pie before taking off.
“Hey?” I call out in a semi-friendly tone. “Oh, never mind.”
Everett turns in the direction I’m looking in. “What is it?”
“That man in the red shirt just took off with a slice of pecan pie. But don’t worry about it. It’s the first day of the fair. Half the people here think the food is free. Were you going to say something?”
“I have news.” A devilish gleam takes over his eyes, but before he can expound on the news, Carlotta Sawyer, aka my biological mother, comes up panting as if she just ran a lap around Honey Lake.
Carlotta and I look as if we could be twins, with the exception of the fact she’s ahead of me in the gray hair, crow’s feet, and wrinkles department. We share the same caramel-colored tresses, same hazel eyes, and penchant for seeing the dead. We’re both something called transmundane, further classified as supersensual, meaning we can see right to the other side—the supernatural side.
Carlotta holds up a finger. “I just sampled a dish from each and every booth at the fair.”
“Carlotta.” I grimace her way. “It wasn’t a race. The fair is open until eight. You’ll have plenty of time to make ten or twelve rounds.”
“Not me.” She shoots a snide look to the booth next to mine, which happens to belong to the Honey Pot Diner. “Your sister finagled me into working a shift for the Honey Pot. I’ll be passing out plates loaded with turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes and gravy until the cows come home.”
“Oh, that sounds delicious,” I say, giving the Honey Pot Diner’s booth a look of longing. My sister, Meg, and my best friend, Keelie, are working the bustling booth side by side as the masses do their best to snatch up a treat worthy of a Thanksgiving feast.
That man in the red tank top pops up again, and I can’t help but note his biceps are so big it looks as if someone blew them up like a couple of balloons. He swipes a plate from the Honey Pot Diner and casually walks away once again without paying. I’m sensing a theme of blatant thievery here. I make a face before turning my attention back to Carlotta.
“A shift at the Honey Pot booth won’t hurt. At least it’s honest work.” I know for a fact Carlotta has been in need of a little spending cash.
“I’m not interested in honest work. Besides, I’ve got a plan, and it doesn’t involve slinging mash or hocking cookies.”
Everett lifts a brow. “Is it legal?”
“Legal shmeagle.” Carlotta lifts a finger and opens her mouth, but before she can clue us in on any of her questionably unlawful aspirations, my mother lands in front of me with her blonde hair blowing wildly and her blue eyes wide with glee.
“Reckless After Dark!” she shouts.
Everett bounces his brows my way. “Now that sounds as if it might have a few legal ramifications.”
A tiny moan comes from me. Everett knows I have a serious weakness when it comes to his knowledge of all things legal. As much as I’ve been craving food during this pregnancy, I’ve been craving Everett. And believe me when I say, he’s just as delicious to take a bite out of.
“What’s going on, Mom?” I ask as Miranda Lemon, the sweet woman who adopted me after Carlotta here saw fit to abandon me on the floor of the Honey Hollow Fire Department as an infant. My adoptive father, a fireman by the name of Joseph Lemon, was the one that found me and the rest is Lemon family history. He’s since passed away, and my mother went on to raise her three girls on her own. And once we flew the coop, she purchased a bed and breakfast right here in town, which she presently owns and operates. She’s also a shiny new novelist who just this past summer put out her first book, Reckless Fear, and this past month she put out her latest release, Reckless Mattresses. And I have a feeling this reckless conversation has a lot to do with her foray into steamy literature.
Mom pecks her head my way. “I need to come up with a title for my new book. It won’t be out until some time next year, but the title is so important, Lottie. It’s just as important as naming a child.”
Carlotta snaps up a piece of pecan pie. “How about Reckless Ménage? You can use Lot and her men as research.”
“Ooh.”