Bobbing For Bodies: MURDER IN THE MIX 2 Page 5

  I give a quick glance around. A handful of customers are being tended to at the teller windows, but I don’t see Micheline.

  A woman in a yellow pencil skirt and cashmere cardigan walks by with an arm full of files. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, actually. I was looking for Micheline Roycroft, but I don’t see her. It wouldn’t be her day off, would it?”

  “Oh no, she’s right next door in the loans department.”

  “Loans department. Right. Thank you,” I say, scuttling my way back out. I know all about the loans department. That day I met Noah comes crashing back to me, and I can’t help but smile just thinking about it. The day I met Everett comes barreling back, too, and I cringe at how up close and personal my entire head came with his nether regions. Both introductions were equally awkward, and yet they both led to what feel like genuine friendships. A part of me hopes that what Noah and I have blooms into so much more. After that New York debacle, I had sworn off men. Silly, I know. But here I am. Hoping to make it official with the cute boy down the street. And if I end up loving one of those rentals on Country Cottage Road, he will literally be the boy down the street two times over.

  I head into the small, boxy room and spot Micheline and a couple of other people seated in makeshift cubicles. She’s the only one without a customer at her desk, so I happily head on over.

  “Hey, girl!” I say brightly and am suddenly mortified because the love of her life was just gunned down brutally less than twenty-four hours ago.

  Micheline looks up with bloodshot eyes, her mouth pulled back in horror, and then just as quickly she softens as she stands and offers me a seat.

  “What brings you here?”

  “I come bearing gifts,” I say with a grimace as I set the pink box in front of her. “Chocolate chip cookies.” A lull of silences cuts through the air. “I know this is hard for you. It’s hard for all of us. I’m really sorry. Hunter was my friend, too.”

  Her face pinches as if she might cry, and she snatches a few tissues out of the box in front of her and pushes them to her nose. “I know. I know it’s hard for you, too.” She offers a commiserating nod. “How is Bear?”

  “He’s with family. I texted him last night after I left, and he mentioned they’d be busy making arrangements today.”

  “I figured so.” Fresh tears pour from her as she dabs them away with that growing wad in her hands. “I suppose it’s for the best. Get that part over with.” Her eyes congeal thick with tears. “How are you? How’s the bakery?”

  Micheline slouches over herself, her body looking far more fragile than I remember. If I didn’t know better, I’d bet she was grieving far longer than a day.

  “It’s great. It’s doing well. I mean, it’s a few hours into the first day of business and the tourists and the townspeople really seem to enjoy it.” I tug on a loose curl near my shoulder. “Can I ask if you had a chance to speak with Hunter last night, you know, before it happened?”

  Micheline sighs as she looks to the ceiling. “I did end up finding him, but he was having a pretty heated debate with someone and I didn’t want to interrupt. In hindsight, knowing how awful everything turned out, I wish I would have interrupted.”

  “I bet you had a lot to say.” I tip my ear her way without meaning to. It’s a natural tendency I have when I want to do my best to listen to someone. My mother says it’s hardwired in me to do that.

  “Oh, I did.” She cocks her head as if none of it were good. “He had some troubles, and I wanted to help him as much as I could.”

  “Troubles?” I lean in. Micheline really is beautiful. I remember how close we grew while we dated the Fishers. I used to think she could have any guy she wanted, and I still stand by that statement. Of course, Hunter was a looker himself, as is Bear. But Bear’s problem was that he knew it. And, if I’m being honest, Hunter knew it, too.

  “Not dating troubles.” She shakes her head as if ready to dispel any rumors from the start. “We were getting close, though.” Her voice wobbles, and she adds another tissue to the collection in her hand. Her eyes hook to mine as she gives an exasperated sigh. “He had come to me asking for a loan. He didn’t get it.”

  A loan? Micheline had to turn him down for a loan? That must have really put a pin in his ego.

  “Is that why the two of you were having trouble? You looked pretty upset last night when I saw you. I didn’t want to say anything, but you looked like you could have used a tissue then, too.” My heart drums into my chest because I can’t shake the feeling Micheline’s walls are about to crumble, and all of the dark secrets she knows about Hunter are going to topple out.

  “I could have. That’s for sure.” She cracks open the box and politely offers me a cookie first.

  “No thanks. They’re all for you.” The rich scent of vanilla and chocolate permeates the air between us. It’s too strong and far too delicious to ignore, so I don’t blame her for diving on in.

  “Mmm,” she moans through a bite, her eyes rolling up toward her forehead. “I’m sorry, but this is bliss. I haven’t eaten a thing all day. And, of course, I couldn’t even think about dinner last night. You’re a saving grace, Lottie. You always were.”

  “You’re welcome.” This is the part where I should probably wrap things up and leave, but I just feel so close to getting the answers that I need—answers that I didn’t even know I wanted. “I hope you don’t feel like I’m pushing, but is it true? Did the two of you have a disagreement? I mean, if you did, I want to be here for you. I can’t imagine what that would feel like to leave things off with someone.” It’s true. I’m still her friend, and I would do anything to support her through this.

  Micheline swallows hard and looks out the window to her left as an older surly man with silver hair loads drywall debris into his truck. I’m guessing he’s one of the construction workers next door judging by the dirty white tee and matching pants. He has a tool belt on without anything attached. He turns slightly while wiping the sweat from his brow, and I note how ruddy his complexion is. I suppose hauling building materials in and out of the back all day would give anyone a great workout.

  “Hunter and I had a lot of disagreements. But in the end, we were close to getting ourselves back on track.” Her chest bucks, but she keeps her gaze firmly directed out of the window. “He didn’t qualify for a loan from the bank, but I know he was asking Chuck for money, too.” She nods toward the surly man outside.

  “Chuck? Does he work for Bear, too?”

  Bear has his own construction company, and Hunter was his second in command.

  “No, that’s the replacement Bear called in to finish up some of his overflow work. Chuck has his own construction company. Popov Construction.” No sooner does she say it than he slams the door, and I see the oversized lettering across the door that reads Popov Construction. We build it to last for life.

  “That’s right. They were so busy with the bakery.”

  “Yes, exactly.” She takes a deep breath, relaxing somewhat for the first time since I set foot in here.

  “Did Chuck give Hunter the loan he needed?”

  She shrugs as if she weren’t certain of it. “Not that I know of. And if he were going to do it, well, it’s too late for that now, isn’t it?”

  There’s a note of anger in her tone, and it can’t be denied. I’ve never seen Micheline so all over the place with her emotions. Not that the occasion doesn’t call for it, but something is definitely off. First of all, she was upset before Hunter was brutally gunned down. I suppose a rocky relationship can do that to you, but still. So odd.

  My brief wedding engagement comes to mind, and I quickly push it away. Curt and all of the grief he caused can stay in New York forever as far as I’m concerned.

  “Hunter sounded pretty desperate,” I whisper mostly to myself. “Hey, Micheline? What do you think made him so desperate for money?” I lean in, ear tipped her way in the event she feels an innate need to fill it with words—hopefully, the right ones
.

  Her features harden a moment as she looks right at me.

  “I guess”—her mouth opens and closes as she quickly scoops up a stack of files over her desk—“I really need to get back to work.” She hops out of her seat. “Thank you for the cookies, Lottie.”

  There’s that. She takes off down the hall, and I hightail it out the door and into the icy autumn air just as Chuck Popov is about to climb into his truck.

  “Excuse me, Chuck?”

  He does a double take my way and lifts a bushy gray brow.

  “You wouldn’t have happened to have any dealings with Hunter Fisher, did you?”

  A garble of unintelligible sounds emit from his mouth as he climbs into his truck shaking his head. The engine fires up in a moment as the truck expels a plume of smoke and drives off down the street.

  And there he goes.

  “Looks like I’m two for two.”

  “Two for two?” a female voice calls out behind me, and I turn to find freakishly tall, redheaded Collette Jenner standing before me on what appear to be stilts, i.e., expensive red-bottomed stilettos. She’s donned one of those power pantsuits she’s prone to wear in a deep shade of burnt orange. Collette works at some fancy PR firm in Ashford, and I’m guessing she’s through for the day. Lucky me.

  She leans in with her nose twitching. “I bet you’re two for two as in one man too many. I don’t know who you think you are all of a sudden collecting boyfriends like they were playing cards, but stay away from mine.” She sneers before speeding off in the opposite direction.

  “And who would that be?” I call after her. I couldn’t help it. Everett has told me countless times they are and will remain exes. Okay, so he may not have included the bit about remaining so, but he emphatically implied it.

  “You know who he is, Lottie Lemon!” She turns around with fury in her eyes. “I’m warning you. Stay away.”

  I watch as she hops into her shiny black sports car and zooms off without so much as turning the ignition. Everything has always fallen into place for Collette—the looks, the cars, the careers, and the men.

  Three out of four ain’t bad.

  She can’t have Mr. Sexy. And not because he’s mine.

  It’s because he doesn’t want her.

  I find myself standing in front of the window to Noah’s office and touch my hand against the glass.

  And I wonder if Noah wants me.

  One thing is for certain—Micheline Roycroft knows exactly why Hunter was so desperate for money.

  And I’m going to make sure I know exactly why, too.

  Chapter 6

  The first few days at the bakery have been more than hectic. Usually when I finish up for the evening, I head straight home to Lainey’s where I happily crash on the bed in the guest room and Pancake is happy to crash right along with me. He’s made it no secret how much he’s missed me these past few crazy weeks. But I plan on making it up to him soon with a trip to Just for Pets. For the last few months, each time I head over to stock up on his Fancy Beast pet food, I’ve brought him along. I always bring along his carrier, too, in the event a large dog decides it’s hungry for pancakes. But so far, the need hasn’t arisen, and Pancake seems to be more than content to peruse all the goodies. I’ll admit to purchasing him a few new toys each time we’re there. But I did manage to resist the cute cat costumes they have on display. When I presented the idea to him, along with an adorable little tutu, he shot me with death rays. I’m pretty sure he knew where that was going.

  Noah and I have been hit-and-miss all week partially because I’m so busy with the bakery, but he too has been so very busy with all of his new cases, it makes me wonder if the best of what we were to have is already in the past. I would never want him to slow down because of me. I totally get not having time to do all the fun things. Hopefully, it’s just a passing phase. A part of me was hoping he’d at least ask me on a date, but on this mundane Friday night, I’ve decided to take myself out.

  Mom called an hour ago and asked if I would meet her at McMurry’s Pumpkin Patch to pick out a few of the happy squashes and gourds for her bed and breakfast and, of course, I was more than happy to oblige. Nothing makes me happier than a cool fall night spent at Honey Hollow’s famed questionably haunted pumpkin patch. The McMurrys play up the Halloween angle every year and wisely so. Their haunted hayrides are so famous you need to buy tickets weeks in advance before they sell out. They have a haunted maze, a haunted house, which is more of a series of trailers that have been welded together, and, of course, there are a ton of family activities for the younger sect—games, petting zoo, bounce houses. It’s a real party the entire month of October, and usually I’m here every single night soaking it all in.

  The pumpkin patch is festooned with scarecrows in every shape and color all around the enormous farm, and they stand illuminated against the backdrop of a glowing purple night sky. There’s a traditional pumpkin patch lot, and then there’s the pick-it-yourself version, which leads you out into the acreage the McMurrys own. As far as the eyes can see, the cheery orange globes dot the landscape, and the surrounding trees have all shed their colorful leaves as stacks and stacks of hay are strewn about with people sitting on them, climbing on them, and taking an endless array of selfies. The air holds the slight scent of cinnamon, and I spot a cider booth not too far off from here. Nothing pairs better with a crisp, fall night than a steaming cup of cider. My feet are already headed in that direction when I stop dead in my tracks and gasp.

  Standing next to the cider booth is a tall, lanky, hair-flipping two-timer that I’d know anywhere and yet loathe to see just about everywhere I spot him. It’s Tanner Redwood handing some bleached blonde a cup full of apple cider goodness. His free hand is pressed into her lower back, and they’re laughing it up as if they didn’t have a plus one in the world—or more to the point, at how bamboozled he has my sister. As much as I want to boot scoot in that direction, and dump that scalding cider over his head, I don’t feel like racking up assault charges for accidentally blistering the blonde next to him. Him I might consider doing a tiny stint in the slammer for. A misdemeanor in exchange for getting him out of Lainey’s life for good seems like a reasonable exchange. But I think better of it and do the next best thing—take a few clandestine pictures.

  A pair of hands gives my ribs a quick tickle from behind, and I scream as I bounce my way to safety.

  I turn around to find my mother laughing her head off.

  “You about gave me a heart attack. Don’t ever do that again.”

  She’s quick to wave me off. She’s donned her favorite denims and is swaddled in a flannel printed down jacket. My mother is forever the fashionista and would never miss an opportunity to dress for pumpkin picking success. I’ve donned my favorite knee-length boots, denim, and flannel as well, and I can’t help but think I got the memo from my mother, but a quick look around the vicinity proves everyone in Honey Hollow got the memo. A flannel and jeans are your typical uniform around these parts anyway.

  “Well, I didn’t know how else to break your spell. You looked like you were intensely doing something on your phone. Texting the good detective, perhaps? Or if the rumor mill is correct, was it the good judge?” That smile of hers is quickly replaced with a pinched frown, her fists digging into her hips with disapproval. “Lottie Lemon, how could you keep the fact you have two budding romances away from me? And I had to hear it from the grapevine no less!”

  A horrific groan comes from me as we make our way toward the pumpkin patch. “I’m not even sure if I have one romance, Mother. Besides, who is busy spreading rumors about my love life? Please tell them I think they can use something constructive to do during waking hours. The bakery is hiring, by the way, so feel free to spread that rumor. It happens to be true.”

  “You know I will, honey,” she says, grabbing one of the free wagons they offer to help haul your load.

  When my sisters and I were little, we used to make our mother push us around in
circles until we were dizzy and fell right off those red wagons. I’ve often wondered if that’s where Meg got her love for tossing herself about so violently. She’s at the top of her game, though. I’ve heard people place more bets on her matches than any other female wrestling pairing, so there’s that.

  Mom holds up a pleasantly plump, light peach Fairytale pumpkin for me to inspect.

  “I love it,” I say, taking it from her and setting it into the wagon. “Get at least three of those. There’s something magical about them, and women especially just love them. You want to make sure your visitors feel good about every aspect of the B&B. In Business 101, I learned that depending on how you made your customers feel was ninety percent the deciding factor on whether or not they came back. Although, in my case, I’m sure the tasty treats have something to do with it. I hope.”

  She chortles at the thought. “I know so. That’s all anyone’s talking about is that grand opening of yours.” She winces as she says it before picking up a few small pumpkins tiny enough to fit in the palm of your hands.

  “Get at least thirty of those,” I say, taking in a lungful of the earthy soil beneath us. “And you don’t have to hide it. I know exactly why my grand opening was the talk of the town. Poor Bear hasn’t even responded to my messages. He’s really broken up about losing his cousin like that. And who wouldn’t be?”

  Mom shudders as the evening grows dark and sinister around us. “I just ran into Dee Fisher at the florist. She said poor Hunter didn’t have anyone but them. I didn’t realize his parents had passed away a few years back.”

  “Wow.” I’m stunned to hear it. “I didn’t realize that myself. I bet that’s why he had no one to turn to for the loan,” I say that last bit under my breath, mostly to myself.