Murder in the Mix Boxed Set 28-30: Cozy Mystery Read online

  She stalks off, and I’m about to say something, or find a hole to drop into, when I see Carlotta pushing that grocery cart through the crowd.

  “Candles!” she bellows. “Get your red-hot kinky Christmas candles for the low price of twenty-four ninety-nine. Get your shopping done early and with free shipping!”

  “Oh, my stars up in heaven,” I moan as my nausea kicks in once again.

  Evie jumps over and takes up both my hand and Everett’s.

  “Come on, guys,” she says, pulling us toward the back of the room at lightning speed. “It’s our last Christmas together as a family before the little runt makes an appearance, and I want to remember us in this pristine state before it’s nothing but dirty diapers and baby puke.” She shoots Everett a look. “Dad, you’re going to have to wear a bib around the kid or it’s going to ruin those expensive Italian suits of yours. Mom, you don’t have to worry. No one will be able to tell the difference between chocolate cake batter on your shirt or baby poop.” She shrugs. “That’s pretty much why I’ve made the decision to admire the kid from afar.” She quickens her clip. “Look, there’s no one in line to take a picture with Santa. This is going to be epic. I vote we all sit on his lap.”

  “No way,” Everett doesn’t hesitate to protest. “I’m not sitting on any man’s lap. Neither are you, Lemon. Come to think of it, neither are you, Evie.”

  Evie clucks her tongue and gives Everett some snappy comeback, but I pretty much miss it because Mrs. Claus seems to be having a rather tense exchange with a tall brunette dressed as an elf just shy of the velvet throne. The poor thing is wearing the requisite green tights, curly shoes, and multi-pronged hat with bells sewn on it. And truth be told, if I were forced to dress like that, I’d be a little ornery, too.

  The woman plucks at Mrs. Claus’ wrist, and Mrs. Claus hauls off and slaps her right over the face.

  A breath hitches in my throat and my muscles go rigid as I witness the attack. No sooner does the smackdown happen than the testy elf stalks off looking visibly upset, but Mrs. Claus heads over to greet us as if nothing out of the ordinary happened.

  The photographer does his best to situate us in the traditional pose, but Everett chooses to stand behind Santa, as do I, while Evie lies lengthways in his lap. Once Evie makes up her mind about something, she’s pretty much unstoppable.

  And once we’re efficiently blinded by the blast of the flash, Evie takes off again while Everett steps over to the side to take in the crowd—on the lookout for a killer, no doubt.

  Santa gets off his throne and plucks down his beard a notch.

  “Geez, Gloria,” he grouses to Mrs. Claus. “I knew you hated me, but I had no idea how much until tonight.”

  Gloria, aka Mrs. Claus, moves in close with her red sequin, barely-there gown.

  “I’ve had about enough of you, Eb. Don’t you even think about starting with me tonight.”

  Wow. It looks as if Gloria is having a banner night with everyone in her midst.

  Santa leans her way rather aggressively. “Let’s not forget it’s you who started with me, little lady. And I’m going to finish it. This ends tonight.” He stalks off, and soon he’s engulfed with a crowd of women screaming with delight at his presence.

  “Did you see that?” I whisper to Everett, and he gives a covert nod.

  “Santa is in a mood,” he mutters. “Let’s hope it’s not a killer mood.”

  Suze races over. “There you are, Gloria!” She jets past us, much to my relief, and grabs ahold of Mrs. Claus. “Everything is going perfect so far.”

  “Everything is falling in the crapper,” her friend snips back. “And don’t play Ms. Innocent with me. I know what you’ve done, and you’ll rue the day you chose to challenge me. You have crossed one serious line, Suze Fox.”

  Suze narrows her hateful peepers over the woman in the sparkling red dress.

  “Why, I don’t care to be spoken to that way, Gloria. I do believe you just crossed a serious line. And we both know what happened to the last person that crossed a line with me. I did away with him, and I’ll do away with you.” She brushes past us in a fury just as the lights blink on and off overhead.

  The pretty caramel-haired girl we met earlier waves everyone to attention as the music turns down a notch, and it’s all eyes on her. I can’t help but admire her red velvet shoes with their pointy toes and squared-off heels. Now, those shoes look as if they’re made for comfort.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” she shouts into the microphone in her hand, and behind her I note Cormack Featherby in her midst.

  Cormack is the blonde featherhead that Noah saw fit to steal from Everett all those years ago, and he’s been regretting it ever since. As fate would have it, Cormack has turned into a first class stalker of his. She’s obsessed with making Noah her very own possession, but only because she knows that Everett is off-limits. Noah is, too, but she’s too dimwitted to realize it.

  “Good evening!” The woman’s smile broadens, and as she bares her teeth, it’s hard not to notice they look a little bit like fangs. “My name is Candy Brighton, and I’d like to welcome all of you to the Jingle Hop Ball! The silent auction is already off to a fantastic start, so please take a look around at all of the lovely trees that have been impeccably decorated and will be delivered to the winners’ homes thanks to the ultra-generous Jolly Holly Tree Lot.” The lights dim another notch, and a hushed ooh circulates around the room as a spotlight falls to that velvet-draped object to her left. “Now for the reveal of our mystery auction item. But first, I’d like to thank Chris Holiday for donating what will undoubtedly be the hot item of the night.” She motions to a man in a pale gray suit with honey brown hair that stands next to the mammoth display. He gives a quick wave to the crowd, and a light applause breaks out in his honor.

  Candy motions for someone to join her, and soon both Mr. and Mrs. Claus are standing on either side of the mystery display.

  “Drumroll, please!” Candy shouts into the mic, and sure enough, the rattle of a drumroll takes over the speakers. “And reveal!”

  No sooner does she say the words than an entire flock of elves, including the tall brunette who just got her cheek heated by way of Mrs. Claus’ hand, pulls the enormous velvet sheet off, only to expose a large painting seated on an easel.

  The crowd oohs and ahhs as we all take it in at once.

  Set in an ornate gilded frame about five feet tall by three feet wide is the portrait of a somewhat handsome man in riding gear while seated on a small bench. The majority of the background is black as night, and it only makes him look that much more illuminated. His short dark hair is tufted, and he has a broad forehead and a strong Roman nose. There’s just a hint of a smile, nothing that screams say cheese for the artist painting your portrait but just enough upturned lips to suggest he’s had a good day. But those dark eyes—they seem to be looking right at me. In fact, I swear they are.

  Candy waves to the crowd. “This portrait is entitled Awaiting Justice. This piece is as old as time. And the best part? It’s rumored to be haunted.” The crowd gasps with delight once again. “So whether you’d like to gift this to the naughty or the nice on your holiday list, or perhaps you’d like to add this to your own collection of curios, by all means, let the bidding begin!”

  “I’ll take it!” Carlotta shouts as she staggers toward it, and the crowd bursts out with laughter as the cheery holiday music starts up once again.

  The party rages on as a small handful of people migrate toward the virtual forest of decorated trees.

  A redheaded woman walks by, leaving a thick scarf of sickly sweet perfume on her way to the auction items, and I have to wave my hand in front of my face just to clear the air after her.

  Everett turns his head toward the makeshift forest behind us. “You know what, Lemon? I’m going to put a bid in on that tree you had your eye on. I think it’s just what our living room needs. Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be back in a flash.”

  He darts off i
nto the virtual woods before I can stop him. And just as I’m about to make my way to Carlotta, I note Gloria Abner staring wide-eyed at the painting before us. Her face looks white as a sheet and her eyes—well, they’re saying something, that’s for sure.

  “Back off, sister.” Carlotta holds an arm out in front of the woman as if to keep her from charging at the portrait. “This handsome looker is mine.”

  And oddly enough, Carlotta can’t seem to take her eyes off the glowing man in the painting, too.

  “Carlotta,” I say with a laugh caught in my throat. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m as serious as a heart attack, Lot Lot. I gotta have me this man.”

  As soon as the words speed from her mouth, Mayor Nash is upon us, laughing at the sight of that smitten look on Carlotta’s face. I’ve seen Carlotta have a flash infatuation with a lot of things—ghosts, clothes, candles—so nothing surprises me anymore.

  Mayor Harry Nash is tall, barrel-chested, has a shock of mostly gray hair, and light eyes that always seem to have a twinkle in them.

  “Lottie Lemon.” He pulls me into a warm embrace. “You are a sugar plum vision in this velvet dress. How’s my grandbaby doing?” His lips twitch side to side in a perfect display of his ever-playful nature. Mayor Nash was married to my mother’s best friend, Chrissy, for what seemed like an eternity, but she finally had enough of his philandering ways and kicked him to the curb. He’s pretty much with Carlotta now, although their relationship seems to include other people every now and again. To each his own.

  Hey, wait a minute. That might just explain the fact why my heart seems to be set on having both Noah and Everett?

  Just last summer, the ghost of my grandmother visited me and let me in on the fact that both Noah and Everett were my soulmates.

  Maybe Mayor Nash and Carlotta are caught up in that bonus soulmate predicament as well?

  “The baby is doing fine,” I say as I spot Cormack circling around that woman, Candy, who seems to be playing the part of emcee tonight. It’s almost as if Cormack is battling for her attention, but Candy has her gaze set somewhere else and I follow it to the honey-haired man who donated the painting. He’s standing next to an irate Mrs. Claus as she does her best to jump down his throat.

  Boy, she is a little firecracker, isn’t she? I’m guessing she strong-armed her way into the role of Santa’s sweetie. In fact, I think I remember her mentioning her fiancé was the head elf tonight. That’s probably why she insisted on playing the role of the round-faced granny. But let’s call a spade a spade. Her little cosplay isn’t exactly a match made in the North Pole.

  Mayor Nash laughs at something as I come to. “I’d better help Carlotta push those candles.” He frowns over at her. “You know how she gets when she doesn’t get her way.” He zips off and takes ahold of that ridiculous shopping cart laden down with candles. Their glassy containers glimmer in this dull light, and it looks as if he’s pushing a basket full of stars. More like rip-offs. Carlotta is never going to offload those things at that price point. I predict I’ll have a living room full of miniature fire hazards in my new house come tomorrow. I’ll be darned if I’m going to let Carlotta burn down my new rental. My life is still recovering from the last fire. I’d tell her as much, but she’s doing her best to outbid everyone who comes by to so much as gawk at that haunted painting.

  “Carlotta,” I hiss as I come upon her. “You can’t be serious with that thing. It’s creepy, and it’s rumored to be haunted.”

  She waves me off. “I should be so lucky, Lot. I think I’ve found my soulmate.”

  “Yes, and his name is Harry Nash. Now quit this before you end up having to shell out some serious cash at the end of the night. Then you’ll really be broke for Christmas.”

  “This is all about you, isn’t it, Lot? You’re afraid I’m not going to be able to spoil you with gifts this year, aren’t you?”

  I can’t help but scoff at the thought. “When have you ever spoiled me with gifts?”

  “There’s always this year. What do you think I’m oiling up men in the back of my van for? And those candles I’m in bed with? You think I’m doing that for my health?”

  “I don’t know. But I sure as heck know it’s not because you have the sudden itch to buy me a pair of matching Christmas pajamas.”

  Ooh, that’s a great idea! I’ll have to make a note to get right on that. Everett, Evie, Carlotta, and, of course, I can’t leave Noah out of the matching mix. This is actually going to be fun to shop for.

  “Leave me alone, Lot,” Carlotta snaps as she gets back to outbidding the last poor soul who just tried their hand at a rumored to be haunted painting. “First, I’ve got to get myself a little something something. This is going to look great in our new house.”

  It’s going to look like a haunted travesty, but I choose to keep my commentary to myself. The odds of her coming away with that haunted horror are slim to none. I’ve been to enough of these things to know someone almost always comes in at the last minute and scoops up the goods for themselves.

  I glance around for Ms. Claus and her latest drama, but she and that man, Chris Holiday, are both nowhere to be seen. I glance back to say hi to tonight’s emcee, Candy, but she’s gone, too. There’s that. I glance back to Santa’s throne, and there’s neither a St. Nick nor an ornery elf in sight.

  My gaze drifts toward those decorated trees, and I spot Everett speaking to a redheaded woman in a long emerald dress and they both seem to be nodding to one another as if deep in conversation. I bet he knows her from the courthouse, or perhaps he’s Essexed her?

  Oh, I don’t think it matters at this point. I don’t doubt that man’s love for me for one minute.

  I think I’ll get myself and my little sugar cookie a little eggnog and a double helping of eggnog trifle, and, of course, I’ll have to work a few fried pickles into the mix. I don’t care what anyone says. There’s nothing like dipping one of those salty spears into some holiday-inspired custard and having at it.

  The dessert table looks to be bare once again, so I head to the kitchen. The back door is wide open, and an icy chill is the first to greet me as I try my best to warm myself with my hands. There aren’t all that many of my sweet treats left in the kitchen either, so I decide to head out back to my bakery van parked just outside the kitchen door.

  I know for a fact both Noah and Everett would frown on me venturing out all by my lonesome, partly due to the fact they’re paranoid that I’ll slip in the snow and partly because there’s a potential homicide afoot, but my tummy is rumbling, and if my little sugar cookie demands a pickle dipped in custard, then that’s exactly what that little cutie pie is going to get.

  A fresh blanket of white covers the ground as the snow falls gently over Honey Hollow, and I take a moment to soak in the wintery scene. The parking lot, along with the woods just past that, is all so quiet and serene. There is something magical about December snow that makes you believe all is right with the wor—

  A familiar looking woman stands about thirty feet from my van, and I blindly venture that way.

  “Suze?” I call out as I make my way to her in the darkness. She’s standing with her back turned to me, her head positioned down as if looking at something on the ground. Her purse looks to be at her feet, and she’s holding something metallic in her right hand.

  I come upon her and gasp when I see what’s hijacked her attention.

  Lying facedown in the snow is a woman with a granny cap and a sultry Mrs. Claus costume on that leaves most of her flesh exposed to the harsh elements at play. A plate full of my eggnog trifle is splattered all around her in a messy display, as a gingerbread man with his head broken off lies in two pieces just out of her grasp. But it’s the blood running from her back, darkening the snow around her, that stops me cold in my tracks.

  Gloria Abner won’t have to argue with Suze or anyone else ever again about crossing a line.

  It seems as if Suze Fox is the one that has crossed a homi
cidal line tonight.

  Gloria Abner is dead.

  Chapter 3

  “Give me the gun.” The words rumble from my lips.

  My usual inclination once I come upon a body is to scream my bloody head off. But since there is far more tension in the air than I’ve ever encountered before, I choose to abstain from that primal howling—at least for now.

  Suze on a normal day is skittish and volatile. But at the crime scene of a fresh murder—holding what I assume to be is the murder weapon—she is darn right terrifying. For all I know she could turn the gun on me next.

  “No,” she whispers as she shakes her head in a panic. “No,” she says just a touch louder as the gun falls from her grip, and I swipe it up before it has a chance to leave a dent in the snow. And then I do the unthinkable. I point to the sky and I fire that sucker, sending an earth-shattering blow into the silence, and when it goes off, that tiny tot in my belly gives me a good solid kick.

  I clutch at my stomach just as an entire crowd of deputies storms in this direction, and along with them are both Noah and Detective Ivy Fairbanks.

  My eyes stray to the scene of the crime once again, and I spot something that looks like animal prints in the snow, a tiny triangle in the front and a neat square right behind that. They lead up about as far as Suze is standing before dispersing into smears, and it’s difficult to tell if the prints backtrack or not.

  “Lottie.” Noah has me in his arms in a moment and hands the gun off to Ivy. “Are you okay? Is it the baby?”

  “I fired the gun,” I pant. “I’m a terrible mother. The baby kicked. But it was the only way I knew I’d get people here quickly.” I glance to the body, and both Noah and Ivy groan in unison.

  “Did you kill her?” Ivy shouts as she bolts to Gloria and checks her vitals to no avail.