A breath hitches in my throat as I look past the construction workers finishing up for the day, past the debris of boxes and plastic wrapping lying over the floors, and I can’t believe my eyes. In the back, I spot a bevy of gleaming stainless steel appliances as Nell leads us inside. The walls smell of fresh paint, glowing a butter yellow just the way I imagined. The refrigerated shelves are all more or less in place. And as we make our way to the kitchen, tears fall fast and furious as I take in the drop-dead gorgeous ovens, as I take in the size of the industrial mixer that is almost as tall as I am.
“It’s too beautiful to comprehend. I can’t believe you’re going to give me the run of this place.” I shake my head at Nell. “You won’t regret it. I’ll treat it as if it were my own. I’ll love this bakery as much as I love—well, Pancake.” We all laugh at that one, but it’s true and we all know it.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Nell pats her hand over mine. “But I’m afraid it will never open without one last thing, and it’s up to you to provide it.” She nods up at me solemnly. There’s something she’s saying with her eyes that I can’t quite grasp, something important that supersedes words, and I can’t quite put my finger on it. “It needs a name. And not just any name. A good one!”
Lainey and Keelie start shouting out all sorts of adorable monikers. Honey Hollow Bakery, Honey Sweet Treats, the Honey Jar Cookies and More, Honey Hollow Sweet Shop, Desserts First, Desserts to Die For—and I quickly veto that last one.
“I don’t know.” I look around the place. “Those are all great names, except the one involving death.” I shoot Keelie a look. “But none of them feel like this place.”
Nell pulls me in close, her sweet face inching toward mine. “I don’t want it to feel like this place. I want it to feel like your place. What means something to you, Lottie? I want this to be personal for you.”
“Personal.” I try to take it all in at once, and yet I can’t get my head to believe any of this is real. “I don’t know. This is all too wonderful for me. I don’t know anything about naming a bakery, Nell. In fact, my mind is so warped from baking all those cutie pies I can’t think straight. Everywhere I look I see a cutie pie. Cutie pie, cutie pie, cutie pie.” I blow out a hard breath at the place, feeling both hopeless in finding a name and undeserving of such a great honor.
“Cutie pie.” Nell feasts her eyes on every corner of this magnificent space. “I think it suits it, don’t you?”
Keelie claps her hands. “The Cutie Pie Bakery!”
“The Cutie Pie Bakery.” I try it out for size. “Oh my goodness, I think I love it.”
The three of them break out in cheers.
“But wait, we’ll be serving a lot more than pies. I mean, there will be cookies, and strudels, and brownies, and cupcakes, and macaroons, and bread puddings, and cobblers, and you name it I plan on having it fully stocked. And cake! There will be lots of cake!”
Lainey lets out a breath as she cocks her head to the side. “How about a smaller sign that reads fine confections, coffee, and more?”
Keelie gasps, “That says it all!”
“The Cutie Pie Bakery,” I say once again, this time with the hope that those words hold in them. “Fine confections, coffee, and more. I love it!”
The four of us jumble together in one long, tangled embrace, and I never want to let go.
It’s perfect.
* * *
An hour passes and Keelie gets to the business of bussing tables. Lainey went home to feed Pancake for me as I finished putting in another batch of adorable little cutie pies into the oven. But there’s not one ounce of me that wants to sit around waiting for those cute beauts to finish up. Instead, I head next door to their namesake again and make my way inside just as Bear and his cousin, Hunter, finish up for the day.
“It’s coming together.” Bear takes off his hat and shakes his dirty blond curls loose. Emphasis on the dirty. Bear has always had the mind and mouth of a sailor. Not that I minded once upon a time, but times have changed.
“It sure is,” I say under my breath, just trying to soak it all in once again.
Hunter slaps Bear over the shoulder. Hunter has always been Bear’s doppelgänger. If you didn’t know better, you would think they were twins. The two of us have been on friendlier terms than Bear and me. “This guy right here is making it happen for you, Lottie. There were three jobs before yours and he sped you right through to the top.”
My mouth falls open. “Otis Fisher! You keep surprising me.”
He gives a quick wink. “And I don’t plan on stopping.”
The three of us head out into the cool night air and they take off for home, but I can’t seem to tear myself away from this place. This is home, mine anyway.
The sound of furtive voices rising to the sky drift this way, and I spot two shadowed figures standing in front of the Busy Bear. One of them has on a long velvet skirt that catches the light of the streetlamp from down the way. I sneak across the street and tuck myself close to the buildings as I try my best to listen in. It looks as if Noah’s eavesdropping disease is catching.
I lean out from behind the wall of the florist shop, and the figures come into focus. I squint over at the woman facing me and gasp.
It’s Mora Anne!
A low and slow growl emits from the taller woman before she starts in again on Mora, and I recognize that Cruella de Vil knockoff as none other than her twisted cousin, Cascade.
“Don’t you tell me what to do with my money,” Cascade snips as she gets right in Mora Anne’s face, and I’m half-afraid a fistfight might break out. “I don’t need you, just like I didn’t need your sister. I have all the authority I need to pull rank. You can’t even keep this glorified box of ribbons opened. Why should I trust you to do something much bigger than you’ll ever deserve?” She stalks off, and Mora Anne growls out a scream of frustration. My God, all of that on the day of her sister’s funeral? As if she didn’t have enough. Of course, the funeral itself was private. Gary at the funeral home was at the Honey Pot two days ago and said it would be small and that under no circumstances was I to crash it. As if. Although, admittedly I had thought about it. I did, after all, want to pay my respects.
Mora Anne starts stalking her way over, and I try my best to press into the woodwork behind me, but since that’s not happening, I bounce right out into the sidewalk and bump into her.
“Oh, sorry!” I say, pretending I hadn’t even seen her.
Spying and lying, both horrible traits I’ve taken on since my life has turned upside down. But I’m not the one who buried a sister today.
“I’m really sorry about Merilee,” I say just above a whisper. “Heck, I’m sorry about everything. Is there anything I can do?”
Mora Anne scoffs, and for a second, I see Merilee there hiding in her face. That must be so painful to see the one you love in plain sight every day, and yet knowing you’ll never speak to them again. Not in this world anyway.
“Please. You’re not sorry. You’re just like the rest of them. You hated my sister, and you hate me.”
“Not true at all.” I press my hand to my chest, pleading with her to understand. “I wish I could have been there to comfort you today. I’m very sorry you had to go through that. She doesn’t belong there. She belongs here with us. I bet you miss her like crazy.” I bite down hard on my lower lip to keep from spontaneously bawling. “What was that ruckus all about? I know that was your cousin, Cascade. I met her the day I left the apartment.”
“Never you mind.” She pulls on a pair of long black gloves in haste. “I’m sick and tired of you, and I’m sick and tired of my own family trying to steal what’s mine.” She stalks off down the street, alone and angry, and my heart breaks for her just a little bit more.
Merilee is dead, alone and in a grave. Mora Anne is dead on the inside, alone and in an isolative grave of her own making. She’s so hostile and angry she can’t even get along with her only living relation. But then, I have met Cascade. She
’s so mean she could slit your throat with just one look.
A breath gets locked in my chest.
And I wonder what else she’s capable of doing with a knife?
Chapter 15
The Apple Festival is everything every single person in Honey Hollow needs it to be, filled with fun, food, family, and let’s not forget dozens and dozens of caramel apple-filled cutie pies.
The sun is just getting ready to set and the sky is a heavier shade of blue, but the iced breeze doesn’t let you forget which season you’re in. The orchard itself is a grand backdrop to all the festivities. Buckets full of apples are scattered about, pumpkins dot every free surface, and the rich crimson leaves of the maples in the distance make this a feast for your eyes as well. It’s wall-to-wall bodies here with hayrides to be had, games with stuffed animals to be won, cider to be pressed, and pumpkins to be launched out of a cannon. It’s going to be a full week of revelry and fun for everyone of every age, and it truly looks as if every living soul in Vermont has turned out to help us celebrate.
Set in front of the barn, lined across checkered red and white linens sit hundreds of cutie pies for all to partake in. There’s a line that goes around the barn and down near the parking lot just to get served up with one of those caramel delights.
“It was worth the wait,” a male voice calls out from behind, and I turn to find Captain Turner in full uniform with a cutie pie nestled in his enormous hands. It looks as if it’s the size of a quarter in that enormous mitt of his.
“Hey, Jack.” I offer him a warm embrace, and he purrs with delight. I’ve never called him anything but Jack all my life, but seeing him in his official sheriff’s duds has always made me want to call him Captain like everybody else.
“Talked to that boyfriend of yours the other day.” His brow furrows with disapproval when he says boyfriend. This is usually the part where the logical part of me would protest that title, but not one part of me listens to that logical part. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to stop investigating the case. He says you’ve been openly questioning potential suspects. Lot, you know you can’t go around doing that. You could be tainting the case. There’s a very real chance the killer can go free because you’re tipping them off that we’re onto them.”
My mouth falls open to protest, but he gently lifts a finger to stop me. “Now, now, don’t go trying to defend yourself. I told you firmly in the beginning to stay out of it. I’m afraid if I find out you’re meddling in my case again, I’ll have to arrest you.”
“Arrest me?” I’m dumbfounded by his brazen threat. But before I can lay into him—the man I have viewed as a father since my own passed away—he quickly dives into the crowd and is persona non grata soon enough.
I let out a roar of frustration.
“That’s how I feel.” A warm hand lands over my shoulder for a second, and I turn to find Everett looking every bit as somber as usual—and, well, vexingly sexy as his name suggests. He’s donned his suit for the occasion and it makes him stick out like an Italian fitted sore thumb, but I’m sure the women here tonight will be thrilled nonetheless. His tie is charmingly red, and I’d like to believe he chose it just for the occasion. “I saw the line for your pies and wanted to let go of some steam just the way you did. But I figured I’ve got connections.”
A weak smile graces my lips. “I suppose you do.” I glare openly back at the crowd. “Where’s Collette?” Collette Jenner has been a constant accessory whenever Everett is in town.
“She’ll be here. She’s working late tonight.”
“Oh, that’s right. She works for that fancy PR firm out in Ashford. I guess she’s the big success she always threatened she’d be some day.”
Everett’s chest bounces at the thought as he gives a dull laugh.
“Judge Baxter! Is that the sound of laughter emitting from your throat? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure to witness it before.”
“That’s what it is. But don’t tell Collette. We may not be dating, but she’s got a bite that stings regardless. I’m actually here tonight with Fiona.”
“Fi-o-who?” I scan the crowd right along with him.
“Fiona Dagmeyer. I think you met her. She was the defense attorney walking out of the courtroom with me that day you were there.”
“Oh yes, the stately brunette. Careful with that one. I can guarantee you she has a nasty bite. I’d make sure all your boy parts are intact once she’s through with you. I saw her fangs all the way down the hall. I bet she sleeps upside down in her closet at night.”
He barks out another laugh, much heartier and sincere than the last. “I’ll keep an eye out for that. We’re not together anymore, though. So I might just have to speculate alongside you about that whole sleeping upside down thing.” He nods to me as his affect sobers up once again. “All right, Lemon. Let’s have it. What had you howling at the moon just before I got here?”
I shoot him a vilifying look. “That stepbrother of yours.”
“So, he finally filled you in on all the fun details, huh? What did he do this time? Steal your wallet and bolt out of town? Don’t be too hard on him. It’s hardwired in his genes.”
“That’s not funny. But in truth, it would have hurt less.”
“What would have hurt less?” Noah himself appears before us, quick as an apparition, and if it weren’t for the crowd he seemingly materialized from, I would have believed I was seeing dead people once again. I’ve only seen two, and those are both dearly departed souls I’d love to forget.
“You”—I jab my finger in his rock-hard chest—“plunging a knife into my chest.” I freeze solid once the words leave my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that not twenty feet from where Merilee met her fate the same way. “Why in the world did you rat me out to Captain Turner?” It didn’t feel right calling him Jack at the moment since neither Everett nor Noah regards him as that. “He said he’s going to have me arrested if I investigate this case. You know I have to clear my good name. And you know that I’m close to closing in on the real killer,” I hiss that last part out in haste.
Noah’s jaw clenches. “Correction—I am closing in on the real killer. You don’t belong anywhere near this case,” he says it calmly while crossing his arms across this flannel laden chest. No matter how much I’m a sucker for a man in jeans and a flannel—the red and black checkered variety, which happens to be my very favorite—I won’t give in to his pompous ideals of where I belong. And judging by his Neanderthal-like behavior, I’m guessing he’d say that was in the kitchen. “You belong safe in the kitchen”—he blinks an apathetic smile as if he were prying into my thoughts—“baking pies and all of those other tasty treats that give you so much pleasure to make for other people—not with lunatics that aren’t afraid to wield a deadly weapon. I care about you, Lottie. And I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”
Everett takes a deep breath, and his suit expands right along with it. “I agree with him. I rather prefer you alive. People are unpredictable. Even the most unsuspecting soul can carry out a heinous crime. This investigation isn’t for you, Lottie. Stay out of it.”
“AARRGGHHH!” My entire body sizzles with anger. “I can’t believe the two of you. Typical men trying to keep a woman down. Well, I won’t let you. There’s a killer out there, and I’m sick and tired of nobody doing a thing to catch them.” I start to take off, and Noah grips me by the wrist.
“Lottie, wait,” he pleads as he attempts to reel me in, but I free myself in haste.
“Don’t you Lottie, wait me. I’m through with you, Noah Fox. I have never been a fan of being controlled by anybody, and the fact you went to Captain Turner to have me—arrested of all things—well, you just crossed a line, buddy!”
I take off and hear him shouting something about not trying to have me arrested. Potato, po-tah-to. He turned me in, same difference. I skirt the periphery of the festival just to get away from the thicket of bodies and come upon what I initially think is the best sig
ht in the entire world, my best friend Keelie. But upon closer inspection, it’s not Keelie. It’s her emotional toad of a sister with her hair pulled back into a bun.
“Naomi,” I say, stalking over. This day has already gone to hell in a handbasket, so I don’t see what a minute with my favorite frenemy could possibly do to add to it. Besides, I have a burning question that I’m hoping she’ll have the answer to. All night I thought about Merilee and her two beaus, and something just doesn’t add up. “What do you know about Travis Darren? Do you think it could be a code name for Moose Hagan, a football coach down in Ashford?”
She flinches as if I struck her. “I’ve known Travis for years. He works as a leaf peeping guide in Hollyhock part of the year. Tall and lanky. I’m pretty sure he’s no coach. He met up with a bear trap and about had his left foot snapped off. Walks with a bit of a limp.”
Doesn’t sound at all like Coach Hagan. That man practically ran the field with the boys on his team.
I shake my head at her. “Are you sure that it was Merilee who was seeing Travis Darren? I mean, don’t you think that’s a bit far-fetched? She already had one boyfriend.” Who I hope she dumped for the right reason, so that he could see what an idiot he was, tuck his tail between his legs, and go back to his wife and kids. Not that Melissa would take him back, but you never know, and it was the right thing to do. I’m proud of Merilee just because of it.
Naomi adjusts her red and white checkered dress while dancing in a pair of sky-high platform shoes. She’s donned a pair of white statement piece earrings to go along with it, and as usual she looks as if she’s trying too hard.
“Let me see.” She shakes her head as she leans in hard. “Oh yeah, it was Merilee. I know this for a fact because I am never wrong.” Her voice is loud and curt as her words blast over my face like a nuclear heat wave. That seems to be a raw talent of hers, going nuclear.
“Okay, geez. You were right. Per usual,” I add as I make my way past her. No use in entertaining crazy. And besides, I have to admit the fact that both Mora Anne and Merilee look the same. Wait a minute. Maybe it wasn’t Merilee meeting Travis Darren up at the Evergreen. Maybe it was Mora?