Pecan Pie Predicament (Murder in the Mix #27) - Addison Moore Page 0,1

out of the house and I scream once again, this time with relief.

Everett stumbles to the porch, down the stairs, before collapsing onto the lawn.

The first responders are on him, swarming him with their good intentions, as the rest of us watch with hope.

They do their best to resuscitate him.

They never stop.

I won’t let them.

Present day

My name is Lottie Lemon, and I see dead people. Okay, so rarely do I see dead people. Mostly I see furry creatures of the dearly departed variety who have come back from the other side to warn me of their previous owner’s impending doom. But right now, I’m not seeing a dead anything. Instead, I’m seeing two unfairly handsome men ready to duke it out.

Everett growls at Noah, “You were responsible for my broken arm then, just the same way you are now. Not to mention the lung damage.”

Noah’s chest pumps with a dry laugh. “Hear that, Lot? Stick with this guy and you’ll get to play the blame game the rest of your life. And watch out, he’s an excellent opponent when it comes to holding grudges—a real finger pointer.”

Everett shoots Noah a look. “Funny you should mention that. Because of you, I have five less fingers I’m able to point with.” He holds up his left arm, showing off the cast wrapped from his elbow to his thumb.

Everett—Judge Essex Everett Baxter—a black hair, blue-eyed god among men, just so happens to be my official plus one. We tied the knot last December so that he could get the full payout from his trust fund. It was more or less a business transaction at the time, but we were an item for a small season just before that.

Oddly enough, I was actually dating Noah at the time I married Everett, and well, Noah and I decided to part ways last summer so I could see if Everett and I still had a spark. Suffice it to say, we have a blaze between us, so much so that both of our houses burned to the ground just a week ago.

In fact, Everett thought Noah was still inside the burning structure and risked his life, thus breaking one of his limbs, to rescue him. Everett passed out as soon as he stumbled out of the flames and was hospitalized for three days while he recovered. I’ve been babying him ever since. Everett is a bona fide hero, and I never want to let him forget that. His birthday is later this month, and I’m aiming to throw a surprise party for him.

“Come and get your chocolate covered bacon—and fried pickles!” I bellow over the blooming crowd gathering along Main Street for the Taste of Honey Hollow Street Fair. It’s something the town council decided would take place every other Saturday of November leading right up to Thanksgiving. And my shop, the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery, has a booth right outside the door of my establishment.

The autumn air is crisp today as thick clouds hang overhead with the very real threat of rain. Maple leaves as dry as paper cartwheel down the sidewalk, in every shade of red and orange, as if they were giving an homage to the season.

The air holds the aroma of every sweet and savory treat this cozy town has to offer, and judging by the bustling bodies crowding just about every booth here, the people very much approve of those scents.

A hard grunt comes from my left as my co-worker, Lily Swanson, plops another box full of sweet treats down in front of me.

“Pecan pies!” she belts it out with such ferocity, more than a number of heads turn in our direction. “Come and get your pecan pies!” She snorts my way. “Sorry, Lottie, but bacon and pickles do not a bakery make. Just because you’re knocked up and eating like a sorority girl after a bender, doesn’t mean the rest of Vermont wants to be dragged into your nutritional nightmare.”

It’s true—the knocked up part. I’ve got a bun in the oven that’s been cooking for close to five months now. That’s actually the good news in this scenario. The not so good news? I’m not sure who the father is. I mean, I’ve narrowed the field, and there are just two contenders, Noah and Everett. But this isn’t exactly the scenario I dreamed of for my life, or the life of my child. Although, once the baby is born, we’re doing a paternity test pronto, so my little sugar