The Apple Festival is everything every single person in Honey Hollow needs it to be, filled with fun, food, family, and let’s not forget dozens and dozens of caramel apple-filled cutie pies.

The sun is just getting ready to set and the sky is a heavier shade of blue, but the iced breeze doesn’t let you forget which season you’re in. The orchard itself is a grand backdrop to all the festivities. Buckets full of apples are scattered about, pumpkins dot every free surface, and the rich crimson leaves of the maples in the distance make this a feast for your eyes as well. It’s wall-to-wall bodies here with hayrides to be had, games with stuffed animals to be won, cider to be pressed, and pumpkins to be launched out of a cannon. It’s going to be a full week of revelry and fun for everyone of every age, and it truly looks as if every living soul in Vermont has turned out to help us celebrate.

Set in front of the barn, lined across checkered red and white linens sit hundreds of cutie pies for all to partake in. There’s a line that goes around the barn and down near the parking lot just to get served up with one of those caramel delights.

“It was worth the wait,” a male voice calls out from behind, and I turn to find Captain Turner in full uniform with a cutie pie nestled in his enormous hands. It looks as if it’s the size of a quarter in that enormous mitt of his.

“Hey, Jack.” I offer him a warm embrace, and he purrs with delight. I’ve never called him anything but Jack all my life, but seeing him in his official sheriff’s duds has always made me want to call him Captain like everybody else.

“Talked to that boyfriend of yours the other day.” His brow furrows with disapproval when he says boyfriend. This is usually the part where the logical part of me would protest that title, but not one part of me listens to that logical part. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to stop investigating the case. He says you’ve been openly questioning potential suspects. Lot, you know you can’t go around doing that. You could be tainting the case. There’s a very real chance the killer can go free because you’re tipping them off that we’re onto them.”

My mouth falls open to protest, but he gently lifts a finger to stop me. “Now, now, don’t go trying to defend yourself. I told you firmly in the beginning to stay out of it. I’m afraid if I find out you’re meddling in my case again, I’ll have to arrest you.”

“Arrest me?” I’m dumbfounded by his brazen threat. But before I can lay into him—the man I have viewed as a father since my own passed away—he quickly dives into the crowd and is persona non grata soon enough.

I let out a roar of frustration.

“That’s how I feel.” A warm hand lands over my shoulder for a second, and I turn to find Everett looking every bit as somber as usual—and, well, vexingly sexy as his name suggests. He’s donned his suit for the occasion and it makes him stick out like an Italian fitted sore thumb, but I’m sure the women here tonight will be thrilled nonetheless. His tie is charmingly red, and I’d like to believe he chose it just for the occasion. “I saw the line for your pies and wanted to let go of some steam just the way you did. But I figured I’ve got connections.”

A weak smile graces my lips. “I suppose you do.” I glare openly back at the crowd. “Where’s Collette?” Collette Jenner has been a constant accessory whenever Everett is in town.

“She’ll be here. She’s working late tonight.”

“Oh, that’s right. She works for that fancy PR firm out in Ashford. I guess she’s the big success she always threatened she’d be some day.”

Everett’s chest bounces at the thought as he gives a dull laugh.

“Judge Baxter! Is that the sound of laughter emitting from your throat? I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure to witness it before.”

“That’s what it is. But don’t tell Collette. We may not be dating, but she’s got a bite that stings regardless. I’m actually here tonight with Fiona.”

“Fi-o-who?” I scan the crowd right along with him.

“Fiona Dagmeyer. I think you met her. She was the defense attorney walking out of the courtroom with me that day you were there.”

“Oh yes, the stately brunette. Careful with that one. I can guarantee you she has a nasty bite. I’d make sure all your boy parts are intact once she’s through with you. I saw her fangs all the way down the hall. I bet she sleeps upside down in her closet at night.”

He barks out another laugh, much heartier and sincere than the last. “I’ll keep an eye out for that. We’re not together anymore, though. So I might just have to speculate alongside you about that whole sleeping upside down thing.” He nods to me as his affect sobers up once again. “All right, Lemon. Let’s have it. What had you howling at the moon just before I got here?”

I shoot him a vilifying look. “That stepbrother of yours.”

“So, he finally filled you in on all the fun details, huh? What did he do this time? Steal your wallet and bolt out of town? Don’t be too hard on him. It’s hardwired in his genes.”

“That’s not funny. But in truth, it would have hurt less.”

“What would have hurt less?” Noah himself appears before us, quick as an apparition, and if it weren’t for the crowd he seemingly materialized from, I would have believed I was seeing dead people once again. I’ve only seen two, and those are both dearly departed souls I’d love to forget.

“You”—I jab my finger in his rock-hard chest—“plunging a knife into my chest.” I freeze solid once the words leave my mouth. I can’t believe I just said that not twenty feet from where Merilee met her fate the same way. “Why in the world did you rat me out to Captain Turner?” It didn’t feel right calling him Jack at the moment since neither Everett nor Noah regards him as that. “He said he’s going to have me arrested if I investigate this case. You know I have to clear my good name. And you know that I’m close to closing in on the real killer,” I hiss that last part out in haste.

Noah’s jaw clenches. “Correction—I am closing in on the real killer. You don’t belong anywhere near this case,” he says it calmly while crossing his arms across this flannel laden chest. No matter how much I’m a sucker for a man in jeans and a flannel—the red and black checkered variety, which happens to be my very favorite—I won’t give in to his pompous ideals of where I belong. And judging by his Neanderthal-like behavior, I’m guessing he’d say that was in the kitchen. “You belong safe in the kitchen”—he blinks an apathetic smile as if he were prying into my thoughts—“baking pies and all of those other tasty treats that give you so much pleasure to make for other people—not with lunatics that aren’t afraid to wield a deadly weapon. I care about you, Lottie. And I don’t want to see you getting hurt.”

Everett takes a deep breath, and his suit expands right along with it. “I agree with him. I rather prefer you alive. People are unpredictable. Even the most unsuspecting soul can carry out a heinous crime. This investigation isn’t for you, Lottie. Stay out of it.”

“AARRGGHHH!” My entire body sizzles with anger. “I can’t believe the two of you. Typical men trying to keep a woman down. Well, I won’t let you. There’s a killer out there, and I’m sick and tired of nobody doing a thing to catch them.” I start to take off, and Noah grips me by the wrist.

“Lottie, wait,” he pleads as he attempts to reel me in, but I free myself in haste.

“Don’t you Lottie, wait me. I’m through with you, Noah Fox. I have never been a fan of being controlled by anybody, and the fact you went to Captain Turner to have me—arrested of all things—well, you just crossed a line, buddy!”

I take off and hear him shouting something about not trying to have me arrested. Potato, po-tah-to. He turned me in, same difference. I skirt the periphery of the festival just to get away from the thicket of bodies and come upon what I initially think is the best sight in the entire world, my best friend Keelie. But upon closer inspection, it’s not Keelie. It’s her emotional toad of a sister with her hair pulled back into a bun.

“Naomi,” I say, stalking over. This day has already gone to hell in a handbasket, so I don’t see what a minute with my favorite frenemy could possibly do to add to it. Besides, I have a burning question that I’m hoping she’ll have the answer to. All night I thought about Merilee and her two beaus, and something just doesn’t add up. “What do you know about Travis Darren? Do you think it could be a code name for Moose Hagan, a football coach down in Ashford?”

She flinches as if I struck her. “I’ve known Travis for years. He works as a leaf peeping guide in Hollyhock part of the year. Tall and lanky. I’m pretty sure he’s no coach. He met up with a bear trap and about had his left foot snapped off. Walks with a bit of a limp.”

Doesn’t sound at all like Coach Hagan. That man practically ran the field with the boys on his team.

I shake my head at her. “Are you sure that it was Merilee who was seeing Travis Darren? I mean, don’t you think that’s a bit far-fetched? She already had one boyfriend.” Who I hope she dumped for the right reason, so that he could see what an idiot he was, tuck his tail between his legs, and go back to his wife and kids. Not that Melissa would take him back, but you never know, and it was the right thing to do. I’m proud of Merilee just because of it.

Naomi adjusts her red and white checkered dress while dancing in a pair of sky-high platform shoes. She’s donned a pair of white statement piece earrings to go along with it, and as usual she looks as if she’s trying too hard.

“Let me see.” She shakes her head as she leans in hard. “Oh yeah, it was Merilee. I know this for a fact because I am never wrong.” Her voice is loud and curt as her words blast over my face like a nuclear heat wave. That seems to be a raw talent of hers, going nuclear.

“Okay, geez. You were right. Per usual,” I add as I make my way past her. No use in entertaining crazy. And besides, I have to admit the fact that both Mora Anne and Merilee look the same. Wait a minute. Maybe it wasn’t Merilee meeting Travis Darren up at the Evergreen. Maybe it was Mora?

A dull laugh pumps from me with the epiphany. I bypass dozens of booths filled with oodles of people trying to check out the local flavor. Just about every business in Honey Hollow is represented here. Everyone but that fake one that belongs to that obnoxious fake investigator who probably got his PI license out of a vending machine that charged him a quarter.

The booth at the end has a banner above it that reads The Busy Bee Craft Shop, and I don’t hesitate heading on over. The booth has a swarm of people in it ogling all of the knickknacks and potentially fun crafts projects poor Mora Anne hauled out on her own. But the table itself is left unmanned. Instead, a bright orange piece of paper sits neatly taped to the front. I step in close to read what it says, Bee sure to stick around! I’ll bee back in just a moment! -Mora Anne

Wow, with all of those exclamation points and cutesy ways of spelling the word bee, you’d think you’d be treated to the warmest, bubbly soul on the planet upon her return. These people are in for a rude awakening.

I’m just about to step away when something about that note jars me.

“Wait a minute.” My heart drums into my chest as I inspect the sharp peaks and valleys of Mora’s neat penmanship.

“Oh my God.” That threatening note I received tucked in my purse the night of the auction comes back to me. Whoever wrote that had the same jagged handwriting.

I try to think back to any point in time where I could have been exposed to Mora Anne’s handwriting, but can’t think of a single instance. We weren’t that friendly in school. There was no passing of the notes.

I glance outside the booth where the sky has suddenly taken on an eerie crimson hue, the color of blood, the color of certain dead.

A flicker of a barely-there orange tabby cat garners my attention, and I gasp as I spot it twirling around the pole just outside of Mora Anne’s booth. It pauses lazily before looking right at me. Those glowing yellow eyes look so hauntingly bright, it almost hurts to look right at them. It twitches its head toward the orchard and heads out in that direction.

So I do the only rational thing a person in my position would do.

I follow.