Page 6 of Donut Disaster
Now it’s my mouth falling open.
Cassie averts her gaze. Her demeanor is far curter. “I’m dating Morgan. I’m the one who knew Morgan first. You’re the one who’s trying to steal him. Get it straight.” She looks my way, her jaw sharpening with definition. “I’m not interested in sharing. But Morgan and I broke up for a while last fall, and that’s when this ditz jumped into the picture. Morgan and I are feeling our way back to one another, and soon she’ll beoutof the picture once again.”
“We’ll see.” Anika stiffens, her eyes slitting to nothing. Gone is the perky young girl, replaced with someone who looks as if she doesn’t take no for an answer. “I think I’ll try your cookies now, Lottie.”
She takes off and Cassie steps in. “Anika is a brat. Don’t let her questionable pedigree woo you like it has Morgan.”
“Oh, I get it. She comes from money?” Of course, she does. Fallbrook should have tipped me off.
“You could say that. Her mother is Jane Lloyd, the blonde bimbo who climbed to fame via a sex tape, and her dad is rocker Jimmy Love. I think she’s met her parents once or twice between her long stints in boarding school. She thinks she’s going to end up with Morgan because she always gets what she wants. She’s wrong. I can promise both you and her, she’ll never have Morgan. Excuse me.” She takes off into the crowd and my heart breaks for her.
In a strange way, our lives are reflective of one another. They’re basically experiencing the same love triangle with reversed genders.
Cormack screams and hollers and does her best to haul everyone over to the picnic table so we can sing to Noah in front of his decadent donut cake, but just as the crowd starts to migrate that way, the first few fireworks of the night explode overhead.
“Go ahead and grab a donut everyone,” Noah shouts. “Enjoy the show!”
He comes over and wraps an arm around my waist. I can’t help but note that Everett is shooting him a hard look that clearly says he disapproves, but it’s Noah’s birthday and the sky has our attention at the moment, so both Everett and I let it go. Not that I mind it. A part of me is very much hungry for Noah’s touch.
The fireworks go off in a parade of pinks and blues, greens and purples. Giant flowery blooms and sparkling umbrellas as big as Honey Lake itself. The sky goes black and a loud sonic boom erupts, shaking the ground beneath our feet.
The crowd gasps with approval, but Noah stiffens as he looks around. “Everett, keep an eye on Lottie. I’ll be right back.” He darts past the sand and into the woods that line the outer banks of the lake.
“Nobody keeps an eye on me,” I say, chasing after him. “Noah?”
“Lemon,” Everett barks as he catches up.
I pause, out of breath, as I look around the dark thicket before us.
“We’ve lost him.” I marvel at Noah’s ability to turn into the invisible man.
An ethereal glow lights up the woods to my left, and every muscle in my body stiffens.
Everett steps in close. “What is it, Lottie?”
“I don’t know.” I take off in that direction, the moonlight as my guide as the grand finale begins to detonate overhead. A spray of glittering stars erupts from the base of an evergreen, and then I see it. The large black beast of a dog is setting off fireworks of his own, albeit of the otherworldly variety. “Everett!” I pant as I jog on over.
One of my glazed crullers lies half-eaten on the ground and next to it lies a hand.
A strangled cry comes from my throat as Everett and I spot Morgan lying on his back with a crimson stain over his chest.
Dr. Morgan Dawson won’t need to choose between girlfriends anymore.
Dr. Morgan Dawson is dead.
Chapter 3
Ahorrific scream erupts from me as Everett pulls me away from the body.
Noah runs up with Ivy on his tail. Soon enough, the entire woods are crawling with off-duty deputies who were trying to enjoy the remnants of summer down at the lake.
That large beast of a dog saunters over and barks my way.
“Everett, he’s here.” I take up his hand. For whatever reason, a few months back, my powers hiked up another notch, and now anyone who’s holding my hand can hear the dead, too. The talking pet part is relatively new, and I can assure every soul on this planet that is one supernatural stunt I will never get used to.
“Follow me,” I say a little too sternly to the beast.
I can’t help it. Murder makes me ornery. And why on God’s green earth couldn’t this adorable pooch have helped me block the killer off at the pass? I guess you can say I’m a bit touchy at the beast.