Page 29 of Macaron Massacre
Noah huffs at his ex, “Explain yourself quickly.”
Everett clicks his tongue. “You’d better do it, Britney, or he might lock you out of the bedroom tonight.”
The thought of Noah’s bedroom being occupied by another female other than me makes me sad—selfishly sad.
Britney wave us all off. “I meant because Lucky isn’t so lucky, after all. In fact, Smack Mack”—she steals a moment to growl at Cormack, and my goodness how I’m loving the quasi-violent nickname—“if you knew how to read people just a bit better, you’d know that Lonely here is quiteunlucky.”
“How do you figure?” I’m about to point out that both of the most handsome men in the room happen to have an affection for me, and that makes me feel pretty darn lucky, but think better of it. Smack Mack is liable to pluck her hair out, and mine, at the revelation.
Brit lifts a blood red fingernail. “You find bodies. You solve crimes. You’re a virtual magnet for criminals. That bling is just a setup for a mugging. I’m a firm believer that women shouldn’t wear showy jewelry for just that reason.”
Cormack gasps as if she were just forbidden from decorating herself with baubles from Tiffany’s as if she were a million dollar Christmas tree. “She can wear a fake.” Cormack’s celadon eyes dart my way. “I know a great jeweler who can do a replica. You’ll keep that one in the safe.” She nods frenetically as if we were suddenly in cahoots to find a way to display our fancy ruble.
Britney gives an exasperated sigh, her only visible eye closing for the briefest of moments as if she’s had enough of the nitwit among us. But if Brit is so brilliant, why hasn’t she gotten rid of her yet?
Britney glowers at Cormack, and I’m delightfully amused. “An idiot crook can’t tell the difference between the real deal and a replica—thus, the danger remains the same.”
Cormack sniffs. “And that’s why they’re the idiot.”
“It takes one to know one,” I mutter mostly to myself. And heck, I don’t even know if it made sense, but it felt darn good to get it out. “Don’t worry about my ring.” I offer Everett a forlorn look. “It’s most certainly going into the safe. Your safe. That was very kind of your mother, but don’t you think you should confess that we’re not quite engaged?”
Everett inches back as if it were the last thing on his mind. “Lemon, in some countries, the things we’ve done have already qualified us as husband and wife. Keep the ring.” His lips curl with naughty promise. “It looks good on you.”
Noah chuckles. “But it means nothing. Yes, Lottie, keep the ring. We’ll hock it for a down payment on our first house.”
Everett gives a slow blink. “I’m a homeowner, Lemon. I’d never make you sell your jewelry to buy me a piece of real estate.”
Cormack swoons, momentarily forgetting which old beau she’s trying to stab with Cupid’s arrow.
Noah’s dimples press in approvingly as he looks my way. “I’ve got news about the case, Lottie. We found the murder weapon.”
“Where?” Suddenly, I can’t get close enough to Noah. If his tactic for the night was to lure me with evidence, it’s working.
“It was spiked in Gloria’s flower bed. We found it with a metal detector.”
“A metal detector? Now that’s thinking outside of the flower box.”
The lights dim, and the entire lot of us takes up a row of seats near the front—with Noah and Everett ensconcing me like bookends. We’re far too close to the stage—the area infamously known as the fun zone, but seeing that every other spot is taken, we don’t have a say in the matter.
The room darkens to pitch before a single spotlight shines center stage and Michelle Ireland pops into existence like an apparition with her arms stretched wide.
“Boo,” a gentle voice whispers into my left ear, and I glance back to find Nell illuminated like a glow stick as she hovers next to me.
“Nice to see you here!” I whisper. “Ooh, let me do something real quick,” I say as I pick up both Noah and Everett’s hands. “Nell is here,” I say to the two of them.
“Welcome!” Michelle Ireland’s voice booms throughout the room effortlessly and a tad too loud as if the mic was turned up all the way. She’s wearing a flowing white dress, her auburn hair is wild and wavy, and her lips are a jarring shade of red juxtaposed to her paper white skin. And that smile, it just seems to get wider by the minute.
She struts to the front of the stage, and the lights come up a bit as she searches the audience with that perma-grin of hers.
“If you’ve come out tonight, it’s because you’re ready for a change in your life. You’ve found the old way of doing things is breaking your spirit—breaking your heart and the hearts of those around you.”
Nell leans in. “I’ll say. Lottie, you might just glean something from this, after all.”
I turn and frown at Nell. As much as I want her advice on my wonky love life, I suddenly regret the fact I volunteered to play the part of a megaphone for the other side. I try to let go, but they both happily secure my fingers to theirs once again.
Drats.
Just my luck.