Cutie Pies and Deadly Lies: A Cozy Mystery Read online

  Noah steals a moment to gloat. “It’s new.”

  “It’s not new.” I swat him, too. “Would you stop saying that? We are not new. And we never will be. There is no we for goodness’ sake!”

  Keelie gasps again. I swear, if she does it one more time, she’s going to pass out. “Are you Mr. Sexy?” Her eyes grow wide. “Lottie mentioned you this afternoon.”

  Noah gives another smug grin, his chest expanding wide right along with his ego.

  “He is not Mr. Sexy.” I give a slight push to his arm. “I thought he was a loan officer. It turns out, he’s nothing but a fake detective.” I hop on my toes as I hiss the words at him.

  “I’m licensed in the state of Vermont.” He looks over to the crowd. “Which reminds me, I have a crime scene to tend to. Ladies.” He offers a slight wink my way, and I can’t help but groan with frustration.

  “This entire day is a mind warp. How can any of this be happening?”

  “I know, right?” Keelie stares off into the orchard, dazed as if trying to take it all in herself. “First Mr. Sexy. Now Mr. Fox. You’re on one heck of a roll.” She runs her hands up and down my back.

  “What in the heck are you doing?” I buck her off like a reflex as three officers turn their heads this way for a moment.

  “I’m trying to get your luck to rub off on me.”

  Noah comes back. His presence suddenly feels larger than life, and I can’t help but note how that baby blue dress shirt sets off his eyes and a tiny part of me hates myself for it.

  “Any news?” I say as if the events of the day could somehow shift into something positive.

  His lips purse as he takes in a deep breath. “There is. They’ve got a lead on who a suspect might be.”

  “Great! Who is it?”

  His chest expands a moment, and I try not to notice how wide and steely it looks from this vantage point. “It’s you, Lottie. You’re the number one suspect.” His gaze stays trained on mine a moment too long before he heads back to the crime scene.

  “Oh, Lottie”—Keelie wraps her arms around me tight—“it’s going to be all right. Just you wait and see.”

  “Not for Merilee it won’t.” A flicker of something orange catches my eye at the base of the orchard, and I watch as the outline of a cat slowly fills in. It’s that orange tabby that hovered around Merilee this morning making another appearance, and my eyes widen.

  My God, this has been the worst thing that has ever happened to anyone before as far as those peculiar phantasms are concerned. And to think I had hoped to see her fall down those courthouse stairs.

  No, this is far worse than a skinned knee.

  Someone killed Merilee Simonson, and I’m the number one suspect.

  Chapter 5

  There are a few basic principles of baking that every baker worth his or her salt understands without question. First and foremost, if you’re following a recipe, you should always read it through to the end before you so much as lift a finger in the kitchen. Just about every other baking catastrophe could be linked to the fact a baker has decided to eschew that little sheet of instructions. Second, set out ingredients and any bowls, measuring cups, and spoons in advance to cut down the time it might take to hunt them down. It’s also a saving grace to know well beforehand if you’re missing a vital ingredient. Sure, you can substitute your way around an ingredient or two, but it’s no fun to run out of flour just as you’re about to whip up a last-minute batch of chocolate chip cookies. Third, you might want to clean up as you go. It can quickly get hectic amidst the chaos of dirty mixing bowls, errant spills, and a film of flour lining the counters and the floors. Baking should be a relaxing experience, never a bother.

  It’s nearly afternoon, almost twenty-four hours after Merilee was found dead on the Grands’ property, and I’m trying to get my heart into baking a dozen pumpkin rolls for the diner.

  My mother and sister showed up a few minutes ago and have stood on the other end of my workspace with their mouths agape as I recount the gruesome details.

  “How could you not pick up the phone and call me?” Lainey looks as if I just knifed up half the town. Her face is paler than the flour I’m using, and her eyes are as wide as eggs. Lainey and I might not be blood-related, but there is a similar look we share, both with wavy caramel-colored hair, large, hazel-green eyes. I suppose those are common traits in general, but I like the way they loosely link me that much more to her as a sister. Meg, our other sister, the one in Vegas, dyes her natural honeyed locks jet black and wears bright yellow contacts when she performs. She’s a bit larger than life both on and off the female wrestling circuit.

  Mom steps up while burying her fists firmly into her hips. “How could you not call me? I’m the mother! I’m supposed to be aware of everything you girls do! I’m a failure at life if I don’t know that my sweet baby girl has just been accused of murder. And murder? Really, Lottie? You could have just moved out and avoided this entire nightmare.”

  I can’t help but avert my eyes at my mother’s logic. “I didn’t murder anybody.” The words come from me alarmingly calmer than expected. “And I’m sorry I didn’t call either of you. I went straight home and fell asleep with Pancake on my lap. As soon as the sun rose, I took a shower and made my way here. There’s no way I want to have another run-in with Mora Anne. Not after her sister was so brutally murdered.”

  “Stabbed to death seven times!” Lainey clutches at her throat. “Tanner says that’s indicative of a crime of passion.”

  I can’t help but frown, and not because of Merilee or any crime of passion. Tanner is Lainey’s current boyfriend who I’m still convinced isn’t the real deal. Everyone knows that Forest Donovan is the love of her life. But they had some ridiculous falling-out last summer at the infamous county fair, and they’ve been avoiding one another ever since. Tanner is nothing but a ploy to make Forest jealous. I don’t care how much Lainey refuses to admit it. Anyone with eyes can see it.

  Lainey shakes her head. “Merilee must have gotten someone really riled up to go after her like that. Although, I pointed out to him that Merilee and the word passion were sort of an oxymoron. I can’t imagine there’s a person on the planet who could muster up enough passionate rage against her.”

  “Agree,” I say weakly. I can’t help but make a face as I put the batter for the pumpkin rolls into the oven. The entire kitchen smells of cinnamon and spices. Usually baking this roll, taking in these heavenly scents, would put me in a great mood and make me swoon. Fall is one of my favorite seasons for the baking that comes with it alone, but not today. There is no great mood or swooning. “Poor Mora. I can’t imagine what she might be going through.”

  “Speaking of the Simonson sisters”—Mom swoops in and rubs my back—“how did the hearing go yesterday? I suppose it’s a moot point now after everything that’s happened.”

  “No, actually, it’s not. But it ended in my favor.” I take in my sweet mother with her cranberry lipstick and matching cranberry pea coat. Her hair is dyed a buttery blonde and has been for as long as I can remember. My mother has had a habit of looking impeccably put together, and come hell or high homicide, she still manages to pull it off.

  “Homicide.” I steady myself against the steel table in the kitchen. “I can’t believe there’s a killer on the loose out there who actually managed to kill poor Merilee, and so violently at that.”

  Lainey gives a frantic nod. “The worst part about all of this is that they think it was you!”

  “You are not helping,” I’m quick to inform my sister before pulling out the ingredients for the cranberry carrot cake I’m about to bake next. “And you both do realize I’m innocent, right?” I offer up a hardened stare their way until they both nod in unison.

  “Of course, honey.” Mom is back to giving my back a light massage. “Captain Turner doesn’t think you’re even mildly responsible. I spoke with Becca this morning, and she assured me of it.” Becca is Keelie’s mother, Captain Jack Turner’s ex-w
ife, and for the sake of mild sense of loyalty, my mother has kept all of her correspondence with the captain to be relegated through his wife. Becca and my mother have been good friends for years.

  “As he should. I’m not mildly responsible. It’s a waste of time for them to have me on the suspect list at all. Meanwhile, the real killer is free to flee the country. I bet they’ve already crossed the Canadian border.”

  “Who do you think did it?” Lainey snatches an iced pumpkin cookie off a cooling tray. I may have iced them a little too soon, leaving the icing to melt over the tops and run down the sides, but I will admit, they look delicious that way.

  “I don’t know.” My mind reels at the possibilities. “A tourist maybe?”

  “Who did you see at the crime scene?” Lainey leans in as if grilling me. “You were the one who found the body. Who did you see in the area?”

  That stroll I took through the orchard comes back to me. I had my head in the clouds thinking about men of all things. I have never had any luck with the opposite gender, and if yesterday’s catastrophe signifies anything at all, I might as well steer clear of them for the rest of my days.

  “I don’t know”—that scene I came upon after my arrival comes back to me—“wait a minute. I did see something. When I got to the orchard, one of the first things I saw was the Simonson sisters having it out with Eve Hollister and Chrissy Nash.”

  Mom is quick to wave off the idea that they might be involved with something so sinister. “Eve just had her entire house redone, and it’s falling to pieces. Sure, she’s angry enough to kill, but, believe me, it wouldn’t be Merilee Simonson.”

  “What about Chrissy?” I abandon my post, being the counter a moment, and make my way over. Do you think Chrissy is still upset over those rumors of a mystery woman breaking up her marriage?”

  Lainey bucks as she leans into our mother as well. “I thought you said Chrissy knew who the other woman was, but Mayor Nash gave her a fist full of dollars to keep it quiet. Was it Merilee?” Lainey looks as if she might be sick.

  “No.” Mom bats the air between us. “Heavens no. Not Merilee. That woman could peel the paint off a wall with just one look. She was that mean.” She shudders. “Forgive me for speaking ill of the dead, but I assure you that Merilee was not Mayor Nash’s paramour.” She wipes the lint off her sleeve before kissing both Lainey and me on the cheek. “Now I have to go. I’m having lunch with Becca and Nell at Evergreen Manor.” She gives a cheeky wink. “Nothing like checking out the competition. Ta-ta!” she sings, waving over her shoulder as she disappears into the Honey Pot.

  Lainey wastes no time in leaning in close. Her heavily penciled in brows crouch together in a cartoonish way, and yet she looks as adorable as ever. “Now tell me what really happened. Tanner said something about you having a boyfriend! That sounds like vital information I should have gotten from you, by the way.” Tanner is the Director of Parks and Recs here in Honey Hollow, and he and his crew always seem to have their nose in everything. “So? Who is he? Spill!”

  And I do. I spill everything from Mr. Sexy to Mr. Fox all over again, the unrated version, and Lainey’s jaw is suddenly rooted to the floor.

  “Oh my shooting stars! You are a bona fide sex kitten!”

  “Would you stop?” I swat her with a dishtowel. “I’m no such thing. I have lousy luck with men, and you know it. And come to find out, I have even lousier luck with landlords. One of them is dead, and the other is holding fast to the eviction. But, to be perfectly honest, I think I’d be loading up my Honda anyway after yesterday’s murderous turn of events. Know of any cheap places that might take a homicide suspect and a finicky Himalayan?” I raise a brow at my suggestive sister.

  Her mouth rounds out with delight. “You can live with me!”

  “With you?” My entire body bucks at the prospect. I love my sister dearly, and I also love our relationship dearly, but we both know growing up together was no picnic. I like to tease that we never spoke a civil word until I got back from New York. Only it’s not a joke. It’s one hundred percent true. “You do realize this is me you’re speaking with. You know we’d make lousy roommates. That’s why we didn’t shack up together to begin with. You used to flush my makeup sponges down the toilet!”

  “Because you wore my sweaters without asking!” She comes at me with just enough venom.

  “You took scissors to my favorite T-shirt!” I can’t help but raise my voice an octave.

  “Because you threatened to make copies of my diary and pass them out to everyone in your fourth period English class!” she shouts back.

  “It was a lesson on bad grammar, and I needed to bring in writing samples!” I cry, and no sooner do I get the last word out than we both break out into laughter.

  Lainey wipes the tears from her eyes as she struggles to settle down. “We’re not really going to kill each other, are we?”

  “I’d be careful if I were you. I am the lead suspect in an active homicide investigation.”

  “Duly noted.” She cinches her purse over her shoulder and gives me a quick embrace. “I’ll hide the kitchen knives.”

  “You’re not funny,” I say as she heads toward the back door.

  “I’ll pick up some great books from the library for us, and we can snuggle by the fire and read just like we used to.”

  “Sounds good!” I call after her. “Get a couple for Pancake, too! He happens to be an avid connoisseur of books!” It just so happens to be his favorite thing to nibble on when I’m not home. I’m sure that furry feline has chewed, licked, and turned his nose up at just about everything he can get his paws on when I’m not around.

  That ghostly cat of Merilee’s comes back to my mind. I still can’t get over what a violent omen that turned out to be. I’d give anything to not see another dead pet or human, in their ghostly form or not.

  Merilee might be dead, but something tells me this entire nightmare is far from over.

  Chapter 6

  The Honey Pot not only guarantees a five-star dining experience—a bit of a surprise for what it is—but it also guarantees a great photo op. In fact, the Honey Pot Diner was voted Vermont’s most photographed restaurant last year in some hokey poll on the internet. Years ago, when Nell and her husband opened this place, she wanted something to set it apart from what used to be a competing restaurant across the street, so she had an oversized fireplace built against the north wall and a large resin tree planted right in the middle of the restaurant. The tree itself is modeled after the spreading oaks Nell said she used to swing from as a child, and each of the dozens of branches extend to the far corners of the ceiling. It wasn’t until about twenty years ago that Nell finally had the idea to wrap each of the individual branches with twinkle lights. That little detail alone has made the Honey Pot what the locals call the most romantic restaurant in the state. We keep them lit during daylight hours too, and even though the effect isn’t nearly as dramatic, it’s stunning nonetheless. The trunk of the tree is hollowed out and inside sits a honey pot with what looks to be honey dripping down the sides. That right there is what cemented this place as a Honey Hollow treasure. We’re practically a landmark at this point, and, according to the tourists who keep this place hopping on its toes, we are just that.

  I’ve finished my baking duties for the day, and just as I’m about to head home and start on the arduous task of packing, I spot a familiar dark-headed man seated at a booth perusing a menu as if he were just some ordinary customer.

  “Is that really…” I suck in a quick breath as he turns his stubble-peppered face my way, and I choke on my next thought. “What in the heck?” I head on over just as Keelie waves to me from across the restaurant and points his way. I’m quick to avert my eyes. Keelie is in love with the idea of love. She is obsessed with men. But as fate would have it, she’s had just as much luck with them as I have.

  “Excuse me?” I no sooner arrive at his table than I set my feet in a defiant stance. There’s only so much disruption
I can take in my life, and I hit my limit the second I spotted Merilee’s face buried in one of my cutie pies. “Judge Everett Baxter?”

  He glances up and does an immediate double take. “Keep your distance,” he teases with a sardonic look on his face. “I’d hate for us to inadvertently wrestle it out in such a nice establishment.” He looks back to his menu as if I were suddenly invisible.

  “Very funny. You are a riot. What are you doing here?” My voice is laced with malice, and I can’t help it. It was that unfortunate run-in, and I mean that in the physical sense, that kick-started an entire chain of unfortunate events that followed.

  “What are you doing here?” He pauses a moment as if reflecting on something. “That’s right, this is your neck of the woods, isn’t it? The Simonson sisters’ shop is in Honey Hollow.” He glares at the window as if he sees that Busy Bee of a malfeasance.

  “So, do you know?” Suddenly I’m a lot less ticked and a lot more curious. “About Merilee?” I whisper. “You know she’s dead, right?” I practically mouth the words.

  “What?” His head inches back a notch, and it’s only then I note he’s dressed to impressed in a three-piece suit, a silver tie that dips down to his nether regions like a spear, and something in me heats at the prospect. “What do you mean she’s dead?”

  “She’s dead. Dead as a doornail. Met her maker. Is about to take one long dirt nap.”

  He frowns at a moment, and his eyebrows dance like dark caterpillars framing his handsome face. “You’re kidding, right?” he flatlines. “After all, it was you who told me you wanted to wring her neck. For your sake, Ms. Lemon, I hope you’re speaking in metaphors.”

  “What’s this?” a decidedly male voice pipes up from behind, and I turn around to find another tall, dark, and equally handsome man—sans the three-piece suit, but equally obnoxious nonetheless.

  I stand up straight at the sight of him. “Well, if it isn’t my new boyfriend, Noah Private Eye Fox. What do you want?” I snipe just as enthusiastically as I did with Everett.