Murder in the Mix Books 4-6 (Murder in the Mix Boxed Set Book 2)

by Addison Moore

  “Oh, Lottie.” Mom makes a face like she might be sick. “You do realize I’m practically allergic to this place.”

  “You and me both. But don’t worry. We won’t be here for long. I just need to talk to Connie Chutney in a way that won’t arouse suspicion.”

  She sucks in a quick breath. “You don’t think she killed Eve, do you? Connie Chutney is destined for sainthood. That woman runs more volunteer leagues than there are volunteer leagues.”

  “I don’t know. But just pretend you’re interested in volunteering to fill Eve’s void or something to that effect and I’ll try to size her up.”

  No sooner do we enter that venerable sick den than the scent of ketchup mixed with rubbing alcohol hits my senses. Mom and I gag as we head up to the second floor where the volunteers have an office of their own. The floor is bright and clean with green patterned carpet and white vinyl tiles that mark off the corridors. We follow the volunteer center sign until we come upon a desk with an all too familiar gray-haired well put-together, friendly-faced woman seated behind it.

  “Miranda!” Connie Chutney springs out of her seat and offers my mother a firm embrace. If she is a killer, she’s a darn nice one. “And Lola, is it?” Her forehead erupts in wrinkles. “I’m afraid I’ve never been good with names.”

  “Lottie,” I offer, and we quickly shake hands.

  “Oh, please.” She pulls a bin of bright yellow muffins from off her desk. “Rich Dallas, one of the male volunteers, baked his famous cheese jalapeño poppers for us today.”

  I politely decline, but my mother snaps one right up.

  “Did you say male volunteers?” My mother’s hormonal antennae just went up, and usually this is the part where I would roll my eyes, but, my God, if it means steering her away from the likes of kinky Brad Rutherford and that janky Jungle Room, then I’m all for it.

  “Oh, we’ve got men.” Connie waves it off as if they were a burden. “Mostly widowers or divorcees who are living off their investments and have nothing to do with their time but volunteer and play golf.”

  “Living off their investments?” Mom chortles with delight, her fingers twisting her pearls. “Did you hear that, Lottie? I think I’ve found my new home.” Her shoulders do that shimmy thing, and for once I’m glad about it. In no way am I going to remind her that she has a plus one. Besides, my mother has happily dated around ever since she lost my father. If she hasn’t tied herself down yet, I don’t see it happening any time soon.

  Connie sets the cheesy jalapeño poppers down. “Now, what can I do for you, ladies?”

  “I’m ready to volunteer!” Mom raises a hand as if she were in class. And judging by my mother’s exuberance, she might just be telling the truth. “Eve only had high praise for this place and you.”

  Connie turns her head as if she didn’t believe it. “Eve had things to say about me, and none of them were kind. The volunteers talk among one another, and I’m firmly apprised of the things she’s said about me. She complained that I had my own spotlight in the newsletter. Well, I’m the editor! I can certainly choose to spotlight myself if I want. And if my name is in a bigger font, it’s simply to highlight my own branding. It’s the twenty-first century! You’ve got to brand yourself these days. Everybody knows that. I can’t help it if people couldn’t read her articles because the background color was a bit garish.”

  I shake my head. “But I thought you said you edited the newsletter. Couldn’t you control the background hue of the article?”

  She scoffs. “It’s nice to have a pop of color now and again. I like to keep my own articles plain and light, so the color has to go somewhere.”

  “Right.” Mom nods in agreement and cocks her head my way for me to do the same. No use in making Connie defensive, even though she’s clearly in the wrong, so I go along with it. “Eve sure did put in a lot of time in this place.” My mother’s eyes gloss with tears.

  “Not as much as I have, but she was close,” Connie muses.

  “Would you look at that?” I say, uncertain where this might go next. “Two of Eve Hollister’s best friends in the whole world right here in the same place. I bet she would love this.”

  Mom nods, her expression forlorn. “We spoke every single day.”

  “We hardly ever spoke,” Connie confesses. “We may have worked side by side for years, but that woman held a grudge against me at every turn. My husband spoke to her more than I did in the end. Poor Bill had been working on her house for almost a year. There simply was no pleasing that woman.”

  I lift a finger. “That’s right, the remodel.” It seems all Eve did for the last solid year was complain of how terribly it was going.

  “I assume he finished the work?” I ask.

  Connie blows out a breath of exasperation. “Well, he would have, but the whole place has been deemed a crime scene.”

  Mom shakes her head frantically. “Not anymore. They opened it up again just a few days ago. I’m helping her housekeeper box up a few of Eve’s clothes. Eve let me know a while ago that if anything should happen to her she wanted all of her clothing donated to the women’s shelter.”

  Connie averts her gaze. “With her millions, she could have bought each woman at the shelter a whole new wardrobe from top designers. Eve never did know how to spend her money. A Frugal Franny right to the bitter end.”

  Mom and I wrap up our visit and head back out to the frosty air.

  “So, what do you think, Lottie? Do you really think she’s capable of doing something so horrible?”

  “I don’t know. She’s just as bitter as every other suspect. And every suspect has the same alibi. They were all at the B&B that day—right down to Connie’s husband.”

  “He’s not a suspect, is he? I’m really considering using him to do the addition.”

  “What about Bear?” I don’t know why I automatically assumed my mother would give my ex-boyfriend the job.

  “Bill came in thousands cheaper. I just figure if he was good enough for Eve, he was good enough for me.”

  “But Eve wasn’t happy about the work he did.”

  “True, but there was rarely anything Eve was happy about. What’s your next move?”

  “When is the next time you’ll be boxing up Eve’s things?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Great. I think I’ll stop by and see if you need a hand.” I give a sly wink.

  It’s really Eve Hollister I’m giving a hand to.

  If only I could get that boisterous black bear to give me a hand and lead me to the killer.

  In the least he could give me a heads-up and tell me why he’s here at all.

  Chapter 33

  “Eve Hollister’s house?” Keelie stares up at the mega mansion with utter disdain. “When you said we were going on another great adventure, you seemed to have forgotten to mention the part about it being a geriatric retreat. There are no cute guys in there. We’re not going to have to get naked, and I’m pretty certain the odds of bumping into a handsome man in a three-piece suit will be next to nothing.”

  “What do you need to bump into a handsome man for? You’ve snagged Hook Redwood. Do you know how many women would kill to be in your position?”

  She makes a face. “Considering you’ve hauled me over to case the place in hopes of solving a homicide, I’d be leery of casting a pox on me that way. Unless, of course, you’re the killer and I’m your next victim.” She gags a moment. “I’m not your next victim, am I?”

  “Relax. I’m not a killer, and even if I was, there would be no way I’d put you on my hit list.”

  Dutch bounds ahead and runs right through the double oversized doors. Eve Hollister’s mansion is just that, a bona fide mansion complete with an entire row of white columns, elongated windows, wrought iron overlaying each one, and an entire fortress of sugared pines surrounding the property. We head on up, and I ring the bell. It takes less than a minute for a blonde with dark shifty eyes and a squared-off jaw to open the door—Valeri
e herself.

  “Hello.” She hitches her head for us to come in. “Your mom said you might be stopping by to help box up Eve’s things.”

  “Is my mom here?” I ask. “I didn’t see her car out front.”

  “She said she couldn’t make it. Something about being sore after a rough date. I didn’t quite get it.”

  Ugh. It sounds as if my mother paid a visit to the Jungle Room after all. I’m going to buy her a can of mace, so the next time Brad tries to get into her personal space, she can get him right between the eyes—and perhaps the legs, too, just to be safe.

  “Valerie, this is my good friend, Keelie. And in the event you’ve forgotten my name, it’s—”

  She cuts me off and laughs. “Lottie Lemon,” she says, leading us upstairs. “All your mother does is talk about how wonderful you and your sisters are. I really wish I had a mother like that.”

  The inside of the mansion looks decidedly less opulent than the outside. The old crimson carpeting looks as if it should have been replaced decades ago, the dark wall paneling, the endless clutter, it’s all a bit cloying to take in. As much as I hate to say it, this place has a genuine haunted mansion appeal.

  Once upstairs, Valerie leads us down a narrow hall toward a set of opened double doors, and I spot Dutch frolicking on the bed along with—

  “Oh my God!” Keelie howls as we witness the mattress bucking and heaving, the fancy brocade comforter slowly being dragged off the edge. But what they can’t see, and only I am privy to, is the fact that burly bear and my sweet pooch Dutch are currently wrestling it out. It looks to be in good fun and perhaps just the physical outlet Dutch needed, considering all he can get Pancake to do is curl up and take a nap.

  Valerie pauses just before we enter. “Oh, I’m used to it. Eve is still very much here.”

  Keelie lets out a shrill cry, and I pull her close in a meager attempt to comfort her.

  I clear my throat as I take a step closer to the melee. “Well, I for one wish she would get out now!” I shout those last few words, and Dutch looks over at me with his blinding ruby eyes, that happy-to-see-me smile on his face. He ceases all movement as does the bear before Dutch runs him right out of the room and down the stairs.

  “That’s better,” I say, leading us into the oversized bedroom, which reminds me a lot of Everett’s bedroom back at his mother’s mansion.

  “This place is huge!” Keelie pokes her head in cautiously.

  Valerie motions us over to the walk-in closet already nearly empty. “It will get even bigger once they finally haul all this rubbish away. Daphne mentioned they would be having an estate sale soon. They don’t want to keep any of her junk.” She says junk in air quotes.

  Brenda Lee mentioned that Daphne dragged Valerie into that mystery job that keeps her rolling in the green.

  Keelie stabs her fists into her hips as she inspects the place. “So, what are you going to do now that you’re out of a job?”

  I offer Keelie a thumbs-up on the sly behind Valerie’s back.

  The blonde shakes her head as if the future was coming at her far too fast. “I don’t know. Daphne says I could continue to live in the back cottage, and she even said she’d lower my rent. Eve had it hiked all the way up.”

  “Wow,” Keelie snorts. “I thought for sure she’d let you live there for free, considering you ran this place like a tight ship.”

  Keelie is getting really good at shaking down a suspect on the sly.

  “One would think.” Valerie gives a wistful shake of the head as she scoops a pile of old sweaters out of the closet and tosses them onto the bed. “But I’ve got something else that can keep me going for a while.”

  That must be Daphne’s moonlighting gig!

  “Another job so soon? That’s great.” I begin folding sweaters next to her. “Why bother looking further? Is it something you like?”

  Valerie grimaces a moment. “Not quite. I mean, I like the adventure, the glamour, the not knowing what might be around the next corner—but, to be truthful, there are some less than savory aspects of the job.”

  Keelie makes a face my way. “Adventure, glamour? I want in on the action. What exactly is it that you’re doing?”

  Valerie’s mouth opens, and a choking sound comes out as if she couldn’t quite find the right words. “It’s not for everybody. Of course, there are different levels of the job. Each one makes vastly different amounts from the others—especially when you factor in those exclusive bonuses.”

  She’s being coy. I’m pretty sure it’s going to be an impossible feat to admit to what she’s doing.

  “Did Eve know about the second job?” I shrug it off as if it were no big deal.

  “She knew. Or at least she knew what I wanted her to know. She also knew that Daphne was the one that helped me get a leg up in the industry.” She averts her eyes as she says it, and my own eyes bug out as the picture becomes crystal clear.

  Leg up?

  “Oh my word, she’s sucked you into a prostitution ring!” The words blurt out before I can stop them.

  Valerie’s mouth falls open, as does Keelie’s.

  “Lottie!” Keelie tosses an old knit cap at me. “How dare you accuse her of strutting her stuff on a street corner!”

  Valerie balks, “I am not hustling myself on a street corner.” She lets the sweater slip from her fingers. “It’s not like that at all.” Her face falls to her hands a moment. “If it wasn’t for Eve and her miserly ways, I wouldn’t have done any of it to begin with.” She takes a seat on the edge of the bed, and Keelie and I follow suit.

  “So, it’s true?” I ask. “It has something to do with—pleasing men?”

  Her chest bucks as she hides her face in her hands once again. “My mother can never find out. We may not get along, but this kind of a profession has a way of getting misunderstood very, very quickly.”

  “This kind of a profession?” I lean in to get a better look at her. “What exactly is it that you do?”

  “It’s”—she looks up as if the answer was written on the ceiling—“dating.”

  “Dating?” I shake my head. “Like an escort service?”

  “Would you stop!” Valerie swats my hand. “It’s not prostitution, and it’s not an escort service. I simply go on glamorous outings with men who happened to need an arm by their side.”

  I’m betting they’re in the mood for more than just an arm.

  Keelie bounces next to her. “How much money are we talking?”

  Valerie’s face lights up. “Well, the clients—my dates—are loaded. And it varies night to night.”

  “You work every night?” I’m exhausted just thinking about it. But, then again, my time with Noah never seems like enough.

  “I can if I want to. There’s never a shortage of men. It’s a lot like your typical dating app. My profile is put in a registry, and they swipe right if they’re interested. It never needs to be sexual, so that way it stays legal. And just like any date you venture on, it can end as sexually as you’d want it to.” She shrugs over at Keelie. “I can give you my contact’s information if you like. The Elite Entourage is always looking for fresh girls.”

  The Elite Entourage? I think that says it all.

  “Yes!” Keelie’s eyes swirl like pinwheels, and if I’m not mistaken, I can see expensive handbags and shoes rotating in them. I’m about to say a hard no for her, then remember that we’re here to get the lowdown on Eve’s murder.

  I clear my throat. “While you girls hash out the details, would you mind if I used the restroom?”

  “Not at all.” Valerie points me to the right, and I head into a spacious bathroom that appears to be the only brightly lit room in the house. There are vaulted ceilings in here and oversized windows that let in the natural light. A fifteen-foot marble sink runs a good span against the wall and a gold-framed mirror hangs above it. The counter is still cluttered with Eve’s things—a hairbrush and a lone toothbrush lying awkwardly in a porcelain teacup. Various types o
f cosmetics sit in a basket in the middle, and a water pitcher with a built-in purifier sits unattended, the water level is still about midway. It’s creepy the way it looks as if she would be right back. Even the towel hung over the door looks slightly rumpled as if she just took a shower this morning. I head over and feel it, dry as a bone.

  I pull out my phone and try to find anything on the Elite Entourage, but it’s as if it doesn’t exist. I bet whoever’s in charge likes it that way, too.

  I head back out and box up Eve’s clothes in record time. Keelie and I wrap up our visit, and Valerie walks us downstairs.

  We say goodbye as we head for the car. Dutch and that rambunctious bear pause from chasing one another in the yard, and Dutch lets out a happy bark to his new friend before hopping into the back seat of my car.

  Interesting that the bear chose to reside here. Or is he here because Valerie Vernon is the killer?

  Only time will tell, and I hope it speaks up very, very soon.

  Chapter 34

  Nell Sawyer has been a societal staple in Honey Hollow from the day she was born. In fact, she’s Honey Hollow born and raised, so she certainly deserves the big spectacular birthday bash she’s about to get tonight. When Nell turned ninety, she made her daughter Becca, Keelie’s mom, and her son William promise that they would not make a fuss over her. Instead, there was a small family dinner with no gifts per her request. So this year, after a brief health scare this past summer that involved some high blood pressure and fainting spells, Becca swore she would get in a big party even if it killed Nell. I knew what she meant, but I did cringe at the analogy.

  “Mom, could you get all those birthday cake cookies off the cooling trays and put them around the pastry platters like this?” I demonstrate by creating a colorful ring just outside the mounds of angel breath cookies, the fudgies—stemless cake pops, Nell’s absolute favorite, the Florentines, and almond bars.