Waffles at the Wake Read online

  I glance over to Flo as a tear rolls down her cheek.

  “He loved me. He really, really loved me.”

  Yeah, but it doesn’t mean he didn’t shoot her. I heard that last comment about not letting her walk away from him.

  “She broke up with you that night, didn’t she?” I whisper to him, and he gives a slight nod.

  “So what?” He shrugs. “It’s water under the bridge. If she was here now, she’d take it all back.” He sniffs back his emotions. “And I would take it all back, too. We’d both be happy right now. Excuse me, ladies.” He stalks off, leaving Carlotta and me staring over at Flo.

  “You heard what he said.” She wipes back the tears. “Next up is Rocky Romero.”

  Rocky Romero might be next up, but I’m not scrubbing Nicky Knuckles off my suspect list just yet. In fact, he’s looking mighty guilty.

  “We need to talk,” I tell her, and just like that, she invokes her ghostly right to do a disappearing act.

  “She knows something,” I say to Carlotta. “She did something to Rocky, and we need to find out what.”

  Carlotta gasps as she pulls me to my feet. “If I were you, Lot, I wouldn’t tell the boys at the table about the fact Nicky Knuckles knows about Sexy’s nice ride.”

  Both Noah and Everett come this way with Cormack doing her best to glue herself to Noah’s side.

  “Did you get what you needed?” Everett’s lids are hooded, and he’s pretty much seething. I take it the good judge doesn’t look so kindly on those that choose to step out of the perimeters that he sets up, and I would be lying if my hormones weren’t going off like a Fourth of July spectacular because of it.

  “Yup,” I chirp as my voice hikes an octave.

  We head back for Honey Hollow, and all the way home I can’t help but think that Noah, Everett, Carlotta, and I have one deadly secret. And now Carlotta and I have a secret that might just prove to be even deadlier than that.

  Nicky believes the Lazzaris stole the body from the morgue. They know the make, model, and color of Everett’s car.

  So I do the only thing I can do once we get home.

  While Everett is finishing up a few things on his laptop, I run down to the garage and stick the blade of my best kitchen knife into his tire. It’s safe to say we’ll be driving my minivan from here on out.

  Then I head back into the bedroom and show Judge Baxter just how obedient I can be.

  And he is very, very satisfied.

  So am I.

  Chapter 11

  The next morning, Everett let me know I could sleep in, that court was postponed, and for a fleeting moment, I thought it had something to do with that flat I gave him.

  But as it turns out, Fiona has a motion, or a deposition, or a perm she had to get to. Heck, I can’t keep the legal jargon straight anymore. Everett said it worked out because not only did he have time to fix his flat, but Bear was coming over to inspect the lots next door—something to do with the new house and boundary issues.

  Last month, Everett moved heaven and the Honey Hollow Building Department to get permission to erect one large home across two lots. It was one of the Christmas gifts he gave me. And believe me, Everett is very generous in just about every capacity.

  Speaking of boundary issues, it’s the day of my mother’s writers’ workshop, so I stopped by the bakery to pick up an entire veritable breakfast bar to take over before hightailing it to the B&B. I set up shop right in the conservatory, a brunch buffet overflowing with pancakes, croissants, bagels, donuts, and stacks and stacks of my infamous waffles. The warm vanilla scent emanating from my sweet treat mingles with the coffee brewing, and the room fills with the heavenly scent.

  Not long ago, my mother’s bed and breakfast used to hobble along just hoping to get the tourist runoff from the Evergreen Manor, the only other place to stay in town. But as luck and my supernatural quirk would have it, an entire slew of ghosts moved in a while back, and now my mother’s happily haunted B&B is booked solid for months in advance. It turns out, there are a lot of people who can appreciate a good scare now and again.

  The B&B is a large stately mansion comprised of white stone with large Roman pillars out front, wrought iron balconies, and a wraparound porch. It’s spooktacular inside and out and has the whole haunted mansion nine yards going for it. A couple of years ago, my mother had Bear build her this glass conservatory as an addition off the back, and it’s been a hot spot ever since. You can see the evergreens covered with snow right outside the back of the room, and at night she has them backlit to look like a snowy fairy garden.

  Currently, the conservatory is filled with small bistro tables, and each one has at least three women hovering over their laptops while seated at them. The entire room is bustling with budding authors. In fact, Carlotta is already hard at work on her own novel while seated at my mother’s table, along with Mom’s besties, Chrissy Nash, Mayor Nash’s ex, and Becca Turner, Keelie’s mother. And just past her I see Noah’s battle-axe of a mother, Suze, thumping at a laptop of her own, looking stymied by the process.

  Believe me, I’m stymied she’d take a stab at penning a romance novel. Knowing Suze, her male lead will end up at the bottom of the ocean and stay there. No real tragedy considering that’s how her husband supposedly “died”. But as fate and a timely resurrection would have it, Wiley Fox staged his death and is now alive and well and dating my mother. Suze lives here at the B&B right along with them, and she seems to be friendly enough with my mother. It’s an odd arrangement, but one we’ve all gotten used to.

  The sound of women cackling comes from my left, and I glance that way to see a couple of blondes huddled over the same computer. I’m about to look away, but I do a double take instead.

  “Oh, for the love of all that’s good and evil,” I huff. And it’s clearly the evil part that’s being highlighted here today.

  Those two blondes are none other than Cormack and Cressida. Why do I find it hard to believe they’re penning a romance of their own? On second thought, if that helps take their eyes off Noah and Everett, I’m all for it.

  Lainey comes over with her sweet baby Josie nursing away, as my sister flashes half the room her water balloon of a boob, although no one seems to notice. As it should be. But let’s face it, for some men, spotting Lainey’s boob in the wild might just save them a trip to Red Satin.

  “So what’s with that dead girl?” Lainey’s hazel eyes grow wide. “I heard the mob stole her body and took it to New Jersey to keep in a glass case as a way to mentally torment the mob down in Leeds.”

  I make a face. “Well, hello to you, too.” I give Josie’s sweet blonde head a quick pat. “I don’t know anything about that. I’m only interested in procuring justice for the girl.”

  “Speaking of justice, Mom said you got on the jury. Geez, Lot. What good is being married to a judge if he can’t get you out of a little civic duty once in a while?”

  “You’re telling me.” I check my phone, only to see I have plenty of time before I need to get back. “But actually, the case is pretty interesting. A woman named Allison Gray is accused of killing her boyfriend.” No sooner do the words slip from my lips than I clamp my hand over my mouth.

  Lainey laughs. “Don’t worry, Lottie. I won’t tell a soul. And hey, that’s a pretty big case. I heard all about it. She got national coverage. You don’t think she did it, do you?”

  “I don’t have all the facts yet.”

  “I have all the facts.” She shrugs. “Believe me, the guy had it coming. He was—” Josie belches, and Lainey just about jumps out of her skin as the baby spits up all over her chest. “Oh, criminy.” She quickly mops it up with the blanket draped from her shoulder. “Welcome to motherhood, Lottie, where you get puked on six times a day. I’d better take care of this before I smell like sour milk,” she says as she heads in the direction of the restroom.

  My stomach gives a hard roll of nausea just as Mom makes her way over and quickly piles a couple of waffles onto a pl
ate for herself.

  “Oh, Lottie, isn’t this great?” she purrs. “Everyone came early, and we’re already meeting our chapter goals. It’s so important to stay disciplined when you do something like this. But we’re ready for a break, so whenever you want to give your dissertation on romance, the floor is all yours.”

  “Mom, I don’t have any dissertation planned,” I tell her. “I wouldn’t know the first thing to tell these women on how to write a book on romance.”

  “Leave the intricacies of the craft to the writers, Lottie. All you have to do is fill us in on how to juggle two men. A love triangle is a very popular trope when it comes to romance novels. We could use a tip from a pro like you.”

  A spray of dark stars emits from near my feet, and I look down to see Thirteen, the cute little black cat who used up all of his nine lives, yowling up at me.

  “Lottie, come quick.” A couple of stray stars emits from his mouth as he speaks. “That brutish banshee you’ve managed to conjure is about to pluck all of Greer’s supernatural follicles out.”

  “I’ll be right back, Mom. Just give me a minute to get my head together and I’ll share a few words with the ladies.”

  Thirteen leads the way to the foyer where the air is slightly cooler but the ambience of the B&B is just as cozy.

  The flooring in the lobby is partially stained wood and partially carpeted and the walls are all covered with a dark mahogany. There’s a sweeping staircase that leads upstairs where most of the rooms are located, and at the moment there’s an entire gaggle of ghosts having what sounds to be a screaming match in a darkened alcove to the left of the reception desk.

  Little Lea floats my way, looking every bit the haunting menace she is. Lea was about six when she and her family were slaughtered right over the land here at the B&B. Her dark hair is combed over her face, long and stringy, she’s wearing a dingy pinafore, has on a pair of badly scuffed Mary Janes, and has a machete dangling from her hand, ready to avenge the blood of her family. Her formal name is Azalea, but no one who has actually called her that has lived to tell about it. She’s the little ghoul that Greer and Winslow have adopted as their own. They’re sort of the poltergeist power couple of this place.

  A menacing giggle bounces from Lea. “It seems Mommy Dearest has reunited with an old foe of hers. I’m sort of partial to this new snarky spook, but don’t tell her. I like to keep them guessing.”

  I speed past her to find both Greer and Flo going at it like a couple alley cats—we’re talking salty language, hair pulling, insults to their boob jobs, the works. And standing off to the side with his arms folded across his chest is Winslow Decker.

  “Winslow,” I hiss at the two hundred-year-old man who looks not a day over thirty. Winslow has dirty blond hair, dimples, light eyes, and is dressed in a pair of dingy overalls. He ran a pig farm over the land here at the B&B and apparently has never left.

  I’m not quite sure why these ghosts in particular get an all-access pass to the here and now. The ghosts that help me solve homicides usually are zapped back to paradise once the case is wrapped up. But I’m not contesting the rules either.

  This fight, however, I’m putting an end to right now.

  “Stop!” I shout so loud there’s a moment of silence throughout the entire B&B in my honor.

  “Flo!” I hiss. “Why are you attacking Greer?”

  “I didn’t attack her,” Flo huffs as she backs up, her fists still balled up ready to give Greer a wallop. “She attacked me.”

  Greer Giles is a pretty brunette with long, flowing, dark hair and eyes that glow like jack-o’-lanterns. She’s still wearing that white ruched dress she was gunned down in a couple of years back on Valentine’s Day, and she’s still as sassy and apparently volatile as ever.

  “Greer?” I lean in. “Why in the world would you attack Flo?”

  “She came after my man!” Greer butts her chest to Flo’s as if she were raring and ready to go another round. “And don’t think I didn’t know you were sniffing around my men while I was still alive, too. I’ve never forgiven you for stealing Billy Hollins away from me.”

  “Billy Hollins was nothing but a wannabe mobster, and you know it,” Flo shouts back. “And I didn’t steal him. That boy begged to have me!”

  “Whoa.” I stick my hands between the two of them and end up gliding right though their ghostly forms. “You two really knew each other on the right side of the soil?”

  Greer gives a frenetic nod, her eyes never leaving the spook in front of her.

  “That’s right, Lottie,” Greer hisses. “And you don’t know the half of how dangerous this woman can be. I’d steer clear. In fact, I’d steer clear of her case altogether. You think the Hearst curse was bad? Getting tangled up with this nitwit is what got me killed to begin with. A false friendship led to a life of crime, led to the grave. You’ll be lucky if you don’t lose the bakery, Noah, and Everett. And Noah and Everett will probably lose their jobs. She’s a real walking-talking time bomb. The longer you hold her close, the quicker your life implodes around you.”

  My mouth falls open, because honestly? I think I’m already starting to feel the ramifications of that.

  “All right, enough bickering,” I say. “Winslow and Greer are a couple, Flo. He’s off-limits. And if you want to catch your killer, I suggest playing nice. I’ll see what I can do about tracking down Rocky Romero tonight after I get out of jury duty.”

  Greer sucks in a lungful of air she doesn’t necessarily need. “Rocky Romero? Hubba hubba!”

  “Good grief,” I say. “Winslow is standing right here.”

  “Relax.” She waves me off. “I’m not buying, Lottie, I’m just admiring the view. I haven’t seen Rocky in years. I’d love to tag along. I wonder what he’s been up to? I bet he’s aged well.”

  “Oh, he has.” Flo fans herself with her fingers. “And we won’t have to track him down. He’ll be at the same place he spends every other night—Red Satin.”

  Winslow gives a dark chuckle. “Well then, it looks as if I’ll be tagging along for the ride, too.” He inserts his thumbs through the tops of his overalls.

  Greer swats him. “Oh, you. Never mind, Flo. I won’t be tagging along. I need to keep my man close to my side, if you know what I mean.”

  “Smart move,” I tell her. I’d better get back out there. My mother wants me to give a lecture on how to juggle men.”

  Flo and Greer eye one another before racing off for the conservatory.

  “Don’t worry, Winslow,” I tell him. “Greer is just trying to keep up with Flo.”

  “Speaking of Flo.” He dips his chin a notch. “Heed the warning Greer gave you. I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

  “Neither do I.”

  By the time I get back to the conservatory, the room is humming with lively conversations, and everyone has a plateful of my brunch offerings in front of them.

  Mom quickly shuffles me to the front of the room and furnishes me with a chair and a glass of water.

  “Go on, Lottie. Introduce yourself.” She motions for me to get to it, and I’m about to do just that when I spot an odd sight near the refreshment table. “Just one minute.”

  I take off for the breakfast bar and reach between two familiar women.

  “Don’t mind me,” I say. “Just sneaking a quick cruller.” I pull back and do my best to look shocked. “Lorena and Donata? Is it you?”

  Flo pops up next to me and smirks. “You know darn well it’s them. But what are they doing here?”

  They both have on yoga pants and a coat wrapped around them. Lorena’s dark locks are pulled into a ponytail, as are Donata’s red tresses.

  “Lottie Lemon?” Lorena blinks back. “What a coincidence. We just finished up at Swift Cycle and a couple of the women we met suggested we swing by for free food and some tips on romance.”

  Donata winks. “Not that we need it. We’ve got all the men we can handle.”

  Flo shakes her head. “She’s lying.
”

  “Swift Cycle, huh?” I muse. “That’s pretty much an all-woman gym. I bet you burned some calories while recruiting for the Ruthless Witches.” That clever moniker has stuck in my head like a bad song, so I thought I’d get it out of my system and throw it out there.

  Lorena shakes her head emphatically. “Oh no, the Ruthless Witches is only open to women with blood ties to a bona fide family. But we picked up a couple dozen members last night at bingo. After we collect a few more, we’re doing our initiation ceremony.”

  Donata bats her lashes at her friend. “And, of course, we’ll both be padrinas.”

  “Both?” Flo glides back a foot as if she were truly blown away.

  I shake my head. “What’s a padrina?”

  Lorena tips her head and shrugs. “It’s a godmother. It’s usually not a shared position. Flo was taking the position herself, but without her here we decided to divide the duty.”

  “No way.” Flo eyes them both with suspicion. “That’s not how it works. You don’t get respect that way. You get respect by having one godmother, and she has to be ruthless or you may as well pick up a couple of knitting needles and call it the granny hour.”

  I’m guessing she’s right.

  Swift Cycle is the gym across the street from the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery that just so happens to be owned by Noah’s ex-wife, Britney. Brit and I were once at odds, but we’ve since made peace with one another. Britney and Noah still share custody of their golden retriever, Toby. He’s such a sweet ball of fluff I couldn’t blame either of them for not letting go.

  “Wait a minute.” I squint over at the two of them. “Those women from Swift Cycle wouldn’t happen to be seated right over there, would they?” I point over to Cormack and Cressida, and Cormack gives a little wave. Figures. Cormack is chumming up to Flo’s besties in hopes to get an edge on the case. And she just might.

  “That’s them,” Lorena says, piling on another waffle. “Boy, these are delish.”

  Flo nods. “She’s not wrong. Hey!” She looks my way. “Why don’t you see about whipping these up for my wake?”