Cutie Pies and Deadly Lies: A Cozy Mystery

by Addison Moore

  He takes up my hand and pulls me to him by my fingers. His eyes stay trained on mine, sincere and serious. “I’m sorry to hear that, Lottie. I would never want you to feel that.”

  “It wasn’t fun.”

  The two of us sway toward one another, and my eyes expand as he comes in close. Noah Fox has a way about him that is larger than life. For sure he’s far too handsome for me to comprehend that he’s standing here with me on purpose. There is not a planet in the solar system that I would think a man like Noah would be interested in someone like me.

  A blustery wind picks up and sends me toppling onto his chest, and I freeze. Noah’s lips flicker with the faintest smile, and he ever so carefully bows his head toward mine.

  We’re going to do it. It’s going to happen. Noah Fox is going to go for the gold and is about to grace my lips with his. I’m pretty sure I’m not going to stop him. What’s a simple kiss going to hurt? But I think we both know there’s nothing simple about a kiss.

  A small crowd moves in and starts to liven up the vicinity, filling it thick with bodies.

  I pull back as Noah and I share an uneasy glance.

  “We should finish up—” I shrug.

  “With the apples.” A slight dimple goes off in his left cheek, and my insides dissolve at the sight of it. So not fair.

  Noah and I fill that basket to the brim and each grabs a handle to take back to the barn.

  “Hey, Holland,” I say, breathless as we come upon my old friend. “Got a bushel of apples ready to go. How much do I owe?”

  Holland cuts his hand through the air. “You just keep turning those apples into caramel gold. Those pies were a hit with both the staff and family.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” I take a step toward the counter. Holland is a tall man with red curly hair and perpetually tanned skin. He’s a sweetheart and easy on the eyes. It’s exactly why Meg fell so hard for him.

  “Sorry about Merilee.” He shakes his head while looking from me to Noah. “But it wasn’t your pie that killed her. Your pies are welcome at the Apple Festival, and I have no doubt they’re going to be a big hit.”

  I glance to Noah for a moment, and he gives a subtle nod.

  “Say”—I start slow—“you wouldn’t happen to know what Merilee was doing here that afternoon, do you?” I seem to vaguely recall something about a craft booth, but there’s a murderer on the loose and I’m hoping Holland might know something.

  He tips his head back a moment while tossing his gaze in the direction of the spot we found Merilee. Correction—I found Merilee.

  “She and Mora swung by to speak with my sister, Tara.”

  “About a booth for the festival?” As soon as I give him the out, I regret it. There’s a look in his eyes that suggests it was a little more complicated than that.

  “No, they’ve already paid their table fee.” He looks to Noah. “Tara’s an attorney. They said they wanted legal advice.”

  “Legal advice? We had gone to court that morning. They lost the verdict. The judge said they didn’t have a case. I can’t imagine what they could have wanted to discuss with her.”

  Holland shakes his head. “I can’t answer that. Tara’s in Ashford today. I can tell her to give you a call if you want.”

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  Holland picks up the apples. “Is that your truck out there?” he calls out to Noah as he makes his way toward the parking lot.

  “Sure is,” Noah shouts back, and soon enough Holland is out the door and setting them in the back of Noah’s flatbed.

  Noah and I make our way to the side of the barn to the exact place where Merilee Simonson met her demise and gaze down at the earth covered with leaves and a small floral arrangement of mums and asters. It feels solemn, holy.

  Noah places his hand over my shoulder and leans in. “What kind of legal advice do you think they were after?”

  Their odd cousin, Cascade, comes to mind, and I relay it to Noah as best as I can recall. “She said all of her relatives were dead except for Mora. Cascade is the reason I was being evicted to begin with.”

  “Do you know what she’s doing in town?”

  “No clue.”

  His face smooths out, and I can see the kernel of an idea brewing in his eyes. “Then that’s exactly what we need to find out.”

  Chapter 9

  In general, it’s a rare occasion for Lainey and me to have a day off in common. It’s more than a rare event for us to be experiencing it together while waking up under the same roof.

  I finish up in the kitchen with the crepes and bring them out to my sister who is currently wrapped up in a blanket staring vacantly at her laptop. Pancake is curled up behind her, having already made the top of the sofa his favorite little perch. The feisty feline opens an eye lazily as I take a seat next to my sister.

  “I come bearing gifts.” I set down the tray of chocolate hazelnut crepes and steaming hot lattes onto the coffee table. A slathering of hazelnut crème lands on my finger, and I indulge in licking it right back off. “Mmm, so delicious. You’re welcome, by the way.” I give her foot a light tap with my own.

  “Oh, sorry.” She comes to long enough to observe the goodies before us. “Hey, thank you! I thought you had something delicious going on in there.”

  “Don’t you ever doubt me.” I spot a familiar pine tree logo gleaming with pride on her laptop screen and grunt in its direction. “Is that what you can’t turn your head away from?”

  “That’s right.” She gives a wistful shake of the head while pulling her laptop between us. “The Evergreen Manor is hosting a charity auction this Friday night to help offset Merilee’s funeral expenses. Apparently, the sisters really hit hard times.”

  “Geez”—I say, taking the laptop from her so I can get a better look—“I knew they were having a tough time, but I had no idea it was that bad.”

  “Funerals generally cost an arm and a leg—and not the dead kind. They want a pound of living, breathing flesh to pay for that good time. It looks like all of the local businesses have pitched in a freebie of some sort to auction off. Look here”—she points to the screen—“the Honey Pot is offering a one hundred dollar gift card.”

  “I see. Wow, that’s very generous of Nell. That woman has a bigger heart than anyone I know.”

  “So, are you going?” Lainey is both grinning like a loon and has that I’m terrified for you look on her face. It’s a quizzical feat that only Lainey seems able to pull off.

  “I’d like to. They say the killer always goes back to the scene of the crime—which I did yesterday, by the way. And I’m sure having me at the auction would be just as disrespectful.”

  “Who says that?”

  “I don’t know—TV shows.” I bat that judgmental look on her face away. “But I think I’d like to go. Besides, it would be interesting to see who’d come out.”

  “Everyone’s going as far as I can tell. The Simonson sisters may not have been very friendly, but they’re one of our own. And if Honey Hollow prides itself on anything, it’s taking care of one of our own.”

  “Duly noted.”

  “And did you see this?” She points to the fine print. “The Honey Pot will be providing complimentary appetizers and delectable desserts. That’s you, my sweet sister. It looks like you’ll be there one way or another.”

  “Huh. I guess I will. What does one bake for a funeral fundraiser?”

  “Cookies in the shape of caskets?”

  “Lainey!” I can’t help but give a sorrowful chuckle. I know for a fact she’s teasing. Lainey and I have always dealt with the tough stuff through humor. I don’t see that changing anytime soon. “How about cookies in the shape of pumpkins? Or better yet—autumn leaves? That’s respectable. I can ice them in red, orange, and yellow. That way, it will truly look like fall in Honey Hollow. It’s both tasteful and seasonal.”

  “I think it’s a great idea. So, are you bringing a date?” Her shoulders dance up and down as she pur
rs with glee.

  “A date? What? No. It’s a somber occasion. It’s not a dance or a formal event.” I can’t help but wrinkle my nose at my sister. “I take it you’re bringing Tanner. You two seem inseparable lately. Please tell me this isn’t the real thing.” I pull forward a chocolate hazelnut crepe and moan my way through the first, rich, creamy bite. It tastes like a cloud dipped in heaven.

  Lainey lifts a shoulder at the thought of her fake love. I don’t care how much time they decide to waste together. My loyalty lies with Forest. That boy loved her, and she loved him. I’ve never seen a fiercer brand of affection. Not even what I had in New York could compare.

  “I don’t know,” she bleats it out while tossing her hands in the air. “At first, I thought this might be fun, and then before I knew it, we were doing couple things—the movies, double dates, taking hikes around the hillsides. And then two weeks ago, we went to his cousin’s wedding in Leeds, and I met every last member of his family. It just felt so very official.” Lainey’s face loses color, and my heart breaks for her. “And you know?” She shakes her head while gazing at some unknowable horizon. “I kind of like it. I like the idea of a normal relationship. Not once have we gotten into a spat. Not once have we disagreed on anything. He’s kind and gentle and—”

  “Boring as oatmeal.” I don’t mind finishing the sentiment for her at all. “So, are the two of you, you know”—I wiggle my shoulders at her—“getting serious in that sense?” I glance to her lap, and she tosses a pillow at me.

  Her lips part as she carefully considers her wording. Lainey and I are close. When she lost her virginity to Forest, she was very frank with me. And after I stopped vomiting for a week straight, I began to appreciate the new level of trust our relationship took on.

  “Let’s just say he’s never spent the night.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

  She gives me the side-eye, and suddenly I feel like I’m in for it. “And what’s going on with this boyfriend of yours? I’m not sure how I feel about him materializing out of the blue. Who is this Noah Fox guy, and why am I suddenly suspicious of his presence in my sister’s life? You do realize that level of innate distrust in a sister means he’s the real deal.”

  “He is not the real deal. And he is certainly not my boyfriend. Not in real life anyway.”

  She squints over at me until her eyes look like miniature half-moons. “Have you kissed?”

  “Almost. But it didn’t happen. See? Not real. Totally imagined.”

  “You almost kissed, and this is the first I’m hearing about it?” She swats me on the arm before shoveling a crepe into her mouth, and no sooner does she groan in appreciation than my cell phone goes off.

  “Honey Hollow Savings and Loans.” I make a face at the name above the number. I’ve called a time or two to make sure a check has cleared, but I’ve never had them call me.

  “Hello?” I add a touch of cheer to my voice, far too cheery to be real this early in the morning before putting the phone on speaker. Lainey is going to listen in anyhow. I might as well make it easy for her.

  “Hello, Lottie? This is Ellen Rawlings down at the bank. I just wanted to let you know there was a very big deposit added to your checking account this morning.”

  “There was?” I look to Lainey as my eyes spring wide. “Who made it?” My heart thumps wild inside my chest. I’m the only one who’s ever deposited anything into my bank account, and the prospect of someone else doing so mildly alarms me.

  “It was a cashier’s check. The depositor wishes to remain anonymous, but they did ask us to pass along a message.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They said the money was to be used to purchase new appliances.”

  “Appliances?” I exchange a curious look with my sister, considering the fact I don’t have a kitchen to outfit anything new with.

  “I’ll tell you what”—Ellen gives a dark laugh—“I don’t know what kind of a kitchen you have, but this is a large chunk of change. You have more than enough to outfit the Honey Pot with a brand new kitchen if you wanted.”

  I suck in a breath as the message becomes clear as the autumn breeze drumming against the door.

  I hang up with Ellen and hug my sister tight. “Get dressed. We’re headed to Main Street.”

  “To the Honey Pot?”

  “Someplace better. The bakery. Someone just gifted me a windfall so I can outfit it with brand new appliances.”

  “A windfall? Who in their right mind would give you cash?” she shouts with a twinge of excitement in her voice as she rushes to get her shoes on.

  “I don’t know, but I have an idea.”

  “Maybe it’s a payout because they think you offed Merilee? You’re not moonlighting as a hitman, are you?”

  “You’re awful. And if you’re smart, you’ll watch your back.”

  * * *

  The shop next door to the Honey Pot is cavernous and mostly empty save for an aluminum table and chairs currently occupied by Keelie, Lainey, and me.

  “One hundred thousand dollars?” Lainey has been dumbstruck by the dollar amount ever since we ran by the bank to affirm it.

  “I can’t believe it myself,” I say, taking the restaurant equipment catalog from Keelie. As soon as I texted her the info this morning, she said she knew just the thing to bring. It’s a great head start, that’s for sure. “Who do you think sent it?” I can’t but eye my bestie as if she’s up to something. Everyone knows she comes from money.

  Keelie’s mother, Becca, has a brother named William, and they’re forever squabbling over who will get Nell’s millions once she passes. William is an attorney in Bassett Ville and has already threatened Becca with the fact that any will can be contested. I’m sure glad neither my mother’s nor my father’s parents had any real money to speak of. I would never want Lainey and Meg to act like that. Not that they would, but they say money changes people. And when a loaded relative dies, the vultures come out of the woodwork. I wouldn’t fight for money, not with my sisters, not with anyone. I’ve always felt a little like the odd man out in the sense that they were blood and I wasn’t, even though they have never made me feel that way. When I was six and my mother dropped the bomb on me that someone left me alone as a newborn in the firehouse, I couldn’t help but feel like a discard who had done something so terrible my own real mother—whom I don’t call my real mother anymore, but my bio mother—would leave me on a grimy floor just hoping a kind man would find me before the wolves jumped in. Of course, the wolves wouldn’t have found me in the firehouse, but that’s not the point. They could have. I had just seen my friend’s baby brother the day before my mother broke the news, and the thing that stuck out at me wasn’t his ruby red cuteness—he screamed for the entire hour we visited, there was not one cute thing about him—it was the fact he was so vulnerable. He couldn’t do a thing for himself except scream at the top of his lungs, and I found that alarming.

  Keelie rolls her eyes and slaps my arm right off the table. “You and I both know who sent it. Grammy Nell. Wasn’t she the one who told you she wanted a bakery in this town? And wasn’t she the one who said she wanted you to be the head baker? She’s just outfitting your shop and she wants you to order what you need.”

  My mouth falls open as Keelie confirms my suspicions. “Knew it. That sneaky ol’ beautiful woman just gave me the kick start I need to get a brand new bakery going. Well, girls, it’s time to shop for appliances until we drop.”

  And we do just that. Because the bare bones of a restaurant are already here, the walk-in refrigerator and freezer, stainless steel counters and a three-compartment sink, we pick out the bare bones of appliances this place will need to get going with enough to spare for refrigerated display cases, small wares, the pots and pans, utensils, and every baking accessory you can think of under the sun. And, of course, the pièce de résistance: a beautiful Hobart mixer. Otis comes by and helps measure and plan a layout that will work. Keelie and Lainey help m
e choose a beautiful shade of butter yellow to paint the walls, and it all feels as if it’s coming together magically.

  “Wait a minute”—I cringe as I look to the vast potential seating area in the front of the store—“I don’t have a dime left for furniture. I’ll need a ton of café tables and chairs to outfit this place, and I know just from seeing the tab at the Honey Pot for replacements how much that can be.”

  Lainey gives the kitchen a sweeping glance as if it had caused the furniture-based malfeasance. “Maybe you can take that pricey industrial mixer off the list. That thing costs more than my car! You can have my stand mixer. That, plus your own, and you’ll have two for the kitchen. Oh! And I think I have a handheld electric somewhere in the back of the garage.”

  I groan without meaning to. Lainey can’t make toast. I shouldn’t expect her to see how laughable her idea would be. It would be doable, of course, but the batches would be so very small I could never bake enough to outfit those shelves for the customers.

  Keelie shrugs with a look of regret on her face. “I’d offer the mixers at the Honey Pot, but the kitchen staff uses them daily.”

  “No, that’s fine. And they’re still not the right size. Besides, Margo and Mannford would kill me.”

  Bear comes up, holding his hammer over his shoulder, those lids of his in a perpetual bedroom eye position. It’s not his fault, really. Bear has thick, heavy lids, so he’s always had that sleepy-eyed look about him. His hair is mussed slightly, and I’d like to think that’s from working hard, but seeing that he showed up here first thing in the morning I’m betting he got out of bed that way. And if rumors of Bear’s love life are true, he didn’t wake up alone.

  “I’ve got an idea.” He winks my way, and instinctively I want to swat him. In the past, he always started off our lusty dalliances with those famous last words. “Richie Newton owes me a favor, and his family owns the thrift store. They’re forever bogged down with discarded furniture they can’t sell. Head on over and pick out what you want. They own a chain of stores, so you can head to Hollyhock, Leeds, and Ashford, too. I’ll have Richie give me a call when you’re done, and I’ll pick up the pieces for you.”