Duncan Whitmore is dead.
LOTTIE
The late afternoon sun slants through the colorful banners behind Bunny’s wellness booth, casting everything in a golden glow that would be peaceful if not for the dead body at my feet.
The air still carries the scent of funnel cake and chocolate, mixed now with something metallic that makes my stomach lurch. Distant sounds of the festival continue—children laughing, periodic booms from the marching band, someone gleefully winning a stuffed rabbit at the ring toss—but here in this secluded corner, the only sound is my own ragged breathing.
I’m about to call Noah and Everett or scream when a spray of bright blue stars appears and the ghost of that lion materializes right next to Duncan Whitmore’s body. The lion’s translucent form radiates a fury that makes the air shimmer with spectral wonder. His golden eyes blaze so intensely it makes my hair stand on end. He looks darn right angry, and considering he’s a supernatural being sent to help catch a killer, I’d say his mood is entirely justified.
The lion meets my gaze one last time, then explodes into a spray of bright blue stars that sparkle and fade like supernatural fireworks.
I open my mouth and let loose a scream that could wake the dead—which, given my recent track record with those who have had their breathing cards revoked, might not be entirely theoretical.
“Noah, Everett,” I roar, trying my best to do my own impersonation of the dead—the one with far more fur.
My voice carries across the festival grounds with the efficiency of a fire alarm, and suddenly the peaceful springtime celebration transforms into controlled chaos. Footsteps pound toward me from multiple directions, and I hear Carlotta’s voice before I see her.
“Well, I guess that ghost of a lion wasn’t just window shopping after all, and neither was the Grim Reaper,” she announces, arriving at the scene with the heavy breathing of someone who’s been speed-walking in heels, or doing other things I don’t want to know about. She takes one look at Duncan’s prone body and belts out a whistle. “Lot Lot, next time maybe use a less identifiable family heirloom when you do your dirty work.”
“I didn’t do this and you know it,” I hiss.
Noah and Everett arrive simultaneously, both moving with the efficiency of men who’ve learned that my screaming usually means coroner’s reports and court dates.
Noah drops to his knees and checks for a pulse. “Geez, Lottie,” he says firmly, already pulling out his phone. “Next time I need to have you followed or handcuffed.”
I suck in a breath and make wild eyes at him for even going there.
“Handcuffs?” Carlotta snorts with a wicked grin. “That’s the spirit, Foxy. Dream big when it comes to sexy time with my Lot Lot. But this time bring the key, too. Last thing we need is another awkward call to the fire department.”
“That was one time,” I growl. And over two years ago. Not that I’ll ever forget that night for more than a few reasons. Noah had me naked and hogtied like a Thanksgiving Day turkey. Then I got a leg cramp and that’s when things got medical. The fire department showed up. My brother-in-law Forest was one of the firefighters, so, of course, Lainey found out about the incident—which she still lords over me to this day. Oddly, Everett had just got back from the courthouse and heard the commotion so he walked across the street toNoah’s cabin and saw me splayed out and howling as well. If memory serves correct, he threatened to kill Noah if he ever pulled a stunt like that with me again, and well, punches were thrown. That was back before I was married to Everett, and was still hot and heavy with Noah. But now the tables have turned, and well, let’s just say, Everett never loses the key to anything.
Everett swoops in and wraps his arms around me. “Lemon, are you hurt? Did you touch anything?”
“Just my grandmother’s knife, apparently,” I say, pointing to the pearl handle protruding from Duncan’s body. “And that was before I found it planted in that poor man’s chest.”
Noah barks into his phone as he calls it in to the sheriff’s department, and I don’t miss the fact he tells them to bring the coroner as well.
I stare down at Duncan’s lifeless body and am about to say something when my sisters Meg and Lainey come barreling through the crowd as if they, too, were being chased down by the Grim Reaper.
“Seriously, Lot? Another one?” Meg demands. Her breathing is labored from running. “What is this, number twelve? Or number twelve hundred?” Her dark hair is teased into a beehive and she’s clad in black despite the spike in the temperature or the fact it’s spring. Gothic Chic is sort of her go-to look.
“I’m starting to think you have a subscription service for corpses,” Lainey adds, slightly out of breath. “Do they come with free shipping?”
I shoot her a look. “It’s not like I order them from a catalog.” I protest. “They just keep showing up.”
“Right,” Meg says, and sadly I think she’s holding back a laugh. “I think we should intercept Mom before she brings any of the grandkids over here. The last thing we need is Lyla Nell adding murder weapon to her vocabulary.”
Carlotta shrugs. “It’s just a matter of time.”
And how I hate that she’s right.
My sisters disappear as quickly as they arrive and here’s hopingthey can cut Mom off at the pass in time. The last thing I want any child to see is a man with a knife embedded in his chest.
Everett lands a kiss on my temple. “Lemon, what happened? Are you sure you’re not hurt?”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, thoughfineis becoming an increasingly relative term in my vocabulary. “I didn’t see anything except the ghost of that lion sitting right here, and he looked darn right angry before disappearing in a pool of blue stars.”
Everett’s nod says everything. In this town, when the supernatural shows up, it’s never just for show. It’s a promise. A threat. Adeadline.
