Pecan Pie Predicament (Murder in the Mix #27) - Addison Moore Page 0,35
Food Friends?”
“Of course I’ve heard of them. They come by the bakery all the time to pick up internet orders. They’re a huge hit and a treasure for those who don’t have time to run around picking up their meals or their groceries.”
A knowing smile glides across her face. “Rumor has it, she was one of your biggest customers. She didn’t shy away from eating the wrong things—because she knew she didn’t have to. She had a standing appointment for lipo every four months.”
My mouth falls open at the revelation.
“Come to think of it”—I lift a finger as I do a little mental math—“my Food Friends orders have gone down significantly over the past few days. How do you like that? Hot Hannah was a closet pie fan. Not that I could blame her. You should really try one of my pies.”
Barry balls his fists into his hips. “You’re letting her get you off track, Lottie. I think she knows something that’s she’s not telling you. It’s a classic diversion tactic to make the victim sound as if they deserved what they got. I logged a lot of time in front of the TV watching CSI: Vermont.”
I think on it, and a light bulb all but goes off.
“Reese, I saw a man leaving your gym today. He was tall and was wearing a fedora. Would you happen to know who that was?”
Her eyes enlarge a moment. “No. Wh-why would I know that?” She takes a deep breath as she looks to Noah and Everett. “Are they still going at it? I’m sorry, Lottie. I’d better get over there. I think that’s their fifth tie. Something isn’t right.”
Something isn’t right, all right.
“Wait,” I say, desperate to hold her down another minute. “Reese, who do you think could have done something like this to Hannah? Did she have any enemies that you know of?”
She blows out a breath, and her lips vibrate. “Obviously, Brit and I were her competition. But she came after our livelihood. She gave us no choice.” She scans the sky as if looking for answers. “There was that food critic, something or other. The one with the red hair?”
“Autumn? The journalist from Better Homes and Calories?”
“That’s the one.” Her expression sours. “I’m shocked they sell a single copy of that magazine with a name like that. Anyway, she and Hannah were having a tense exchange that day.”
She’s right. I witnessed the tension between them myself, but I have no idea what that could have been about. Autumn said they were friends and offered to introduce me to both Hannah and Maizy. Maybe I’ll do a little digging in Autumn’s direction, but I’m not letting Reese off the hook for getting squirrely when I brought up the man in the fedora. It’s clear she knows more than she’s letting on.
“That poor handsome man with the broken arm.” She shakes her head while looking at Everett. “He’s going to feel this tomorrow.”
“That’s my husband. He’s been a real trooper about that arm, but I bet you’re right. I’d better get out there and put a stop to this.”
“Oh, I am right. I broke my wrist last summer. Had surgery, pins put in—the whole nine painful yards. Honestly, the best thing for him is a good soak in the hot tub. Make sure to wrap up his cast really well so it doesn’t get wet, but the rest of his body will appreciate it. You just don’t know how much compensating you do when you’ve got a limb out of commission. My hot tub saved me these last few months.”
“Ohh, that sounds good.” There’s nothing I like better than Everett in a hot tub.
We head back to cow chip ground zero, where Noah and Everett are grunting it out by way of showing off their cow chip hurling prowess.
Noah takes off his shirt, and all of the women in the crowd jockey their way to the front.
Everett looks unamused as he unbuttons his shirt and slowly loses some of his stitches, too. The female crowd doubles in an instant, and I’m pretty sure about three different women faint as he exposes his rock-hard chest to the masses.
Don’t get me wrong. Noah has a rock-hard chest, too. And to be honest, between the two of them, this is one too many six-packs than this sweet corn festival can handle.
The two of them battle it out until their chests are slicked with sweat and the fairgrounds are soaked with drool.