Pecan Pie Predicament (Murder in the Mix #27) - Addison Moore Page 0,28
my direction. “How does your skin feel? Dry—it’s a boy. Smooth and silky—it’s a girl.”
“I don’t know.” I hold out my hand and examine it. “I’m sort of in between.”
Mom scoffs. “You girls are silly. Everyone knows it’s about the taste. Lottie, I craved nothing but cookies and sweet treats with your sisters. It’s true what they say, sugar and spice and everything nice—that’s what little girls are made of.”
Keelie lets out a hard groan. “She’s not wrong, Lottie. I had a mad hankering for anchovy pizzas the entire time I was pregnant with Bear. In fact”—she checks her phone—“Mangias just opened. I should call one in.”
Lainey leans my way. “It must be a girl, Lottie. All you do is eat sweet treats.”
Mom wags a finger. “I don’t know. I’ve seen her polish off more fried pickles these last few months than should ever be legal. Reckless Pickles?” she mutters those last two words to herself.
“Pickles are old news,” Carlotta grunts. “She’s on a butter kick now. I think she’s having a Butterball turkey.” She grins my way. “You’re not going to mind a little cannibalism on Thanksgiving, are you?”
“I’m not going to mind any in twenty minutes. The Honey Pot has a Thanksgiving Day plate special with turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, cornbread stuffing, and a creamy green bean casserole topped with fried onions.” I’ll sneak a fried pickle in there myself.
Every customer in the place moans with delight at the thought.
The bell on the door chimes and in strides Britney Fox with her requisite yoga pants, a short coat pulled on top, and that lone stray blonde lock of hair covering her left eye. I’m still not even sure if Britney has a left eye. That’s to be determined.
Lainey snatches baby Bear from me, and I head back behind the counter to take Britney’s order.
We step toward the register and Britney all but snarls my way.
“You’re in a good mood,” I tease. “How about the very last slice of pecan pie and a cup of pumpkin spice coffee? On the house. You’ve been through enough.”
“You bet I’ve been through enough. And it’s all your fault.”
Carlotta moseys over, noshing on her pumpkin roll. “Hold the fireworks.” She gets cozy on a stool. “As you were.”
“My fault?” I blink over at Britney. I won’t lie, a part of me thinks she might be onto something.
“That’s right.” Britney doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re bad luck, Lottie Lemon. Noah mentioned your house burned down and so did the one that belonged to Essex.”
“Yes, they burned to the ground.” I shudder. “Anyway, we’re with Noah until a room opens up at the B&B.”
“I bet you are.” She smacks her lips. “Anyway, Noah says I’m a viable suspect. He won’t clear me, Lottie. So I need you to do it for me. My gym will be closed for another week. Thank God for Fanatical Fitness. I wasn’t sure when Reese opened up shop next door if it would hurt business or not, but at least my customers have somewhere to go until I open again. Let’s just hope they don’t prefer aerobics to cycling, or my entire business model will go up in smoke.” She sucks in a quick breath while looking at me. “It’s that Hearst curse at play, isn’t it? Noah mentioned something about it and laughed it off, but that’s why those houses burned down, isn’t it?” She sucks in another breath. “And poor Hannah was found eating one of your cakes!”
“Pies,” I correct. “She was eating one of my pies.” I bite down on my lip. “I’m not proud of it, but it seems to be a running theme.”
“Exactly,” she hisses. “Lottie Lemon, face it, you’re not just bad luck—you’re cursed!”
“Would you hush?” I bring a finger to my lips as I glance around. “I am not cursed, nor do I have bad luck.”
Britney scoffs. “Then how do you explain all of the death and destruction left in the wake of your desserts? Don’t think I haven’t heard the rumor going around town that you’re a serial killer. I know for a fact one of your desserts has been at the scene of the crime from the very beginning. I’m no mathematician, but I think the odds are one in impossible for that to randomly happen. I’m sensing a deadly pattern. And now you’re coming after me.”
“You weren’t the victim!” My voice hikes in a panic.