shakes her head. “Never.”

  Noah and Everett come over and Bizzy offers them each a quick hug.

  “Thank you all for being so kind to us,” she says as she steps toward the van. She pauses a moment and looks from Noah to Everett and the smile fades from her face. She shakes her head as if she were trying to talk herself out of something, and I’m curious as to what that might be. “Lottie?” She glances to Everett a moment before nodding me her way and I quickly run over.

  “What is it?” I whisper. “Is something wrong?”

  “Actually.” She turns her back to Noah and Everett even though we’re far enough away where they won’t be able to hear. “Lottie, I don’t want to be the one to tell you this but”—she glances their way briefly. “I didn’t mean to pry. It just happened. I—”

  “Just say it. I know you can’t help it, Bizzy. People’s thoughts are available to you. It’s who you are. It’s how you’re supernaturally wired. What did you hear?”

  My heart thumps out a riot. A flashback of Bizzy and Everett exchanging an odd look when we were at Ciao comes to mind. And they did it again that day we were out on the boat.

  “You were reading Everett’s mind, weren’t you?”

  She nods. “Lottie, Everett’s keeping something from you and—it’s a bombshell.”

  My eyes widen in horror. “Is this something that could destroy us?”

  She exhales as she glances to the ground. “I’m sorry, Lottie. It is.”

  Bizzy pulls me in again for another embrace before hopping into the van.

  Noah, Everett, and I stand shoulder to shoulder as we wave them off.

  My heart is heavy, and it has very little to do with my friends heading home. I know I’ll see them again one day. I know we’ll keep in touch, and it will be as if they never left.

  Noah steps in and rubs my back. “I’ve got a little something for you, Lot.” His dimples dig in. “It’s not nearly as sparkly as the gift Everett gave you.” He glances down to my left hand and my ring blinds us momentarily as if it harnessed the power to flash like lightning. “But it’s from the heart.”

  “Oh?” I try to pull myself together when all I really want to do is fall apart. “What is it?”

  “It’s a gun safe. I thought your walk-in closet might be a good place for it. What do you think?”

  “Thank you, Noah. I love it and that’s the perfect place.”

  “Good. Ethel misses you. She belongs with you. I’ll go grab the safe. It’s in the back of my truck.” Noah jogs off and Toby bounds after him.

  Everett wraps his strong arms around me and pulls me close.

  “I’m glad Ethel is coming home.” He picks up my ring finger and lands a kiss over the enormous rock. “But I think we have something better to celebrate.”

  “I’d like to think so, too.” I clear my throat as I glance to the ground.

  “Hey.” Everett dips down and catches my gaze, holding it hostage with those cobalt eyes. “Whoa, what’s going on, Lemon?”

  My lips part as a breath hitches in my throat.

  “I’m so in love with you, Everett. I feel as if you’ve truly swept me off my feet.” I hold up my left hand a moment. “I was really starting to think we had it all.”

  His brows dip down in a hard V. “Why do I feel a but coming on?”

  “But Bizzy—she mentioned something.” I swallow hard. “She wouldn’t tell me what she knows. Everett, are you keeping something from me?”

  His gaze drifts past my shoulder, and his expression grows cold as he takes an enormous breath.

  “Yes, Lemon. I am.”

  *Pick up Peach Cobbler Confessions (Murder in the Mix 24) coming up next!

  *New to the series? Start at the beginning! Cutie Pies and Deadly Lies (Murder in the Mix 1) has you covered! Happy reading!

  Have you tried Addison’s Country Cottage Mysteries Series? Felines and Fatalities (Country Cottage Mysteries 6) is a mashup that includes a guest visit from Lottie Lemon! Each book can be read independently so jump on in!

  The Country Cottage Inn is known for its hospitality. Leaving can be murder.

  My name is Bizzy Baker and I can read minds. Not every mind, not every time, but most of the time, and believe me when I say, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.

  A bake-off for senior citizens is being held at the inn, and baker Lottie Lemon has arrived as one of the judges. But when someone turns up dead, accompanied by a mysterious riddle, both Lottie and I are determined to find the killer. But as the riddles grow more sinister, and other threats begin to manifest, it’s clear someone has a bone to pick with bo
th Lottie and me. Our very lives are in danger, proving that this case might just be too big for the both of us.

  Bizzy Baker runs the Country Cottage Inn, has the ability to pry into the darkest recesses of both the human and animal mind, and has just stumbled upon a body. With the help of her kitten, Fish, a mutt named Sherlock Bones, and an ornery yet dangerously good-looking homicide detective, Bizzy is determined to find the killer.

  Cider Cove, Maine is the premier destination for fun and relaxation. But when a body turns up, it’s the premier destination for murder.

  Pick up Felines and Fatalities (Country Cottage Mysteries 6) TODAY!

  *Love Janet Evanovich? You’ll have a blast with Meow for Murder.

  Pick it up NOW! —> An Awful Cat-titude

  A highly inaccurate psychic. A grumpy writer. And a corpse. Welcome to Starry Falls. Running from the mob can be murder.

  Confession. I’m no psychic. But I can sort of see the future—albeit not accurately. And you better believe, I’ve never let that little detail stop me from prognosticating my way into a pickle. So when I ticked off the mob, the feds, and my wily ex, I decided to take my Uncle Vinny’s advice and start over with a new name and new hair color while relying on my old shtick—getting my psychic wires crossed and putting myself in danger.

  A laugh out loud cozy mystery by New York Times Bestseller Addison Moore and her partner in cozy crime, USA TODAY Bestseller Bellamy Bloom.

  ***Keep turning the page for an extended preview!

  Happy reading!

  Recipe

  From the kitchen of the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery

  Lottie’s Fourth of July Flag Cake

  Hello, Lottie here! Happy Fourth of July! It’s one of my favorite holidays. What’s not to love about warm weather, the scent of just about every grill in Honey Hollow roasting something delicious, and ending the night with a fireworks spectacular? Of course, a flag cake is a must. I can’t remember a single Fourth where I haven’t made this scrumptious dessert. Have fun on the Fourth and have fun in the kitchen!

  Yellow Cake

  *Just a quick note. Since there is so much happening on the Fourth of July, if you decide to use a boxed mix for the cake, you can always substitute butter for oil in the recipe and milk for water. I always throw in a teaspoon of vanilla and a tablespoon of sour cream as well to keep it extra moist and everyone raves about the cake as much as they do for the ones I bake from scratch!

  Ingredients

  Yellow Cake

  2 ¾ cups all-purpose flour

  1 ½ cups of sugar

  1 cup of butter

  4 eggs

  ¾ cup of milk

  1 tablespoon sour cream

  2 teaspoons baking powder

  ½ teaspoon salt

  1 teaspoon vanilla

  Directions

  Preheat oven to 350°. Grease a rectangular 9x 13 glass pan (use two pans if you plan on making this as a layer cake and spread the batter in by half).

  In a large mixing bowl, blend together butter and sugar. Beat in eggs one at a time, adding sour cream, milk, and vanilla. Slowly add in flour, baking powder, and salt.

  Pour into greased pan and bake for 25 minutes or until toothpick comes out clean. Set aside to cool.

  Ingredients

  Whipped topping

  *Just a quick note. You can substitute with a whipped topping spread purchased at the store to save on time.

  1 pint heavy cream

  2 tablespoons confectioners’ sugar

  1 tablespoon water

  1 teaspoon unflavored gelatin

  Directions

  In a large bowl, mix heavy cream and confectioners’ sugar. Whip until soft peaks form.

  Dissolve gelatin in water over low heat (microwave will work for about ten seconds until well dissolved). Let cool then mix into whipped topping until stiff peaks appear.

  Fruit Garnish

  2 cups strawberries

  1 cup blueberries

  Slice strawberries in half and arrange in rows to create the red stripes of the flag. Place blueberries in rows at the upper left-hand corner of the flag (about a 6 x 6 inch square).

  Enjoy with friends and family!

  Book Description

  A highly inaccurate psychic. A grumpy writer. And a corpse. Welcome to Starry Falls. Running from the mob can be murder.

  Confession: I’m no psychic. But I can sort of see the future—albeit not accurately. And you better believe I’ve never let that little detail stop me from prognosticating my way into a pickle. So when I ticked off the mob, the feds, and my wily ex, I decided to take my Uncle Vinny’s advice and start over with a new name and new hair color while relying on my old shtick—getting my psychic wires crossed and putting myself in danger.

  Chapter 1

  “I don’t want to die!” The words rip from my throat as if they were being pulled out with barbed wire.

  My name is Stella Santini. I’ve got long black hair, light brown eyes, stand at an average height of five-foot-five, and I can see the future.

  Okay, fine.

  Confession: I’m no psychic. Nor have I ever come close to predicting what the future might hold—not with any accuracy anyway.

  You see, ever since I was a little girl, I had what my Nana Rose liked to call the shakes. Technically, it’s more of a shiver, and when you get down to it, there’s a warm, fuzzy feeling involved that makes me want to forget about the world around me for a moment, and retreat to the dark recesses of my mind where a thought plays out like a movie and I see things.

  And trust me when I say, I have been wrong about interpreting the things I see on more than one occasion.

  Take now for instance. This morning when a scene from the West End Woods flashed through my mind and I saw myself running for my life—I thought maybe I might be running from a serial killer looking for his next victim on this odd jaunt through the woods—or running from a bear looking for his first meal post-hibernation, thus the solemn decision I came to during my second cup of coffee to stay the heck away from the West End Woods for the duration of my supernatural life.

  But in a twist that only fate could provide, here I am, a mere hour later, panting, ducking evergreen trees and their prickly branches that threaten to poke my eyes out as if my life were on the line, and, oddly enough, I think it is.

  “Don’t kill me!” I howl once again, ducking and jiving my way through the forest as my Uncle Vinnie chases me through the woods with a bona fide weapon in his hand.

  “I’m not gonna kill you for God’s sake!” he riots right back.

  “Then why are you holding a gun?”

  Let’s backtrack for a minute. After I enjoyed my third cup of coffee this morning, Uncle Vinnie called and said I had fifteen minutes to get dressed because we had things to discuss and he was picking me up pronto.

  He sounded serious, morbid even. And I know him well enough to realize he meant business. I had an inkling about the subject he was going to prick. I happen to be what the mob likes to call a dead girl walking. Less than twenty-four hours ago, in what I and any sane person would call a very unfortunate chain of events, I managed to tick off the mob, the federal government, and break up with my idiot boyfriend of two years, Johnny Rizzo, all within a fifteen-minute span. And judging by this mad dash through the West End Woods, you could toss my Uncle Vinnie on that ticked-off list, too.

  My foot catches on a buckling root system and I trip, slowing myself down enough for me to know I’ve just widened that bullseye on my back.

  “Don’t shoot!” I cry out, jogging to a finish as I spin around.

  Uncle Vinnie stops within feet of me, panting, the veins on his neck throbbing like a couple of angry garden snakes about to wiggle their way into his brain.

  Uncle Vinnie is tall, with black hair, dark eyes, and bushy eyebrows that hover over his face, giving him that perpetually angry look he’s got going for him in life. But, by and large, he’s a good guy who stepped up to the plate once my
father was put away five years ago on RICO charges. He treated my brother, sister, and me as if we were his own children while my mother got a quickie divorce and began to chase men far younger straight into her bedroom.

  “Please,” I beg. “Put down the gun.”

  “What?” He squints over at me. “What the heck are you talking about? This ain’t no gun.” He shoves something toward me and I turn my head in horror.

  It’s not unusual for a man of my uncle’s standing within the organization to take care of his own once word gets out that their proverbial number is up. And by take care of, I mean bump off the planet in a far more humane method than the fate that awaits them otherwise. And that’s exactly why I suspect my Uncle Vinnie has dragged me out to this isolated strip of nature just outside of Hastings, New Jersey, the town in which I was born and raised.

  He’s brought me here to die. My loving uncle is about to impart what the family refers to as a mercy execution.

  “It’s not a gun?” I stagger for a moment. “You mean you’re going to stab me to death? My God, how could you? Is that any way to treat a girl you say you regarded as a daughter when your own brother went to prison?”

  He blinks back, stunned. “Stella, look in my hand,” he growls as he rattles the instrument of death my way once again. “It’s a box of hair dye.”

  “Oh God, you’re going to poison me?” I bury my face in my hands a moment. “Do you even realize how painful that will be? How much worse do you really think it will be for me at the hand of the Morettis?”