Cake Pop Casualties (MURDER IN THE MIX Book 22) Read online

  Cake Pop Casualties

  MURDER IN THE MIX 22

  Addison Moore

  Contents

  Connect with Addison Moore

  Book Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Recipe

  Books by Addison Moore

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Hollis Thatcher Press, LTD.

  Copyright © 2020 by Addison Moore

  Edited by Paige Maroney Smith

  Cover by Lou Harper, Cover Affairs

  This novel is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places, and characters are figments of the author’s imagination. The author holds all rights to this work. It is illegal to reproduce this novel without written expressed consent from the author herself.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This eBook is for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this eBook with another person, please purchase any additional copies for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Copyright © 2020 by Addison Moore

  Created with Vellum

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  Book Description

  My name is Lottie Lemon, and I see dead people. Okay, so I rarely see dead people. Mostly I see furry creatures of the dearly departed variety, aka dead pets, who have come back from the other side to warn me of their previous owner’s impending doom.

  Keelie is getting married. Someone is getting buried. And Lottie makes a BIG decision.

  My best friend, Keelie, is getting married and there are still so many things to do—like procure a dress for the bride. But when a body turns up at the bridal shop, and my best friend is pegged as the killer, the wedding takes a back seat to murder.

  Lottie Lemon has a brand new bakery to tend to, a budding romance with perhaps one too many suitors, and she has the supernatural ability to see dead pets—which are always harbingers for ominous things to come. Throw in the occasional ghost of the human variety, a string of murders, and her insatiable thirst for justice, and you’ll have more chaos than you know what to do with.

  Living in the small town of Honey Hollow can be murder.

  Chapter 1

  My name is Lottie Lemon, and I see dead people. Okay, so rarely do I see dead people. Mostly I see furry creatures of the dearly departed variety, aka dead pets, who have come back from the other side to warn me of their previous owner’s impending doom. But right now, I’m not seeing a dead anything but a couple of inhumanely handsome men who have stopped by my shop, the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery, for breakfast.

  Noah moans, “Lottie, adding pancakes to the menu is brilliant.”

  Everett’s chest gives an insolent huff. “She doesn’t have a menu. That’s the point.” He lifts those cobalt blue eyes my way and nods. “This is an innovated effort, Lemon, and I wholeheartedly approve.”

  Everett has only ever called me by my surname and I wholeheartedly approve.

  “You approve?” Noah balks at Everett. “Hear that, Lottie? Lock yourself into a matrimonial agreement with this guy and you’ll be forced to seek his approval for the rest of your life.”

  A tiny laugh trembles in my chest, but I don’t dare give it. To say the relationship I have with these two men is complicated would be an understatement.

  Noah and I have been friends, lovers, spouses, and have gone right back to plain ol’ dating. We even own the Maple Meadows Lodge up in Hollyhock together, so technically, we’re business partners, too. Our marriage was sort of accidental, but Noah would like to get back to that matrimonial agreement as he so eloquently called it. Noah is tall with dark hair that picks up red highlights in the sun, has dimples for days, and eyes the color of a Granny Smith apple. He’s caustically handsome, arrestingly so—a perfect metaphor considering the fact he happens to be the lead homicide detective down in Ashford County.

  And then there’s Mr. Sexy. That alone sums up Judge Essex Everett Baxter in a nutshell. He too is tall, jet-black hair, bluest eyes known to man, and his presence is enough to command the attention of every living and nonliving woman on Earth. His body is put together in the exact way God intended, and he’s slow to give the hint of a smile. We might be currently tangled in our own matrimonial agreement, but it’s strictly on paper only. Everett needed to get married to qualify for the rest of his trust fund, and I was happy to help.

  And that nickname, Mr. Sexy? It was gifted to him by a barista the day we met. Everett refused to give me his name, and my scheme of seeing what was written on the side of his coffee cup was quickly foiled by the barista in question. In truth, his formal name is Essex, but he’s not keen on it for whatever reason. And the only people, other than his mother and sister, who get the privilege of utilizing it on the regular are women he’s bedded. It’s long been considered a door prize of sorts given to those lucky women who have danced between the sheets with the good judge. And even though I more than qualify, I still call him Everett, along with everyone else.

  Noah and Everett are just a few years older than me, in their early to mid-thirties. And both of them are in on my deepest, some might say darkest, secret.

  I just so happen to be transmundane—further classified as supersensual, which means I have the ability to see the dead. Mostly it’s creatures of the furry variety who have come back to warn me of their previous owner’s impending doom. But sometimes I see people, too.

  Last month the three of us took a trip to Cider Cove, Maine, where, interestingly enough, I met a woman named Bizzy Baker who shares my unique abilities—not the same ability but close enough. It was the trip of a lifetime. It turns out, Bizzy is transmundane as well, but her classification is telesensual—the most invasive classification of all, meaning she can read minds. Needless to say, Bizzy and I have bonded for life.

  Keelie, my blonde bestie, bops up to the counter with her belly swaying heavy as she waddles on over. Keelie is getting married to the love of her life, Bear Fisher, later this month, and in two months from now they’ll be welcoming their first child into the world.

  She shoots Noah and Everett a disparaging look. “Can’t you two ever get along? I can feel the tension all the way over in the Honey Pot.” She refills their coffee for me. “You were brothers once.”

  “Stepbrothers,” Noah corrects. “And we didn’t get along that great then either.”

  Everett grunts as he looks to his former stepbrother. “What do you expect when you stea
l someone’s girlfriend?”

  Noah glowers at him. “And you’ve spent the last couple of years making up for it by trying to steal Lottie.”

  “How about stealing some delicious fluffy pancakes?” I shove the giant tower of pancakes between the two of them. “Only neither of you will be stealing because this breakfast is on me. Thanks for coming down and being the first to try out my new breakfast offering.” I glance to the glass bakery shelves brimming with croissants, Danishes, cream puffs, and every cookie and every brownie known to man. I probably didn’t need another breakfast offering, but that’s never stopped me before. “And thank you, Keelie, for suggesting it.”

  Keelie manages the Honey Pot Diner next door. Actually, we’re conjoined by a connecting walkway through a shared wall. The Honey Pot was our grandmother, Nell Sawyer’s, baby before she passed away. It’s as magical as she was with its large resin oak tree in the center of the restaurant that bleeds out its twinkle light wrapped branches right through the walkway that leads into my shop. The sparkling branches extend all across the ceiling of my café as well.

  The bell on the door chimes and in stream three women that I care for deeply, my mother, Carlotta—my birth mother—and Evie, the fifteen-year-old daughter I share with Everett. Evie’s birth mother is actually Cressida Bentley, a psychopath of an ex-girlfriend of Everett’s if ever there was one. Cressida essentially hid Evie from Everett up until a few months ago, but now that she’s in our lives we’re never letting her go. And seeing that she doesn’t have a real mother, I’ve gladly stepped into that role, and Evie is glad about it, too.

  The three of them hit the counter and put in their orders just as the bell chimes again, and this time Scarlet Sage strides in. Scarlet just so happens to own a ritzy clothing boutique down the street, aptly named after herself.

  “Just the woman I was hoping to see,” I say as she heads this way. “Keelie is getting married in less than a month and she doesn’t have a dress.”

  My mother gasps. “What?” she snips so loud you’d think an egregious offense has transpired and, truthfully, this might just qualify.

  Miranda Lemon is the woman that I call my mother. She and Joseph Lemon adopted me right after my father found me squirming on the floor of the firehouse where he worked. My mother has creamy blonde shoulder-length hair and a pretty face that seemingly forgot to age. She’s wearing a low-cut hot pink sundress on this balmy June morning and looks every bit as sassy and brassy as she is. “Keelie, say it isn’t so.”

  Keelie shrugs. “I can’t help it. I didn’t think I’d be sporting a paunch this size during my wedding. Nothing fits me.”

  I look to Scarlet. “You have to help. You’re our only hope.”

  “Let me see.” Scarlet gives a cheeky wink as if she were up to something. Scarlet has long black hair and mesmerizing lavender eyes. She also has a history with Everett that I don’t care to know about. Come to think of it, Everett has a history with just about every woman in Honey Hollow—and perhaps all of Vermont that I don’t care to know about. He was a bit of a playboy before he hung up his one-night stand routine in my honor.

  She lifts a finger in the air. “You’re in luck. That’s actually why I’m here. There’s a private bridal boutique going on this afternoon at Pemberley by the Water.”

  Both Keelie and I gasp.

  Pemberley by the Water is one of the many mansions owned by Norman Pemberley, a billionaire who made most of his money in oil. I don’t know much else about him other than the fact he’s a lot older than my mother. Growing up, she used to regale us with the story of him offering to purchase her as his wife. She said he was teasing but, needless to say, my father was not amused.

  “I’m going with you.” Carlotta is quick to extend the invite to herself.

  Carlotta, my aforementioned birth mother, is essentially my twin if you were to age me with a few stray gray hairs and wrinkles. We share the same caramel-colored hair and hazel eyes. She came into my life a little over a year ago, and after she trashed Nell’s old place, she came to live with me. (Okay, so Nell’s old place may have had some plumbing issues, which led to the discovery of black mold. And perhaps neither of those things is directly Carlotta’s fault, but I can’t be sure entirely.) Anyway, she’s been holing up in my back bedroom for months and it’s been regret city ever since. Let’s just say, Carlotta has a special way of keeping me on my toes.

  “Bridal boutique?” Evie balks. “I’m in.”

  Everett leans back. “It’s a bridal boutique. Wouldn’t you rather hang out with your friends? Or you can start that summer internship down at the courthouse if you want.”

  “Internship? Hard pass.” Evie doesn’t mind shutting down her daddy. There’s no denying she’s his. Evie has the same jet-black hair, albeit long and wavy, same demanding cobalt blue eyes, and same curtness in her demeanor that tells those around her she is fiercely in charge. She’s all of fifteen going on twenty-one. A scary thought if ever there was one. “I need some major gowns, Dad, and unfortunately for you, Cressi-duh has cut me off at the credit card knees. I always knew she was a witch, but I never thought she’d stoop this low. Anyway, I’ve got to start shopping before all the good stuff is snatched up.”

  Scarlet nods. “She’s right. Girls are already coming in for homecoming gowns even though summer break has hardly started. And don’t worry, Everly. They’ll have those kinds of dresses at the bridal boutique, too.”

  Evie shoots her a look. “It’s Evie. Nobody calls me Everly. Sort of the way nobody calls my dad Essex unless they’ve—”

  “Okay,” I say, taking a big breath. “I guess I’ll ask Lily to run the bakery for me this afternoon.”

  Lily Swanson grunts somewhere from behind. Lily is a stunning brunette who hasn’t always been all that fond of me until I started signing her paychecks, but I’d like to think we’ve become friends at this point.

  Mom waves a hand in the air. “Oh, I’m coming, too. I’ve got a feeling I need to start shopping for wedding attire myself.”

  Carlotta smacks her on the arm. “Don’t get your hopes up. Lot Lot here is already hitched. In fact, she’s gotten hitched twice and hasn’t invited you once.”

  “Carlotta.” A laugh gets trapped in my throat. She’s not wrong, but technically she’s not right either. “Mom”—I look to my mother—“when I get married…again, and I will, I plan on having you right there in the room with me.”

  Mom waves it off. “Of course, dear, but I’m not holding my breath. Besides, I might have a rather big announcement of my own on the horizon.” She gives a tight smile to Noah and Everett as I gag on what that announcement might be. “You, Lottie, have a special arrangement most women would kill to have. Now, if one of you gentlemen would please give Evie a little brother or sister, that would just make my year.”

  Good Lord, I’d better shove a cookie into her mouth. I quickly land a blondie bar in front of her and she does the dirty work herself.

  Keelie sighs as she rubs her belly. “I guess today’s my lucky day.” The words come out as if she were about to face her certain doom.

  Noah’s dimples invert as he sheds a sorrowful smile my way. “It could be your lucky day, too, Lottie. You might just fall in love with a dress.” His phone buzzes and he glances at the screen. “And that’s my cue. Duty calls. Thanks for the pancakes, Lottie. They were delicious.”

  Noah finishes up one last bite and I walk him to the door.

  He gently hitches my hair behind my ear. “I meant what I said to you a few weeks back. I’m okay with you exploring your relationship with Everett. I think it’s only fair. He’s done the same for us for months. Your happiness is all I care about, Lottie.” He presses a warm kiss to my forehead. “And my love for you will never change, no matter what you eventually decide. You deserve to wear a wedding dress yourself one day, and hopefully, I’ll be the groom you choose to be by your side.” He takes off and takes my broken heart right along with him.

  Everett strides u
p and pulls me into a warm embrace. “I can pick up dinner if you want?”

  I nod. “That would be great.”

  “If you need me, I’ll keep my phone on just for you. Have fun dress shopping. If you find anything you like, it’s on me.” He dots a kiss to the top of my head before taking off.

  A tiny little creature that sort of resembles a dog skips in front of the glass door and I do a double take because I’ve never seen anything so small and dainty. He could hardly come up to my knees and has a delicate head and long floppy ears. I lean in, trying to get a better look at the tawny little creature, but before it can turn my way, it up and disappears into thin air.

  Oh my stars above Honey Hollow.

  My heart thumps wildly and my adrenaline picks up.

  Thank goodness Everett will have his phone on just for me.

  Thank goodness Noah is just a phone call away himself.

  If that supernatural little beast means anything at all, it most certainly means something sinister is afoot.

  Now to head off to the Pemberley mansion to enjoy a little dress shopping with my bestie.

  Hopefully, shopping for Keelie’s wedding dress won’t be murder.

  Chapter 2

  “Look!” Keelie gives my sleeve a tug. “There’s the original Mrs. Pemberley. I remember her from way back when she and my mom used to do charity work together.”