Murder in the Mix Boxed Set 8 Page 3

  “I’m so mad, Lottie. Let me at ’em.” She works her way free from my grasp. “They think because they have all the money in the world they can steal my wedding dress.”

  “They probably can.” I shrug. “Let her have the pink dress. We’ll find you a blue one. You’ll look like Cinderella.”

  “Was Cinderella knocked up when she married the prince? I didn’t think so. I’m so angry I could kill them both.” Keelie storms off, and I’m about to go after her when a svelte blonde with tiny, fragile features steps up next to me.

  “I’m rooting for Keelie.” She folds her arms across her chest.

  “I’m rooting for her, too. I’m Lottie,” I say. “And I can assure you, Keelie is not in her right mind at the moment. Her wedding is just weeks away and she’s desperate for a dress. How do you know Keelie?”

  “My mother and Keelie’s mother were good friends. I’m Dolce, but you can call me Debbie just the way Keelie does.” She leans in and wrinkles her nose. “I kind of like it.” The blonde, Debbie, makes a face as she looks back at Analise and Mr. Pemberley. “I wish their wedding day would never come.”

  A thought comes to me. “Hey, isn’t he your father?”

  “Was.” She shrugs. “That man is dead to me now.”

  She takes off and I marvel at how tragic those words are. I would give anything for my father to still be here today—Joseph Lemon, the man who raised me. He died of a heart attack way back when, and I miss him so much sometimes it feels as if it’s killing me.

  He came back to visit this past year—as a ghost, of course, after his good friend was murdered. And boy was that ghostly visit one of the best moments of my life. I sure hope Dolce, Debbie, can mend fences with her father even if she doesn’t approve of him robbing the cradle. Life is too precious to spend any of it pent up with anger.

  I shake all thoughts of Debbie’s feud with her father out of my head as I begin to fall in love with one dress after the next.

  In half of these dresses I can see myself marrying Noah; in the other half I can see myself marrying Everett. And in one particular, peculiar, gown I have a brief vision of marrying both of them—at the very same time. Then as if I’ve stepped onto a hormonal merry-go-round I can’t get off of, I see the raunchy wedding night play out, too. Nothing but arms and legs and two heads of dark hair that…

  “Lottie!” Mom’s voice plucks me right out of that heated void I fell into. “Oh, there you are. You must come immediately. We’re almost out of cake pops, and the waitstaff has asked for more.”

  “No problem. Keep an eye on Evie—and maybe Carlotta, too. I’ll have Lily box them up and I’ll swing by and get them.”

  I turn to leave as a horrifically loud sound comes from somewhere to our left.

  Mom slaps her hand to her chest. “What was that?”

  “It sounded like a gunshot,” I say as we spring in the direction. A crowd quickly gathers and I fight my way through it until I find Keelie standing with her arms spread wide, blood smeared across the front of her pale yellow dress. At her feet lies a man with a bullet through his chest, and in his fist he clutches a small bouquet of my delicious cake pops.

  It looks as if Mr. Pemberley’s upcoming nuptials have been canceled.

  Norman Pemberley is dead.

  And just beyond him stands a glittering unearthly being with a warm twinkle in her eyes that I’d recognize dead or alive.

  My very much deceased grandmother, Nell Sawyer, holds a tiny delicate goat in her arms and gives a slight wave my way, and then, just like that, they both up and disappear.

  Chapter 3

  “Nell?” I say, stunned, in front of dozens of murmuring and shrieking people.

  Keelie’s eyes snag over mine and she gives me a quizzical look before starting in on what sounds like a rather painful aria.

  Keelie’s mother, Becca, my own mother, and myself work quickly to shuttle poor Keelie to the other side of the room.

  “What happened?” Becca does her best to wipe the blood from Keelie's hands with the skirt of her own dress.

  “I don’t know.” Keelie’s face piques with color as she quickly becomes flummoxed. “I just had it out with his wife-to-be and I thought I’d step out for some air. Mr. Pemberley was there and he started to head in my direction, a shot was fired, and, well, he sort of fell onto me before he hit the floor.”

  Naomi crops up with a ball of wet paper towels and Keelie quickly wipes off her hands.

  “My God.” Keelie’s chest bucks. “They’re going to think I did it.”

  “Nobody is going to think you did it,” I say just as Analise, the bride-to-be who’s currently short one billionaire groom, and Debbie Pemberley stride up. For all intents and purposes, they look like twins with their identical long blonde hair parted to the side and their large blue eyes. But there’s definitely a rough edge that shines through Analise with her arm full of bangles, the ten layers of kohl and mascara that looks as if a raccoon had a couple of spiders nesting on its eyelids, the gum she’s obnoxiously chewing, and the scent of whiskey emanating from her breath. I’m not sure how Mr. Pemberley could see past the fact that not only was she young enough to be his daughter, but she could pass as his daughter’s twin sister.

  Analise takes an aggressive step in. “You killed him!” she bellows at Keelie. “You killed my fiancé just because I wouldn’t let you have that pink tacky dress. Well, you can have it now. But I doubt you’ll get a chance to wear it. The only color they allow where you’re going is orange!” She turns and stomps off back to the body lying on the floor and begins to wail away her grief.

  Debbie squints over at Keelie. “I don’t know what happened, but as soon as the sheriff’s department gets here, I’m sure they’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  I give a quick glance around. “Debbie, do you know if this place has surveillance footage? That might help us get to the bottom of things a heck of a lot quicker.”

  Debbie takes a breath as she looks over her shoulder. “Good question. I’ll talk to the security team.” She heads off just as the front doors burst open and the entire fire department floods the room, followed by a handful of EMTs and finally the sheriff’s department.

  “Oh, Lottie,” Mom moans. “I’d better find Forest. I bet he’s here.”

  Forest Donovan is married to my sister, Lainey, who is also due to have a baby in August right alongside my bestie. Thankfully, neither of my sisters is present. This is a horrible scene, and I’m sorry Keelie had to see it, let alone live it.

  “Lottie?” Keelie steps in close as the blood on her pale dress quickly dries. “Why did you say Nell’s name?”

  Naomi grunts, “Because she’s just plain rude. And that’s what rude people do. They take a perfectly good person’s name and turn it into an expletive. Come on, Keelie. Let’s get you washed up in the bathroom.”

  Becca nods. “I think it’s best I call your father.” She stalks off, wielding her cell phone. Becca used to be married to Jack Turner, the captain of the Ashford Sheriff’s Department. If anyone can get this mess straightened out quickly, it’s Jack. And if anyone can vouch for Keelie’s non-murderous heart, it’s her father. I’m sure things will work out just fine for her.

  But poor Becca. I can’t imagine anyone’s mother having to witness their daughter covered in blood with a dead man at their feet. It’s nothing a mother should ever—

  “Evie!” I shout as I take off running to find my own daughter, and I find her huddled underneath the enormous stairwell with Carlotta. They both have their backs to me, and I spin Evie around by the shoulder, only to gasp when I see what she’s seemingly holding in her arms.

  “Gah!” I scream. “Carlotta!”

  Cradled in Evie’s arms is an adorable brown and white spotted baby goat, no bigger than one of my Himalayan cats at home. It’s got pale blue eyes and soft floppy ears. The cute, albeit supernatural, creature lets out a soft bleat as it looks right at me.

  “Relax, Mom.” Evie gives
the transparent tyke in her arms a quick jostle. “I’m holding one of Carlotta’s invisible emotional support animals. “His name is Bruiser and he’s a coffee-colored miniature goat. Carlotta says invisible pets are best because you don’t have to pick up their poop.”

  She’s got me there.

  “Okay, fine.” I squint over to the older version of myself to my right. “What does Bruiser have to say about all this?”

  The tiny goat lets out a series of bleats that sound more like the cries of a young girl.

  “Sooomeone killed Norman,” he brays. “And there’s blood. Lots and lots of bloood.”

  I haven’t always had the privilege of hearing the dead, but as my powers grew so did their abilities. Not long after I could hear their voices, they gained the ability to move things in the material world, and as of late they’ve hit the mother lode. They can eat, sans any of the aforementioned pooping.

  “It’s okay, Bruiser,” I say in an itty-bitty baby voice, looking right at the adorable little babe. If Carlotta can entertain the adorable spook in front of Evie, I don’t see why I can’t as well. “There are lots of sweet treats here today, and guess what? You can eat them. You can eat whatever you like, as much as you like. And I happen to own a bakery. I’ll be sure to leave a stash of your favorite desserts in my office for you where you can chow down in private.”

  Evie swings Bruiser away from me. “Geez, Mom. Carlotta’s right. You really do go overboard. I know he’s fake. I’m not ten.” She jostles him like a baby before dropping a kiss to his ear as if she meant to do it. “And cool beans. That dead guy over there? He was sucking on one of your cake pops when he bit the big one. His mouth is all blue and everything.”

  I glance back just as the medical team currently shakes their heads down at Mr. Pemberley.

  “I’m guessing his lips are blue for an entirely different reason.”

  Bruiser squirms in Evie’s arms. “Did someone say cake? I think I’ll need a slice or two to brush those images of the killer out of my head.”

  I grasp onto Evie’s arm in an effort to still the animated apparition.

  “Of course, I saw the k-k-illeeer,” Bruiser brays out that last word.

  Evie lets out a shrill scream as she lets go of the talking terror in her arms and reflexively I clamp a hand over my mouth. It just so happens that if I’m touching someone, they can hear the dead, too. My body acts like some kind of a supernatural conduit, and right about now I’m sorry about it, too.

  “I just heard a voice!” Evie’s cobalt blue eyes dart from Carlotta to me in a panic. “It said, of course, I saw the killer. And I swear it really did sound like a goat.”

  “It was Carlotta.” I’m quick to spit out the lie. “She’s practicing to be a ventriloquist.” I turn and swat the surly version of myself with my purse. “Would you stop? You’re scaring the children.”

  “No way.” Evie shakes her head. “I know what I heard. Oh my God, I’m going crazy, aren’t I? This is so freaking cool. I gotta call my friends.” She dashes for the exit and Carlotta holds up a hand my way.

  “Don’t worry, Lot, Lot. This is nothing that a little whiskey can’t handle.” She darts right after her.

  “Dear God.” I close my eyes, and when I open them, I’m staring at a tall, dark, and alarmingly handsome judge who I’m betting won’t be too pleased with what I’ve just inadvertently exposed our daughter to.

  “You called?” The idea of a naughty smile twitches on Everett’s face. “Lemon, what the hell happened? There’s a dead guy, and Evie just slapped me a high-five, thanking me for my twisted genes as she ran out of the place.”

  I cringe. “Believe me, if Evie were really hearing voices, those twisted genes would have come from Cressida’s side of the genetic divide.”

  He lifts a brow. “On a scale of one to prison, how worried should I be?”

  “Fine, I may have touched her while Bruiser confessed to seeing the killer.”

  Everett narrows his eyes. “Do I want to know who Bruiser is?”

  Noah pops up before I can spill the rest of the supernatural details.

  Everett glances over his shoulder. “I’d better find Evie.” He takes off, and Noah steps in close.

  “Lottie, tell me what happened in a nutshell.”

  “There was a goat—a miniature goat—and Keelie threatened to kill Mr. Pemberley over a pink wedding dress and then there was a loud boom.”

  “A loud boom.” Noah’s brows dip. “I take it that was the gunshot. Speaking of guns, did you bring Ethel?”

  My deadly friend blinks through my mind.

  I shake my head. “I didn’t think I’d need a gun.”

  A pained look crosses Noah’s handsome face. “I’m afraid you’ll always need her, Lottie.” He ticks his head toward the gruesome scene behind him, and I spot Detective Ivy Fairbanks, Noah’s partner down at the homicide division, crouched over the body. “I’d better get over there.”

  “Noah, wait.” A sadness tugs at my voice. It seems Noah and I have been on rocky relationship terrain even before we left for Cider Cove a few weeks back. “How about dinner sometime? I’m sure you’ll be busy tonight, but—”

  “That sounds nice.” He offers me a quick embrace before taking off to tend to the body among us.

  Poor Mr. Pemberley. Killed in his very own home—or at least one of them.

  I spot that man with the glowing eyes, the one that was shaking Analise by the arm earlier, and I make my way to him.

  “Excuse me,” I say. “You wouldn’t happen to work here, would you?” Honestly, I don’t think he does. I just want him to fess up to what he’s doing here.

  “Work here?” His brows hike as if he were amused. He’s handsome in a conservative way. There’s an overall boyishness about him. And even though he looks pretty shaken up at the moment, he seems nice enough. “No, I don’t work here, but I bet the old dog would have had a laugh over that one.” He takes a moment to glower at the body. “I’m one of Norman’s many stepchildren. But if you need help with the staff, I can route you to the correct person.”

  “Oh.” I blink back. “A stepchild,” I say mostly to myself as a thousand possible motives for murder run through my mind. “I actually am one of the caterers. I just had a question about the…kitchen. Anyway, I’m really sorry about your loss. Were you here for the bridal boutique? Do you have a fiancée here maybe?”

  He squints over at me. “No, I don’t have a fiancée. I’m actually not dating at the moment.” He glares into the crowd. “Thank you for the offer, but I’m not interested right now.” He gives a curt nod before heading toward the captain of the sheriff’s department himself, Jack Turner, just as Keelie and her mother run in that direction as well.

  An entire bevy of words try to escape my throat at once just as Carlotta and her good friend Hartley pop up next to me.

  “What’s the matter?” Hartley leans in. “You look as if you’ve just seen a ghost. You don’t see Norman’s ghost, do you?”

  I shoot Carlotta the stink eye in the event she’s spilled the supersensual beans to Hartley.

  “No,” I flatline. “That man just misunderstood me. He thinks I was hitting on him. What kind of a person would hit on someone in the middle of a crime scene?”

  Carlotta bops her head from side to side. “I suppose it’s a bad time to tell you I’ve scored a date with the pianist.”

  “Carlotta,” I hiss.

  “What?” she squawks. “When you see a man who knows how to use his fingers, you need to snatch him up in a hurry. Besides, both Becca Turner and your mother were circling. I had to act fast.”

  I avert my eyes. “What about Mayor Nash?”

  Carlotta swats her old friend on the arm. “No matter how old they get, they still hope against hope their parents will get back together.” She turns my way and holds up her left hand. “I don’t see a ring on this finger, do you?”

  I glance at her hand and frown. “I do and it happens to be mine.” Carlotta
has taken to wearing my clothes, shoes, and jewelry now that she’s a permanent resident at my house. I look to Hartley. “Do you know who that man was?” I hitch my thumb in the direction he took off in. “He said he was Norman’s stepson.”

  “That he is—was.” Hartley ticks her head to the side. “Third wife, name was Patty. She came into the gig with three kids in tow.”

  “The gig? As in marriage?” Truthfully, I don’t think I needed to ask.

  “Yup.” Hartley runs her fingers through her frizzy red mane. “Jenson never did get along with Mr. P. He saw right through that pig’s arse from the beginning. But now the pig is dead and such is life.”

  “Hartley, who do you think would do something like this?”

  The older woman twists her red painted lips. Her skin is so pasty there’s a clownish effect about her.

  “Could have been anyone,” she snorts. “The man was not well liked, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was the preggers blonde.” She hitches her thumb in Keelie’s direction. “Rumors are swirling among the socialite set that Mr. P had knocked her up and she was fit to kill, seeing that he chose her best friend over her.”

  I blink back to Keelie, only to find her safe in Bear’s arms while they speak to her father.

  “Hartley.” I look to the seemingly unfazed woman. “None of those rumors are true. The pregnant woman is my best friend. She was arguing with Analise over a wedding dress, not a man.”

  The woman huffs my way, “It seems to me someone is a bit too defensive. And I’m not sure I should be listening to someone who just tried to pick up on Norman’s stepson. If you’ll excuse me.” She takes off with her scarf swirling in our faces in her wake.

  “Did you hear that?” I gag on the words.

  Carlotta makes a face as she stares in the direction the woman took off in. “Don’t worry, Lot. She just lost Mr. P. Her head is not screwed on straight at the moment. I’ll go fetch her a stiff drink. Stiff—get it?” She knocks her elbow into my ribs before taking off.