Wicked Whoopie Pies Addison Moore (the false prince series TXT) 📖

come back, so I can’t tell her I’m privy to homicidal intel—such as a long-deceased skunk.

“We both know it, Lottie.” She gives a dark laugh. “If anyone knows who could have done this, I’d bet good money that therapist of hers would. Terri ticked off a lot of people. But surely Terri herself must have been aware of someone who was angry enough to kill. I can’t imagine she wouldn’t have shared that during one of their sessions.”

Binky glides into a flip. “Oh, I wanted to kill her myself. Not in the literal sense, of course. But regardless, someone beat me to it.”

“Her therapist? Olive St. James?” I ask Clem. “I just met her.”

She nods. “She’s a super sweet lady. She’s been counseling at the church for going on two or three years now.” She pulls up the whistle around her neck and gives it a blow. Suddenly, that swarm surrounding Everett disbands as bodies run every which way.

“I’d better get going,” Clementine says as she starts to step away. “If the administration doesn’t see me doing my part to break up the melee, it could be my neck on the line.”

She trots off and Binky floats before me. “I have to go, too, Lottie. Charlie said we’d be raiding your bakery next. She does like to eat sweet treats. We have so much in common.” She up and disappears in the same starry manner that brought her here to begin with.

They have something in common, all right. Charlie is a stinker, I’ll give her that.

I look back at the newly dispersed crowd, only to find Everett staggering in this direction. His hair is mussed, his T-shirt looks crooked, and he has kiss prints all over his face, sans his lips thankfully.

“Everett! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. They just wanted pictures for the most part.” He frowns back at ground zero for a second. “How did it go with Mrs. Greenbaum?”

“I’ll tell you all about it on the way back to the house.” I glance at my phone. “We still have forty-five minutes before Charlie’s family reunion. Do you think we can make it work?”

A dark laugh gurgles from him. “We can make it work twelve ways till Sunday, in half that time. You mind if I take a shower first? I’ve had more bodies climbing over me in the last ten minutes than I care to count.”

“Only if I can join you.” My phone chirps in my hand and I glance down. “It’s a group text from Noah to you and me. Got some info on the case. Headed to the B&B a little early. Meet you there.”

Everett wraps his arm around me. “Looks as if we’ll have to hit the shower when we get home, Lemon. Who knows? The case might be solved by then and we’ll have a reason to celebrate.”

I shrug up at him. “I say we celebrate anyway.” I land a kiss to his lips. “Thanks for keeping your kisser safe from the onslaught for me.”

“These lips belong to you and you only, always and forever.” Everett takes me in his arms and kisses me deeply, until my heart threatens to drum right out of my chest. And just like that, Essex Everett Baxter makes my schoolgirl fantasies come true.

Now to track down the killer so we can rest easy and get back to doing what we do best behind closed doors—noshing on some whoopie pies while making a little whoopie ourselves.

Noah

“Toxicology came back,” I say to Lottie and Everett as bodies begin to stream into the conservatory, a glass structure tacked onto the B&B as an afterthought a few years back. “It looks as if we have another murder on our hands.”

The two of them nod my way because that little supernatural quirk of Lottie’s clued us in on the fact a lot quicker than toxicology ever could—in fact, before the victim herself ever bit the big one.

“How?” Lottie leans in. “What happened?”

“Methadone in combination with strong opioids.”

“Methadone?” Lottie shakes her head. “Is that the same as meth?”

“No,” I tell her. “Crystal methamphetamine is a stimulant that goes by the street name meth. Methadone is a drug often prescribed by the medical community to treat injuries.”

Everett nods. “It’s used to treat opioid addiction as well. It comes up all the time in my case files.”

“That’s right,” I tell him. “Whoever did this had access to both methadone and opioids.”

“Wait a minute.” Lottie’s eyes track every which way and I can practically see her brain ticking away. “When I spoke to Clementine today, she mentioned her husband used to jog by Terri’s house every day. She said he had surgery on his shoulder last year but that jogging didn’t bother him. If he had surgery on his shoulder, she might have had access to these kinds of meds.” She goes on to fill us in on the entire conversation she had with the woman.

“Wow,” I muse. “It sounds as if Terri really did a number on Miles Brogan. Good to know. Good work, Detective Lemon. I’d see about getting a raise if I were you.”

She laughs. “My boss weighs about twelve pounds, is all of twenty-three inches tall, and knows how to make me dance at every hour in the morning.”

Everett’s chest thumps. “She’s a tough one.”

“She’ll have to be to grow up in this town,” I tease. “Where is Lyla Nell, anyway?” I crane my neck past Lottie and spot Lainey holding Josie and Keelie walking in with baby Bear, but no sign of my little princess.

“She’s with my mother.” Lottie hitches her thumb at the door just as her mother and Wiley show up, sans Lyla Nell.

“Mom, where’s the baby?” Lottie’s voice hikes a notch as she quickly scans the crowd.

“She’s upstairs taking a nap.” Miranda gives both Everett and me a little wave.

“Upstairs?” Lottie’s voice hikes. “As in all by herself?”

“Relax, Lottie.” Miranda fishes something out of her purse that looks like a walkie-talkie and I recognize it