Page 15 of Macaron Massacre
Noah grunts as he rises to his feet. He takes us to a shed up the hill, and to my surprise there’s a dummy on a wire that bounces out of the door and comes rushing our way.
“Shoot, Lottie!Shoot!” Noah shouts. “He’s coming at you, and he’s armed!”
My fingers fumble with my weapon as I quickly get into the proper stance, and I fire, not once but three times in a row, and each time it feels as if I’ve dislocated my shoulder.
“You did it!” Noah shouts. “You killed him, Lottie. You saved yourself from danger.”
We finish up and take off our gear. I give the gun to Noah for safekeeping on the way home.
“How does it feel?” Everett squints from the harsh light of the sun as he looks to me.
“It felt dangerous. I don’t think I could do that to a live human being.”
He lands a loving hand on my arm and warms me. “Sometimes, Lemon, it’s kill or be killed.”
And that’s another reason I might just hang up my sleuthing hat forever.
I nod into his words as they sink down into my bones. “I guess that’s too bad because I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
“Prove it.”
Everett takes us home and runs a nice hot bath for the two of us, and I prove those words to him in the very best way.
And we practice for that baby who lingers in some far-off future. We practice again and again.
Yes, we do.
Chapter 6
The key to a good party is having a memorable menu. And since the Honey Pot Diner—God rest their soul this week—will be catering my sister’s bridal shower with enough canapés and finger sandwiches to outfit Buckingham Palace, it’s up to me to outfit the dessert portions. Lainey has virtually given me license to do whatever I want. Her only request was that there be a macaron tower like the one she saw at the mayor’s event—or as it’s being referenced now around Honey Hollow—the Macaron Massacre.
Honestly, I detest when one of my sweet treats is unwittingly connected to a brutal homicide, but as of late, the two seem to go together like bees to honey. However, on the bright side, I’ve sold out of macarons each day this week, and today is starting off just about the same.
The Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery is beginning to fill with bodies as Lily takes on the brisk morning orders from customers. I’ve just finished baking up a storm, and my feet are already killing me. I pull out my phone for a brief moment of respite before I join Lily up front, and instead of finding the respite I so craved, I gag at the barrage of text messages that greet me. It’s not the sheer number—although that in and of itself is alarming—but it’s the consistency of the fallacy they seem to be promoting.
Congrats on the baby!
Why didn’t you tell me?
Who’s the lucky father?
I always knew you were gunning to trap a man.
That last one is from Naomi, and oddly enough, coming from her it’s par for the course.
I head up front, and Lily makes a face my way.
“Morning sickness?”
“What? No! Contrary to popular belief, I’m not having a baby.”
“Lottie!” she snipes as she slides over a cup of coffee to a waiting customer. “You’re not getting rid of it, are you? In the least put it up for adoption. You don’t know how many women would be willing to raise Essex’s baby. It is his,right?” Her lips contort as if she just stumbled upon another juicy tidbit of gossip.
“No, it’s not. I mean, it’s nobody’s. I’m not pregnant.”
She huffs just as a familiar crowd pushes through the door.
“You don’t have to lie to me, Lottie. We’ve mended fences. I almost consider you a friend now.”