Page 16 of Toxic Apple Turnovers
“Are you playing hooky, detective?” I can’t help but flirt as I say it.
“Actually, I had to come back to town on business. I interviewed Hazel this morning. She’s staying at her sister’s place. I had a chance to look around briefly.”
“Ooh, I’ll have Lily man the register for me. I think I’d love to share a pizza with you at Mangias.” No sooner do I take off my apron than Lily comes up holding the deposit—it’s a hefty one, too, no thanks to my complete sellout of crispy apple turnovers—fifty cents extra for caramel dipping sauce, and I’m running low on that, too.
“I’ll take it, Lily,” I say as she hands me the canvas bag. “The bank is just a hop and a skip down from Mangias and I’m headed that way.”
“Thanks.” Lily takes the apron from me and wraps it around her own waist. “Hey, Noah, how about you and Alex take Lottie and me out for a double date sometime? That way you get what you want and I get what I want.” She gives a cheeky smile.
“Clear out Saturday night on your calendar.” He looks my way. “If you’re in, Lottie, so am I.”
“I’m in. I still owe you a date from your birthday, remember?” I can’t help but frown as I say it. “You don’t think Cormack has a surprise wedding set for that night, do you?”
He closes his eyes a moment. “I suppose you never know. Stranger things have happened.”
A shrill cry comes from somewhere near the ceiling, and I look up to find a glorious colorful macaw—the ghost of one anyway.
It’s Macon—yes, Macon the macaw. He was here to help a few months back with another case, and how I’ve missed him. How I’ve missed them all.
Macon screams once again. “Lottie Lemon! Lottie Lemon!” He dives down quickly and flies right out the center of the window.
Stranger things have happened indeed.
* * *
The signfor the Honey Hollow Savings and Loan looms up above, and I stop short, swinging Noah’s hand between us as I look up at it with a sense of nostalgia. The cool September breeze swirls around, blowing the dry leaves off the maple trees and sending them down the street in a citrus-colored processional.
“You do realize this place has a rich history between us,” I say.
His brows arch softly as a gentle smile tugs at his lips. “You thought my ratty old office was the loan department.” He reels me in slowly until we’re just a breath away.
“And you gave me the money to start my bakery anyway,” I whisper, looking into those hypnotic green eyes of his. It’s true. Noah inherited some money from his father —dirty money that was swindled from unfortunate souls such as Everett’s wealthy mother—who by the way, did not want it back. Noah didn’t want to keep it either. He wanted to use it for good. And I’m humbled he thought I was good in any way, shape, or form. “Thank you, Noah. A thousand times thank you for that. I could truly never thank you enough.”
He leans in and lands a soft kiss to my cheek. “No need to thank me. All I ask is that you keep those chocolate chip cookies coming.”
“As you wish,” I sing as we make our way into the bank.
It’s a touch warmer inside. The old carpeting they had last year has since been replaced with gray wood floors, and the walls are painted the softest shade of blue. The Savings and Loan has undergone extensive renovations this last year, and judging by the opulent chandeliers and marble counters, I’m guessing that they’re just about done.
The bank is nearly empty, about six or seven people in total counting the tellers, so this should be quick.
Noah leans in. “While you make a deposit, I think I’ll chat with the loan department if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. This will just take a minute.”
Huh—a loan?
I glance back at Noah as he speaks to a woman in a navy blazer.
What could Noah need a loan for? I certainly hope that generous gift he gave to the bakery didn’t drain him.
No sooner do I step up to the counter and smile at the teller—a young woman by the name of Doreen whom I’ve come to know throughout the years—than a loud pop emits from the entry.
I turn to find several people dressed in black. Each one has donned a mask with the face of a cute little pig, and in each of their hands is a not so cute little black gun.
“Everybody on the floor!” one of them shouts—a male according to his gruff deep voice—and the room explodes in screams as bodies hit the floor.
My adrenaline kicks in, can’t breathe, can’t move. I look to Noah, and we’re both frozen, looking at one another helplessly.