Murder in the Mix Boxed Set 28-30: Cozy Mystery Addison Moore (the reading strategies book .txt) 📖

“I’ve got a suspect to track down and no idea where to find him. And don’t worry,” I say, looking to Evie. “I plan on including Uncle Noah and your dad in on this adventure.”

“What’s his name, Lottie?” Keelie pulls out her phone and is raring to go.

“Chris Holiday.”

“Chris?” Meg looks momentarily perplexed. “The accountant Chris?”

“Yes!” I snap my fingers her way, thrilled she seems to have a bead on my next stop on the Gloria Abner homicide express.

“He’s meeting us for drinks tonight at An Axe to Grind. Or as the local accountants like to call it, Axes and Taxes.”

Carlotta slaps her hand over the counter. “What the heck. I’m in.”

“Me too.” Evie nods with a touch too much excitement. “I’ve got an axe to grind or two.” She sneers my way. “It seems someone told my father I was about to shack up with one hundred of my closest boyfriends at the Maple Meadows Lodge next week.”

Keelie scoffs. “Were they wrong?”

Evie sinks in her seat. “They weren’t off by much. Anyway, that freed up my night. I’m on break and I’m ready to party. An Axe to Grind, it is. What time are we meeting up, Aunt Meg?”

“Seven.”

“Seven.” I say as I nod her way.

“Seven,” the rest of the room echoes.

I step off to the side to text Everett.

Hey, hot stuff. You ready to throw sharp objects with me at a place called An Axe to Grind? I hear it’s a great way to get a physical release after a long day of sentencing the bad guys to a life behind bars.

He texts right back. Sorry. I’ve got meetings that are bound to run late.

My heart sinks a notch as the dancing ellipses light up my screen along with his next text.

But as soon as I’m through, I’ll be there. By the way, I’ve got far better ways to get a release. I’ll give you a hint. You’re involved in that endeavor.

I can’t help but bite down a smile at the flirty remark, but deep down inside, I’ve got a nagging feeling that something isn’t right.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I put in a call to Everett’s office, and sure enough, his secretary picks up.

“Hi, Millicent, it’s me, Lottie. I was just wondering if you could put me through to Everett. His phone seems to be off.”

“I’m sorry, Lottie, but Everett left hours ago. He said he had to meet up with someone. Maybe his phone ran out of batteries?”

“I’m sure that’s what it is.” My heart sinks as we say goodbye and I hang up.

Only I’m not so sure that’s what it is.

What’s happening with Everett and me? Is a life confined to one woman something he’s just not wired for? But why sneak around? Why not cut me loose if that’s what his intention is? My insides feel as if they’re about to burst with grief at the thought of Everett running around on me.

I know that’s not what’s happening here. I’m sure there’s a good explanation. And as soon as I see him tonight, I’m going to demand he gives it to me.

But for now, I have to keep my head in the investigative game.

Chris Holiday has some accounting to do this evening, and he’s going to do it with me.

And accounting for murder.

Chapter 12

This December night glows lavender under the supervision of a baby-faced moon.

Noah drove me down to An Axe to Grind for what he’s dubbed as an official date night. I wasn’t going to fight him on the semantics of it. Especially since I don’t mind one bit grabbing a bite with Noah or grinding an axe or two with a suspect while he’s with me.

If there is any debauchery to be had, you can find the lion’s share of it in this blip on the map located just under Honey Hollow, a dicey town called Leeds. An Axe to Grind happens to be located just down the street from the gentlemen’s club where Meg works as a dance choreographer, which explains why Meg is heavily in the know on where to have drinks in this debauchery-rich district.

The establishment looks swanky, with a mirrored entry cluttered with people clamoring to get inside and a large neon sign above a bullseye with an axe through it. But right now, neither the throngs of people bustling to get into the place nor the flashy sign is holding my attention. Instead, both Noah and I stare in horror at the forest green minivan parked in the street with a line snaking around it—exclusively comprised of men with greasy grins on their faces.

The van has that old familiar sign slapped to the side of it that reads A Whole Lotta Touchin’ Massages. Inquire within. You won’t need a loan for a few cheap moans.

“Noah”—I hiss just as the van begins to sway back and forth like a rocking horse—“arrest her. Shoot out the tires or something. Better yet, shoot Carlotta in the foot or something to disable this debacle from taking place ever again.”

He steps over to the rear window, gives an aggressive knock, and the van stops gyrating.

The side door slides open and Carlotta pokes her head out. Her hair is mussed and her skin looks piqued with color.

“Foxy, is that you?” she grouses as she squints our way. “I see you’ve got Lot Lot with ya. As soon as I give my client a boot in the patoot, I’ll let the two of you squeeze a little romp in the back. I’ve been needing a break anyway.”

“We are not romping,” I shrill the words at her like a threat. “And would you knock this off? And what in the heck is going on in there, anyway?” I crane my neck and spot the rear seats are missing, a body lies facedown with his hairy back oiled up, and about six different candles burn all around the poor guy as if some midnight sacrifice were about