There’s a lot to be said for moving, and not one word of it is good.

I hold Pancake tight as we survey the damage. Wobbly boxes form towers taller than me by the entry, and bags and bags of trash sit slumped over in the corner, ready to be chucked into the nearest dumpster. And, of course, let’s not forget the discards ready to go back to the secondhand store from whence they came—old sweaters that have grown too tight and jeans that won’t make it past my thighs. They say you should never trust a skinny baker, and judging by the speed my curves are filling in nicely, you would think I had set out to be the most trustworthy baker in the world.

“What do you think?” I press a kiss over the top of Pancake’s soft forehead, and he looks up at me with those glowing gray eyes before letting out a weak rawrrr. He’s always been good at holding a conversation. At least he seems to be when he answers at the appropriate intervals. Lord knows I’ve carried on one gab session too many with this fabulous feline, and I swear on all the water in Honey Lake that Pancake is not only cheaper than therapy but far more effective. And that’s not some loose guess. There was some actual high-priced therapy involved after the New York debacle, while I was still in New York. Lucky for me, my therapist let me pay in Bundt cakes. It turns out, she had a mad hankering for the marbled Bundt cake that her mother used to make as a child. So while I worked out my mommy issues, she indulged in hers as well.

A knock erupts on the door, and I glance through the peephole in the event it’s Mora Anne who, ironically, I’ve grown to be deathly afraid of in a span of less than forty-eight hours. But it’s not Mora. It’s a face I don’t even recognize. A tall, dark-haired woman who looks like she could be Merilee if Merilee actually smiled and had a mild flirtation of joy in her eye.

I hope to God this isn’t the new and improved post-mortem version of Merilee. The last thing I need is another fantastic phantasm in my life. Not that there was anything particularly fantastic about Merilee in general, and that’s not a quip. It’s merely a fact.

Have I mentioned that I’m beyond tired and cranky? My sanity came apart ten times while cleaning out my bathroom. How in the world did I end up with three trash bags full of things I absolutely cannot part with? Lainey is right. I am a hoarder. A horrible hoarder at that because I haven’t even amassed that much junk yet. But now that I’m living with Lainey for the foreseeable future, I might just splurge and make up for lost crap.

I swing the door open, and my stomach drops at the sight of her. There is something decidedly Simonson about her, it’s haunting.

“Can I help you?”

She’s dressed head to toe in a navy velour duster with blanked silver buttons running along the length of it, and this seemingly Simonson detail alarms me.

“Just looking to see what I’m up against.” She plucks off her black fitted gloves as she strides past me. Her eyes never once meet with me. It’s as if I were invisible, or the help. “Lowered ceilings in the hall?” She gags on sight as she does a quick loop through the small space before her. “I’ll obviously have to downsize.” She nods to the fireplace. “How quaint. I’m used to bigger, of course. My fireplace back in Connecticut could roast a deer.” Her head lolls lazily in my direction. “I’ll need you out by noon. My movers are paid by the hour, and I’m not looking to part with my inheritance so early.”

Inheritance? That about says it all.

“Well, um, hello. I’m Lottie Lemon.” I squeeze Pancake to me as if protecting him from the onslaught. Usually I would introduce Pancake as well, but something tells me this Simonson knockoff wouldn’t appreciate the energy spent to do so. And for the record, anyone who doesn’t appreciate Pancake doesn’t appreciate me.

I hold my hand out between us, and she stares at it as if it were a novelty I was showing off.

“Cascade Montgomery—relation to Mora and the late Merilee.” She twists her lips as if she didn’t morally approve of Merilee’s passing.

“Cascade?” Like the dishwashing detergent, I’m tempted to ask, but I value Pancake’s life, and something tells me she’s not above swinging a tail or two if she gets thrown in a tizzy.

“Yes”—she takes a menacing step in—“is there something you find offensive about my name?”

Real world translation: you got a problem with that?

It’s quickly becoming evident Cascade isn’t from anywhere near the real world. I’ll bet every last wobbly box in this place that the mother ship dropped her off.

“I think you have a lovely name. But the fact is, there’s only an hour left to meet your deadline, and my best friend hasn’t even shown up with the sweet treat and coffee she swore up and down she was scouting all of Honey Hollow for. I’ve still got a bedframe to dismantle and a bookshelf that will need to be tied twelve ways to Sunday on top of my poor Honda, not to mention the mattress, sofa, and dresser—all of which I pray can fit into my sister’s garage. Have you seen the prices they want at these storage facilities? Highway robbery at knifepoint would be more painless.” No sooner do I make the violent analogy than a visual of Merilee lying in a pool of her own blood flits through my mind. “I apologize. That was terribly insensitive of me. I’m so sorry for your loss. I’m sure your entire family misses her deeply.”

She sniffs at the thought. “They’re all dead now, except for Mora.” She averts her eyes as if that were the real tragedy brewing. And, sadly, for the two of them, it might be. I doubt either Mora Anne or Cascade here gets along with anyone, let alone each other.

“So you see”—I quickly change the subject as I motion to the carnage around me—“I can’t possibly be out in an—”

The door bursts open and in spills Keelie with two cups of coffee and a grinning Noah Corbin Fox on her tail. “I’ve got coffee and one big sweet treat for you just like I promised.” She bumps her hip to his, and he keeps on grinning my way as if he knew a secret. I bet he knows just how much it annoys me to see him. “Noah brought his truck, so you’ll be out in an hour!” She buzzes past me, and a breath hitches in my throat as I’m about to say something.

Noah Fox looks alarmingly comely in his orange and black flannel, his dark inky jeans, and worn looking leather work boots. Men in uniform hypnotize some women, but it’s always been men in flannel who have taken my breath away—sort of the way Noah Fox is doing now.

I turn back to Cascade and manufacture a quick smile. “I’ll be out in an hour.”

It takes exactly that long for us to fill both my car and Keelie’s, not to mention Noah’s truck. Lainey had to work this morning or she would have gladly been here, too. For a fleeting moment this morning, I had considered calling Bear and breaking my vow of questionable silence in exchange for some transportation capabilities his flatbed would have been able to afford me, but it turns out, Noah’s shiny new ride is far more roomier.

“Well done,” I pant as I take in the miracle he’s managed in the back of his truck. He’s layered my mattress, box spring, bookcase, sofa, and even tucked my coffee table in the back of the puzzle-like lair. “I think you’re ready to level up in Tetris.” I hold up Pancake and wave at Noah with his paw as if he were agreeing with me.

“That I am.” He laughs while leaning in, touching his nose to Pancake’s. “I think your mom is officially delirious. She’s actually spoken a kind word to me.”

“You got the delirious part right.”

His hair catches the light, and under those chocolate brown waves there’s a hint of fire in them, and it only intrigues me more. Who knew I’d be so shallow as to be entranced by hair of all things? Okay, so it’s not just the hair but the biceps I’ve watched bounce for the better half of the last hour, the way his tongue slips to the side of his mouth when he’s in deep concentration, and the way he looked morbidly determined while dismantling my bedframe. I especially liked how kind he was while pretending not to see the bevy of wadded up panties under my bed. I swear, while I’m changing into my PJ’s, laundry is the last thing on my mind, but I blamed the whole thing on Pancake just to be safe.

“You know you didn’t have to do this.” It comes out soft, less abrasive than anything I’ve said to him before.

Keelie pops up with her bandana slipping into her eyes, her blonde curls twirling every which way. “That’s what boyfriends do, hon. They help you move.” She takes an earnest swig from her coffee. “That’s what took me so long in getting here. I had to search high and low before I could chase this fox out of his hole.” She leans in with a devilish look in her eye. “He lives in the housing track just above the Evergreen Manor. Second house at the end of Country Cottage Road.”

My stomach sours when she mentions the Evergreen Manor. That means his house is just a hop and a skip away from Naomi’s stomping grounds. I’m sure just one look at Noah and she’ll have her claws sank a shade too close to his family jewels. Naomi is infamous for grabbing men by the collar and stealing them away. She’s beautiful—as is her twin standing in front of me—most men don’t put up much of a fight.

“I wanted to,” Noah adds. “You helped me out the other day. It was the least I could do to return the favor.”

“Yes, well, your favor far outweighs mine by a three quarter-ton mile.” I give the side of his truck a quick pat. “There has to be some way I can repay you.”

His brow lifts, and he doesn’t miss a beat. “There is.”

Keelie hops behind him and puckers her lips suggestively before snatching Pancake from me and heading to her car.

Noah rests his arm along the side of his truck and leans in, boxing me in, and it feels warm, intimate. “I’m heading over to the orchard tomorrow to take another look at the scene of the crime. Join me.”

My mouth falls open as I inspect him in this close proximity. Of all the men I’ve dated, this unofficial boyfriend of mine takes the cake for most handsome and simultaneously irritating on some strange, primal level.

“I’ll be at the orchard tomorrow afternoon. I have to pick apples for the pies I’ll be baking.”

“Good.” His eyes squint out a smile all their own. “It looks like we’re going apple picking.”

“I guess we are.”

Noah helps offload everything into Lainey’s garage and takes off while Keelie and I watch his truck drive out of sight.

She sinks her elbow into my rib. “I guess you really do have a boyfriend.”

“Please. I hardly know the guy, Keelie. He could still very well be the murderer.”

“You’ll get to know him plenty tomorrow. I heard that whole let’s load up on some apples while we load up on each other spiel. Open up to this one, would you? Maybe this time it won’t end up biting you in the behind.”

I look to the empty road in front of us as the dust settles from his wake.

“Lately everything has been biting me in the behind. I don’t know why this would be any different.”

And then something Cascade said hits me from left field, and my mouth falls open.

I think I just solved a very murderous mystery.