Owlbert flies overhead who-whoing away, and it sounds as if he’s laughing.
“There is something to be said for doing things the old-fashioned way, Lottie.”
“Amen to that,” I whisper under my breath.
Now that the debate as to if cake installations are better than a traditional setting has been answered, I’ve got a far more pressing question I need answered.
Who killed Amanda Wellington?
And why?
Chapter 10
Monday morning brings crisp winds as autumn is ushered into our world with a rich abundance of color. All of Vermont has made the transformation, taking off its verdant green coat in exchange for rich ambers, golden yellows, and fiery reds.
Every maple that lines Main Street is alive with citrine brilliance, and slowly pumpkins begin to dot the storefronts and residences alike. It’s my favorite time of year to cozy up by the fire with a stack of good books, a hot cup of cider, and my cats on either side of me. I wouldn’t mind Noah and Everett being there as well, but that could prove to be disastrous—the three of us. What an awful coital conundrum I’ve gotten myself into. What a horrible situation when your heart simply cannot choose.
It’s the afternoon of Amanda Wellington’s funeral, and the skies are thick with dark clouds with navy underbellies. It seems our whole world is full of ominous signs as of late. After that bank heist, every resident in Honey Hollow has been on edge. The Ashford Sheriff’s Department has stepped up patrol up and down the streets of our cozy small town and, in truth, it feels as if we’re under siege.
Honey Hollow Covenant Church is packed tightly with all of Amanda’s nearest and dearest friends. Her sister and her brother are huddled up front. I’m not sure what the story with her parents is, but I don’t see anyone sitting in a prominent position who might qualify.
Noah and Ivy are seated in the back, per their usual funeral stakeout. Noah likes to keep it all business at events like this even though he is firm on paying his respects and offering the family his condolences. Everett and I are seated together, his strong, warm hand holding mine, and it feels right like this with him, safe.
Pastor Gaines conducts a brief yet beautiful service, that creepy smile never leaving his face. I’m not sure why it irks me so, but it does.
There is no casket, no body, just an oversized picture of Amanda’s face. It’s the same picture she used at Redwood Realty, and if you look closely, the tagline Selling Honey Hollow is still prominent on the border to the left.
Connie Canelli is seated next to Hazel. And Chrissy and Mark flank Amanda’s brother on the other side. I don’t see Janelle, but maybe she’s running late? Or perhaps she opted to sit outside of the glaring funeral spotlight and is somewhere in the back with Noah. I couldn’t blame her.
And as much as there isn’t a dry eye in the house, it’s easy to deduce that the one being that appears the most distraught over Amanda’s passing is Owlbert Einstein himself. He sits perched over the enormous framed picture, letting off his low raspy hoots two at a time, but sometimes six in a row. And oddly enough, Dutch, the ghost of the Golden Retriever I met last December, is seated below her picture dutifully as well, with his burning fiery eyes staring sullenly out at the crowd.
But that’s not the only oddity here. Beastie, the grand white Bengal tiger, has been traipsing up and down the aisle with little Lea on his back. Lea has her long hair pulled down over her face—I’m guessing that’s the way she likes it. And despite her incessant giggling as Beastie bobs up and down, she’s wielding that hatchet in her hand as if she means business.
It’s all a bit unnerving to say the least.
Once the funeral is over, we’re all quickly ushered into the reception area, a hall that’s attached to the church. Lily helped me haul over enough cookies and brownies to feed all of Honey Hollow. Of course, out of respect for Amanda, there’s nary a single apple turnover in the bunch.
The hall is brightly lit, and there are bodies swirling in every direction, accompanied by chatter and bouts of laughter as if it were a joyous occasion.
Everett leans in. “Who’s on your radar, Lemon?”
“Connie and Janelle.” I frown into the crowd when I spot Lainey and Forest huddled together. “And Lainey, but I doubt this is the time to try to convince her I’m not a walking broken mirror.” I shoot Everett a look. “I might be, but that’s not the point.”
His cheek flickers with devilish delight before his attention is snagged away. “Fiona is here. I’ll go talk to her and let her know we want to get Connie to open up to us.”
“Do you think you can get her to cooperate with us? I mean, she is friends with Connie, too.”
“I can get Fiona to do anything I like.” His lids hood low, and my stomach bisects with heat in response. No sooner does Everett take off than Carlotta clip-clops her way over in a pair of sky-high heels.
“What’s with the stilts?” I can’t help but ask. I’ve never seen Carlotta in anything but boots or sneakers. She’s been known to dress for comfort and not for style. “Looking to impress the dead?”
“Oh hush.” She plucks off her left shoe and sighs as soon as her foot hits the cool comfort of the floor. “I’m looking to impress Harry. He’s been sneaking off with your mother behind my back again.”
I cringe at the thought. “Maybe you should try to steal Pastor Gaines from her?” I giggle at the thought. “And just to clarify, I’m teasing. Do not intermesh yourself with my mother’s love life more than you already have.”
“I’m not going anywhere near Pastor Gaines.” She shoves her finger in her mouth and pretends to vomit.
“Oh, come on. He’s not so bad. He always has a smile on his face, so that has to count for something.”
Carlotta squirms as she steps back into her shoe. “And that’s the exact reason I plan on staying away. Mama Nell always said ‘never trust a man who doesn’t know when to stop smiling.’”
“I’m with her on that.” I spot Pastor Gaines, and a shiver rides up my spine. “I wish my mother would realize that. Hey? You don’t think he’s dangerous, do you?”
She makes a face while staring him down. My mother is by his side and so are Mayor Nash and his ex-wife, Chrissy. An odd crowd if ever there was one.
“I don’t know,” she says. “But personally, I plan on staying very far away. Now if you’ll excuse me, I promised Lea I’d eat a cookie or twelve for her.”
She takes off just as I spot Everett speaking with Fiona and—oh! Connie Canelli pops up behind her and covers Fiona’s eyes with her hands before they both break into cackles like a couple of sorority girls. I hustle on over, and Owlbert beats me to it, landing his white fuzzy talons on Everett’s left shoulder. I can tell by the way Everett is jerking his shoulder slightly that he feels a presence there.
I’m quick to take up Everett’s hand. “Connie, Fiona, so nice to see you both. How I wish it was under better circumstances.”
Connie’s dark hair is curled and sprayed into crunchy submission, she’s chewing her gum at a million miles an hour, and I’m beginning to think it’s a nervous habit. She’s donned a black skirt, a matching blazer, and there’s a pop of pink coming from her tank top underneath. As far as I can tell, the perky hue is her calling card.
Connie leans in. “What are you gonna do? You can’t bring the dead back.”
“Yoo hoo!” a warbling voice calls to me from the left, and I spot Nell waving my way.
We may not be able to bring back the dead, but sometimes they pop back all on their own. I give a quick wave back and then motion for her to stay put. Carlotta makes a beeline for her, and it offers me a sense of security. Carlotta has been known to yap her mother’s ear off, so hopefully I won’t miss a minute with Nell because of this investigation.
Fiona huffs, “My ex-husband died years ago, and I don’t mind one bit that he’s trapped on the other side.”
“I didn’t know that about you,” I say just as it occurs to me it may no
t be entirely true. Everett did say he would fill her in on the fact we’re trying to pump Connie for information.
Connie gasps, “I didn’t know that either.” She smacks her lips like she might be sick. “What did the louse do to end up on the outs with you?”
“Cheated.” Fiona shoots me the side-eye, and I sincerely hope it’s to tip me off that she’s trying to shake Connie down for details, and not because she thinks I’m cheating on Everett. I would never do that to him.
Noah bounces through my mind, and I bounce him right back out.
Connie’s eyes flare with rage. “I hate cheats.”
Fiona nods. “To make things worse, he cheated with my very best friend.”
Connie gasps, and the veins in her neck pop as her agitation grows. “I hate best friend boyfriend stealers even more.” She gives a quick glance around. “There is no greater betrayal in my book. I’ve had to handle one or two of those myself.”
Handle? Why do I get the feeling handle can easily translate into kill?
Fiona grunts, “When you’re up for it, tell me how to handle it. She’s still hanging around trying to annoy me.”
Connie’s face smooths out. “Tell me her name, and I’ll take care of the rest.” Someone whistles our way and she waves. “I’d better mingle.”
“Mingle.” Owlbert shudders. “She did it, Lottie. She poisoned poor Amanda. I demand you arrest her immediately.”
“It doesn’t work that way,” I say it lower than a whisper.
Mingle?
Everett and I exchange a glance.
Fiona steps in. “What do you think?”
“What do you think?” Everett throws it right back at her.
“Listen, Essex”—her heavily drawn in eyes look up at him—“I’ve come to be very good friends with Connie. And I certainly don’t need to tell you how dangerous her family can be. Let’s just say if Connie wanted Amanda out of the picture, we would most certainly be standing here today.” She glances my way with a look of disdain on her face. “But that doesn’t mean she did it. Everyone deserves due process. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I see my favorite chunky peanut butter bars waiting for me.”
She takes off and leaves us with a trail of her lavender-scented perfume.
“Everett.” I pull him in close by the hand. “She sounds terribly guilty.”
“She is!” Owlbert screeches right into Everett’s ear and causes poor Everett to groan as if he were shot.
“Not officially.” Everett gives his shoulder a dirty look before reverting to me. “Let’s make use of the venue. Where’s her friend? The one Connie implicated?”
“I haven’t seen Janelle.” I do another scan of the vicinity. “I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t be here today. Maybe it’s too hard? Maybe she’s not feeling well?”
I spot Hazel in the corner having what looks to be a heated conversation with her brother.
“Do you see that?”
“Yes. But I also see something else. Follow me.” He leads us through the crowd, and soon enough we come upon two men, Chrissy Castaneda and Mark Russo, the billionaire who dumped Connie for Amanda. Talk about brass cookies. He’s lucky he’s alive.
“Chrissy,” I say, perhaps a little too perky. “You were great the other night. It’s nice to see you again. I’m sorry this isn’t under better circumstances.”
He’s wearing a crisp black suit and black undershirt to match. He looks perfectly somber. Gone is the affable smile he shed so easily the other night.
“I wish that more than you know.” He nods to his friend. “This is Mark, Amanda’s fiancé.”
Both Everett and I extend our sincerest condolences.
“How did you and Amanda meet?” Yes, I went there. I don’t see why not. It’s innocent enough on the surface.
Mark looks to be in his mid-thirties, dark hair, dark eyes, clean-shaven, has an air of superiority about him, and yet he seems simultaneously down-to-earth. But his suit looks expensive and his cologne holds a rich scent that I’m sure was strained through hundred dollar bills.
“Mandy and I met through a friend.” He glances just past Chrissy, and I follow his gaze to Connie. Some friend. “I knew she was the one for me the minute I laid eyes on her. I was in another relationship, but I quickly got out of it. I would never entertain two hearts. It’s not who I am. It’s most certainly not how I was raised.”
A horrible sinking feeling presses over me, and I suddenly feel like a girl guilty of entertaining two hearts—one of which is holding my hand at the moment.
“That’s commendable,” Everett offers. “But it couldn’t have been easy. I’ve been on the receiving end of a breakup before.”
I give his hand a quick squeeze because I’m fairly certain he hasn’t—and then Cormack pops up between us and I gasp.
Of course, it was her. It’s always her.
“Mark, I’m so sorry.” She’s wearing a black feathered number with a low-cut décolleté and a full skirt that looks as if it were better suited for the red carpets than a Honey Hollow funeral. “Have they caught the killer? Any idea who could have done this?”
Mark ticks his head to the side as if he were stymied. “There were motives, but we’ll have to let the sheriff’s department do their job.”
“Motives?”
He nods my way. “There are lots of speculations about Connie’s connection. She knows it.”
Owlbert screams as if someone just yanked off a wing. “The other two—who-who are they?”
Everett grunts—I’m guessing due to all the screaming in his ear. “What are the other two motives?”
Mark looks to Chrissy, and a huff of a laugh bounces through his chest. “Greed. The answer is right there. And, of course”—he turns to his right, and his gaze sharpens hard over someone—“secrets.”
I follow his gaze, but there’s no one to see but my mother standing with Carlotta, Mayor Nash, and Pastor Gaines.
“If you’ll excuse me.” Mark takes off into the crowd.
“That was ominous,” I say to Chrissy.
He does a quick sweep of the vicinity before stepping in. “Mark has his theories, but he doesn’t want to share. Soon as word gets out, he’s afraid it’ll spook whoever did this.”
“Do you know what he meant by greed and secrets?” I’m hoping he does.
He shakes his head. “He won’t spill it, and I’ve stopped asking. I have full confidence in the Ashford Sheriff’s Department.”
“As do I,” I echo. “You know, I haven’t seen Janelle, and I was hoping to. Have you seen her?”
His lips crimp as he scans the crowd. “She wouldn’t be here.”
“Why not?” I hold my breath, frozen solid in anticipation.
“You’ll have to ask her yourself.”
A moment of silence bounces by.
Everett clears his throat. “Where can we find her?”
Chrissy looks my way. “The Egyptian Room. She’s a teacher. If you see her, tell her to call me sometime. I miss her.” He takes off in a rush, and Owlbert follows along with him.
“There’s that,” I say.
Everett begins navigating us through the crowd. “Noah is by the door. It looks as if he’s leaving.”
No sooner do we get there than Noah and Ivy are already moving through the parking lot.
“Noah!” I call out, running into the brisk air to catch up with him. “Not even a goodbye?” I’m only partially teasing.
His dimples press in, no smile as he looks past me to Everett. “I’m headed down to Ashford. I’ll let you know the details as they arise. Something’s come up.”
“Wait,” I say, glancing back to Everett, confused. “What details? What’s this about?” I gasp as I look to Noah. “This is about the thieves, isn’t it? Noah, please—I want to be a part of this. The dead said they would help me.”
The muscles in Noah’s jaw pop with tension. “Lottie, this isn’t for you. I don’t care what the dead say. I’ve got this handled, and I’
m imploring you to stay out of my investigation.”
“Again with this?” I’m stunned at the words that just came from his mouth. “This is my investigation, too.”
“No, Lottie, it’s not. This is my investigation. You need to back down and let the professionals handle this because it’s not a game. People are in a lot of danger. You cannot put yourself in the middle of it.”
A breath hitches in my throat. “Noah, I have never treated an investigation like a game. I can do this. I can help you track them down. I’m the best there is.” I cringe internally at how horrific that sounded. I’ve never been one to toot my own horn.
Noah glances back at Everett. “Forget it, Lottie. You are too important to me, and I will not be a willing participant in anything that might put you in harm’s way. Everett”—he glowers at him a moment before taking off—“I’ll talk to you later.”
“Talk to who? Everett?” I turn his way, panting and angry. “You’re in agreement with him, aren’t you? Neither of you wants me to be a part of this.”
Noah’s truck cruises by with Ivy in the passenger’s seat. He slows a moment to roll down his window.
“I’m sorry, Lottie. I just want to keep you safe. Stay away from this. I mean it.”
I suck in a breath. “You stay away from my investigation, Noah,” I growl at him. “Both Amanda and the thieves belong to me. I’m going to bring justice to both of those cases, and you’ll be sorry you ever shunned me.”
I glance back to Everett. “You, too.”
I take off for my car.
How dare they team up against me.
How dare they underestimate me.
Amanda’s killer is going down. And as soon as I talk to the dead, the thieves’ days are numbered.
I don’t need Noah or Everett.
I head home feeling so very alone.
Chapter 11
The next morning, as I step into the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery ready and willing to bake up enough apple turnovers to feed the free world, I’m met with one of the sweetest ghosts on the planet—and I suspect the nethersphere, too.
Toxic Apple Turnovers: MURDER IN THE MIX 13 Page 9