Page 17 of Bobbing for Bodies
“Please do,” I say as he speeds out the door.
Everett takes an enormous breath, and I swear I can see the judgment ready to pour out of him. “How did you know that kid needed a loan?”
“Never you mind.” I look past him for signs of Ivy whom I’ve quickly adopted as my nemesis. Technically, that would be Naomi, Keelie’s twin, but since Naomi isn’t trying to staple Noah to her side, she’s been evicted from the coveted position.
“Lemon, are you investigating Hunter’s murder? Both Noah and I don’t think—”
I hold a hand up between us. “I don’t care what you think. Hunter was my friend, and Bear still is—sort of. Anyway, I’m being cautious so no need to worry.”
He rocks back on his heels. “If you don’t care about what I think, then you shouldn’t have a problem letting me know what had you running out the back door that night. You found a body, Lemon. And to be honest, I think maybe you’re too close to the situation or you’d see that there might be some importance in your own timeline of events leading up to the gruesome discovery.”
“Ugh. You are relentless, you know that? And you’re just as obnoxious as you were that day I met you in the coffee shop. If I recall correctly, you wouldn’t tell me your name. Yourname. And you’re asking me to divulge something extremely private and quite painful to admit.”
“What are you talking about?” His voice hikes an octave to match mine. “You said you saw a squirrel bolting through the place and followed it to a dead man.”
“And you didn’t see it!” I smash a finger into his granite-hewn chest. So not fair. Everett has the face and the body of a god. Lucky for me, so does Noah.
“You didn’t see it either,” he barks, and my adrenaline hits its zenith.
“Yes, Idid,” I spit the words in his face. “I saw a dead squirrel that once belonged to Hunter Fisher himself. A deadpet. It’s what I always see before something very, very sinister happens to its previous owner. Are you happy?” I snip as I whip off my apron and speed through the kitchen. I tell the staff I’ll be back to close up as I snatch my keys off the rack and race to my car that just so happens to be parked right over the spot Hunter breathed his last breath.
“Lemon, wait,” Everett riots as he barrels out after me. But it’s too late. I’m already racing off into the night.
I’ve never seen Everett so full of emotion—his heated anger matching mine. And then I remember him mentioning that he had his ways of getting information out of just about anyone. It was his gift.
I shake my head as a dull laugh pumps from me.
Everett wasn’t angry with me. He was manipulating me to get what he needed.
Well played, Everett. Well played.
I pull out of the alley and spot Ivy Fairbanks heading into the bakery with a dutiful Noah by her side.
But I don’t stop. I drive all the way to my sister’s. There’s only so much torment I can take for one night.
Everett promised he wouldn’t tell a soul.
I kept my end of the bargain. Let’s see if he keeps his.
Chapter 9
In keeping with this seemingly new tradition of having my sanity disband at some point in the latter half of the day, my mother and her questionable suitor are seated across from Noah and me at Mangia, Honey Hollow’s premier Italian restaurant which has write-ups in three national newspapers.
Noah picked me up from Lainey’s, looking exceptionally comely tonight with a dark inky suit and a slick black tie to match. His hair is thick and glossy as if it were still damp from the shower, and the musky scent of his cologne made me want to grab him by the tie and trail off into the woods with him. Under no sane circumstances should we be waiting for our meals to arrive while discussing politics of all things with my mother’s formidable boy toy. Sure, he’s handsome for a silver fox, but there’s a hint of something wily in his eyes that I can’t quite pinpoint. His movements are too fluid, and his face is peppered with white hairs that look decidedly like a briar patch. Side note: Both Everett and Noah have a comfortable amount of dark stubble on their blessed by God faces, but it looks soft and inviting. Wallace here looks like a prickly cactus. I don’t see how my mother could stand to make out with him.
Oh myGod.
I bolt upright as if I had just been shot. She’s not making out with him, is she?
Mom gives me a slight kick from under the table. “So Lottie, why don’t you tell us all how it feels to finally run the bakery of your dreams? You’ve been waiting for this moment all your life.” She offers a crimson-lipped smiled to both Noah and Wallace. “My daughter has been obsessed with baking ever since she got her hands on an Easy Bake Oven when she was three. Of course, all the girls used it.” She grimaces at the memory. “Meg would toss a little mud in for flavor. But not my Lottie. She only uses the finest ingredients.”
She winks my way, and I can feel my face heating. I’ve never done well with compliments in general. Truth be told, there’s nothing more that makes me want to duck under this table and bury my face in my purse. It’s been a long-standing problem of mine. My therapist, back in New York, suggested it was a byproduct of the fact I far more prefer rejection. She claimed that I don’t actually believe the generous statements offered my way, that, in fact, I infer it to be mocking and satirical. My God, she is so right on the money. But this is my mother, and I know for a fact she would upsell me to a tree if she had to. So I take my therapist’s sage advice on how to handle any kind words slung my way and say a simple thank you.
“Speaking of the bakery”—I start in on a perfect segue to Hunter and his financial woes—“I still haven’t quite gotten over the trauma of having a homicide occur on day one.”
The waitress comes with our dishes, and I grunt at the fact she’s just ruined my momentum. Wallace isn’t even looking at me right now. He’s practically salivating over the chicken Parmesan they’ve set in front of him. I can’t help but twitch my nose at the sight. My father once said never trust a man who orders chicken when there is steak on the menu. Noah moans approvingly as his steak Toscano is set before him, and I brush my shoulder to his, proud to have him by my side. Both my mother and I opted for the lighter fare, angel hair with Alfredo and shrimp.
Noah looks tenderly at me, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear we were having a moment. “I’m sorry you had such a dark event the night of the grand opening.” His dimples press in, and I’m openly swooning at the king by my side. Why are my mother and her prickly pear here again? Oh, right.