Key Lime Pie Perjury: Cozy Mystery (MURDER IN THE MIX Book 34) Read online

  Everett peers into the back window of his SUV, and I grunt at the sight.

  If he only knew what was in the back seat of my truck.

  I meander in the direction of the driveway and peer in on it.

  Still there.

  One dark briefcase filled with enough cocaine to make any dealer a very wealthy person. The irony is, the onus is on me to deliver it to the dealer. A gift from Jimmy Canelli. Not a gift to me however. For me, it means something entirely different. If I deliver that briefcase to Jimmy’s so-called friend, it will initiate me into his bad boys club and call the hit off on my father. No delivery. No deal.

  Yup, my father, who miraculously resurrected himself from the dead once he ran out of the money he had bilked so many people of. So my dad did the only thing he knew to do. He took out a bad loan he could never pay back from the Canellis. And once Jimmy Canelli himself found out who he was dealing with—the father of a homicide detective—he figured he could make me dance by way of my wayward dad. And he was right. But not because my dad’s life was on the line—not only was his life on the line, but Miranda, Lottie’s mother, was threatened because of it, as were Lottie and Lyla Nell. Jimmy made it sound as if they would be collateral damage. But I read between the lines and here we are.

  I agreed to Jimmy’s terms. If he calls off the hit on my father, I’ll help arrest his opponents when he gives me the tipoff. It sounds cut and dry, but if I’ve learned anything dealing with the mob, it’s that nothing is cut and dry. The only thing standing between getting that hit called off and me is this briefcase. It’s a loyalty test. One I haven’t agreed to as of yet, seeing that it’s still in my possession.

  Jimmy gave me a narrow window in which to make the delivery of this briefcase to his friend. And that deadline has come and gone by six days. So I wasn’t all that surprised when he sent me a text yesterday saying that we should talk—that his friend was still waiting for the gift he sent him. Jimmy assured me that I shouldn’t worry—not yet anyway. But he also let me know his patience was wearing thin.

  That’s funny because my patience is wearing thin, too. With myself, my father, and the shiny new killer who showed up in town. It’s all infuriating on every single level.

  Toby belts out a few soft barks before settling on a place to do his business not too far from where my property line ends and the woods begin. That’s the beauty of living on a cul-de-sac: not many complaints when I let my dog loose in the front yard a couple times a day. But that barking is enough to get Everett’s attention, and he does a double take my way before heading toward me.

  I nod over at him before taking another quick sip. “If you came for coffee, I’m all out, sweetheart. How did Lyla Nell sleep last night?”

  “Lousy,” he groans. “But I was the one up with her.”

  “Good.” I flick a smile his way. “Glad to hear Lottie was able to sneak in a little sleep.”

  “How’s Britney?” he asks.

  “Recovering,” I say, tossing a mean look to the back seat of my truck. I can’t help it. A bomb in my truck would make me feel safer. “As soon as I heard she was stable, I headed home and crashed.”

  “So what do they think it was? It wasn’t a gunshot, no apparent stab wound. Was she poisoned?”

  “Lab analysis won’t come back until later today, and she was still pretty out of it when I took off. But that’s my guess, too. Ivy and I took what was left of Lottie’s key lime pies down to forensics last night. The ones from Duncan’s and Britney’s plates, along with the rest of the pies she had there. But I ate my weight in pie last night before anything happened, and I’m still standing. And countless others reported having pie and feeling just fine. I’m guessing this was a direct hit, so to speak.”

  Everett takes a few steps up on the driveway until he’s towering over me by a good foot and a half. Flat-footed, we’re about equal.

  I give a quick glance into my truck. The back windows are tinted but less so from his vantage point, and I’m suddenly moved to invite him in for coffee after all.

  Everett warned me not to mess with Jimmy Canelli. He warned me there would be a litmus test, and boy, do I hate it when he’s right. And although I won’t admit it out loud, he’s mostly right.

  He nods my way. “What’s the connection between Brit and Duncan?”

  “No clue.” I glance at the house across the street to see if Lottie is anywhere to be seen. “So what do you think Manny was really doing there last night?”

  Everett’s chin lowers a notch. His eyes morph to narrow slits and the instant anger exuding from him lets me know he’s not all that pleased with Manny. He shouldn’t be. Everett was paying Manny ten grand a week a few weeks back to keep his own hit from Jimmy Canelli off of him. Lottie made the hit go away temporarily, but apparently it’s back on with a vengeance. So when he asked Manny to protect him once again, Manny let him know the ten grand wasn’t enough. He wanted Charlie back in his life. And when Everett said he couldn’t deliver, Manny told him to find protection somewhere else. Not only that, but Manny is after him, too. So Everett made one final stop with the last mob boss in Vermont, Luke Lazzari. And that’s all I know. Everett is here, walking around, not looking like Swiss cheese, so it must have worked. Luke is taking care of him.

  “Again,” I say. “What was Manny doing there last night?”

  “I don’t know. My guess is he knew Charlie would be there. But he left before I did, and I know for a fact Charlie never made contact with him.”

  “Good.” I offer a stern look to my truck. “As long as he’s not messing with you or Lottie. Speaking of you, did everything go okay with Luke? You said it was a done deal. Just like that?”

  His cheek flickers as he shoots a dirty look right through the window of my truck and my adrenaline picks up a notch. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Good.” I hitch my head toward the cabin. “Let’s get in. It’s getting chilly.”

  Everett narrows his eyes my way. “It’s June. The temperature is set to hit the high eighties this afternoon. The air is warm and humid.”

  “All right, thanks for the weather report.” I pat him on the back and press my hand into his shoulder, doing my best to navigate him away from the scene of the potential crime, but Everett is proving immovable.

  “What’s going on?” He’s right back to glaring at me. “You’ve never tried to physically move me before. Not that you would succeed.” He hitches a brow as if the concept amuses him.

  I glance to my truck and blow out a breath. “Look, I’d love to stay out and chew the fat, but I’ve got a million things to do today.”

  “It’s Sunday.” He tips his head to the side, studying me as if I were a lab rat, and believe me, I’m feeling every bit just like that. “There is no official homicide as of yet. They don’t need you in Ashford.”

  “I’ve got things to do around the house.”

  Everett gives one of those upside-down smiles that comes to him a heck of a lot easier than the real deal.

  “Nope. Not buying it,” he says. “What’s going on, Noah? You’ve got fifteen seconds to fess up before I fine-tune my antennae. I’ve spent years on the bench. I know when someone is shoveling bull my way. Sorry. I’m not buying any today.”

  “Dude, go fine-tune your antennae somewhere else. Isn’t that what you’ve got Lottie for?” A fury percolates in me at the thought and I start for the cabin, but he steps in front of me.

  “Whoa.” He shoves his hand to my chest, his eyes bulging, and he’s right back to studying me. “This must be big if you’d rather throw me to Lemon than spill it. Okay, you’re not going to tell me.” He walks backward, growing a few inches with each step, and his eyes swing from me to my truck. “What’s going on? You have a hot date?” He glances to my truck again, and before he can look my way, he does a double take. His head tips severely as he takes a step toward the passenger’s side window, but his gaze is set on my back seat and I know just what he’s looking at. His chest
grows in size. “Get the keys and open the damn door,” he insists.

  “Why?” I didn’t need to ask it, but it buys me time.

  “Whose briefcase is that?”

  “Not yours. Now go home.” I slap my thigh as Toby goes running to the house, and I head in that direction after him.

  “Get the keys or I’ll break the damn window.”

  I look over at him, and now it’s me studying him. “That’s my briefcase, Everett. Don’t make a big deal over it. Stop acting like a lunatic.”

  He nods as he scours me one last time with that scrutinizing gaze. “What did he give you?” He steps on over, his jaw redefining itself with anger. “It’s your litmus test, Noah. My guess is, you’re not sure you want to pass.”

  And just like that, I loosen. “How the hell do you know everything, Everett? Wait, don’t answer that. This scheme has probably passed through your courtroom one too many times.”

  Everett’s jaw clenches as he shoots those death lasers of his across the street, and I follow his gaze before my attention snags on that SUV of his.

  “I think the picture just came in crystal clear,” I say. “You’ve got one, too.”

  Everett doesn’t confirm or deny it. He simply transfers that angry gaze from his truck to me.

  “Hey there!” a friendly, all too familiar voice shouts from across the way, and we look over to see Lottie waving from the porch while holding Lyla Nell. Lottie picks up the baby’s hand and waves with it as well. “Who’s up for breakfast at the bakery? We’ve got a case to discuss!”

  “Sounds good,” I shout as she gives a thumbs-up and heads back into the house. I look back over at Everett. “Looks like I’ve got a hot date with a couple of my favorite girls. I suspect you’ll be there, too. We’ll talk.”

  “What’s in the briefcase?” he demands once again.

  “Nothing that a judge should ever know about.” I take off into the house.

  Nothing that a homicide detective should know about either.

  And that seems to be the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the problems that plague me.

  Everett

  “Lot Lot!” Carlotta runs into the bakery, hopping from leg to leg, and heads straight for Lemon. “How long do you think it’ll take until I can grow out my armpit hair? You know, so it’s long enough to braid?”

  A heavy sigh expels from Lemon as her one and only true customer spins on her heels and walks straight out the door. It’s safe to say the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery isn’t faring well with all the jackhammering, the drilling, and the constant howls of the construction workers tearing up the sidewalk in the name of making Honey Hollow a bit more pleasing to the eye.

  Suze and Lily are all but buffing their nails while the inventory in the bakery shelves seems to be growing instead of thinning out. The bakery is quaint and homey with pastel furniture, pale yellow walls, a walkway that leads into the Honey Pot Diner—also Lemon’s establishment—and tree branches crawl along the ceiling with lights intertwined. It’s the perfect cozy environment, which is exactly why so many of its patrons tend to linger in the café for hours on end—with the exception of today, of course.

  Evie bubbles with a laugh while hunching over her waffles as we sit along the counter enjoying our breakfast. Noah still hasn’t showed, but then Lemon, Evie, Lyla Nell, and I have just arrived a few minutes ago ourselves.

  I land a kiss to the top of Lyla Nell’s sweet head as the action readies to start. With Carlotta that’s always the top order of the day, some bizarre form of action.

  Lyla Nell gives a warm gurgle of a laugh and her dimples go off. Her dark hair is red at the tips, just like Noah’s, but other than that, she’s mine through and through.

  She likes to argue well into the night, and I’m guessing we’ve got a future litigator on our hands. I would love nothing more than to watch Lyla Nell do her thing in the courtroom—to watch either of my daughters do their thing in the courtroom. Or if they prefer the kitchen like Lemon, I’m all for that, too.

  I will support every dream and scheme these girls want to pursue. My money, my time, it’s all theirs. I may let them get a little scrappy when it comes to acquiring funds on their own. Scrappy is good. In life sometimes you need to fight a little to feed your hunger. If your daddy lands a steak in front of you night after night, you might lose your zeal before it ever really begins to take off. That’s where balance comes in. But I’m going to love these girls with everything I’ve got. I’m already doing that.

  “It’ll take about a month, Cray-Cray,” Evie says after some reflection. “A couple of girls from school were doing it for their Insta Pictures account. They’ve made a killing.”

  “Eww.” Lemon looks visibly ill by the idea. “They’re making people pay to look at their armpits?”

  “No, they cash in with ads and sponsors,” Evie says, dousing her waffles with syrup. “It’s a huge trend right now. How else are we supposed to fight against the patriarchy? But don’t worry. I’m not that desperate for cash just yet.”

  Lemon and I exchange a quick glance. On second thought, maybe letting the girls get a little scrappy is a bad decision on my part.

  Carlotta’s jaw drops as she looks to Evie. “You mean my hairy pits can help turn a dime?”

  Evie gives a definitive nod. “You can turn a dime doing just about anything on the internet. Dash and I are going to cash in on the new sleeping trend.”

  “Sleeping?” I tip my ear her way. “What’s that about?”

  Lily and Suze break out into cackles as they look our way.

  Lily smirks. “That’s the price you pay for being a new parent, Essex.”

  Lemon’s upper lip tugs when Lily calls me by my proper name. I’m not proud to say Lily, like many other women, have earned the right to call me by my formal name. But that was my past, and both Lemon and I have made peace with it.

  “That’s right.” Suze laughs. “It’s not easy—especially when you’re raising another man’s child.”

  “She’s mine.” I flex a brief smile her way. Suze has never intentionally tried to crawl under my skin, so I’ve always been quick to excuse her. But I’ve seen her do a number on Lemon once or twice.

  “Everett is my husband.” Lemon forces a smile herself. “And he’s been gracious to do everything but breastfeed the baby for me.” She takes in a quick breath and glances down at her blouse. “Wow, just mentioning it has opened the floodgates. Here—give me the baby. I may as well see if she’s hungry.” Lemon unbuttons her blouse a few notches, and soon Lyla Nell is nursing as her legs kick wild for a moment before falling contentedly limp.

  The bell chimes and in walks Noah, looking showered and shaved and yet just as frazzled as he was earlier.

  “Morning,” he grunts as he speeds over to kiss Lemon on the forehead, then repeats the effort with Lyla Nell.

  A growl works up my throat.

  “Watch out, Uncle Noah,” Evie teases. “That’s Dad’s way of letting you know you just got a little too close to the fun zone.” She averts her eyes. “And before you start, Mom, I know—the girls aren’t hanging off our bodies for fun. This is a working farm.” She points to her chest.

  Noah plops down on the other side of me, and Lily brings him a serving of waffles and coffee. I shoot Noah a cold look because I still don’t know what’s in that nefarious briefcase of his. It might be cash—much like the stuff floating around in my own. And I’m starting to wonder if we’re both being set up for a felony. It wouldn’t be the first time Jimmy Canelli and Luke Lazzari have joined forces for the greater good—or evil—of their wicked empires.

  “To answer your question, Dad”—Evie leans my way—“the sleeping challenge is just that. All I have to do is snooze away and record myself doing it. Dash is doing it with me.”

  “And then what?” I ask, not liking where this is going.

  “Then we upload it. We’re going to make a killing. You won’t believe how many people are willing to watch a couple of tee
nage girls do nothing but sleep.”

  “I’m guessing a lot. And I’m also guessing I know what the demographics are going to look like. The answer is no.”

  She scoffs at me. “But I wasn’t asking permission.”

  “That’s because I have a feeling you knew you wouldn’t get it.”

  “Fine.” She makes a face at me. “So what are you doing on your last day of freedom?”

  Carlotta jerks my way. “Hittin’ up Lot’s other udder?” She juts her head out at Noah. “Don’t worry, Foxy. There’s a reason God gave her two. Once Little Yippy conks out, you can take her place.”

  “All right, Carlotta. You’re hilarious.” Lemon sighs. “I give. Why did you burst in here demanding to know how long it would take to grow out your pits? What’s on the hairy agenda? Formal pictures with Mayor Nash? Does the fact it’s swimsuit season somehow play into this?”

  “It has nothing to do with swimsuit season and everything to do with the fact Rooster is in town. The man finds me irresistible. I need to find some way to turn down the heat. And if I remember correctly, he made a big stink about me shaving my legs, my arms, my pits, and my face.” She looks to Evie. “He is the patriarchy.”

  Her face?

  Lemon shakes her head my way as if to say she’s not touching it. I don’t blame her. It’s not a path I’d like to go down either.

  She frowns over at Carlotta. “Why don’t you tell him you’re taken? Problem solved.”

  “It won’t work, Lot.” Carlotta’s shoulders sag at the thought. “It only makes him want me more. I’m delicious if I do, and I’m delicious if I don’t.”

  Charlie heads this way from the walkway that leads to the Honey Pot Diner and on her heels is Keelie.

  “Lottie, you have to try this,” Keelie says, handing Lemon a bowl just as Lyla Nell decides she’s done with breakfast. “Well, well, it looks like I’m right on time,” she says, taking Lyla Nell out of Lemon’s arms.