“You owe me money,” he rumbles, and the crowd starts throwing wads of cold, hard cash our way.
“Don’t worry, Sexy!” Carlotta jumps into motion, snapping up the bills like a pigeon diving for crumbs. “I’ll do the dirty work for you—for a small fee, of course. Sixty-five percent commission. Heck, make it an even eighty.”
Noah steps into the center of the room and flashes something in his hand out at the crowd.
“Ashford County Sheriff’s Department,” he bellows, and the crowd quiets to a hush. The backbeat of a whole new song begins to belt out from the speakers.
A hard groan comes from me. “Everett, I thought they took away his badge,” I whisper.
“They did. He’s holding his driver’s license.”
Noah points my way. “You’re coming with me.”
Carlotta lets a couple of whoops rip. “Go on, Lot. You can’t leave Foxy high and dry.” She plucks me from Everett’s arms and lands me right back in the middle of ground zero once again. “Hashtag hot cop!” she shouts, and soon the entire room is chanting hot cop, hot cop!
Noah does his thing in time to the music, swiveling his hips, unbuttoning his shirt, pulling off his belt at an alarmingly slow pace, much to the crowd’s approval. He’s practically a seasoned professional with those wicked moves, and it begs the questions how and for whom has he done this before. Come to think of it, I seem to recall a few steamy nights with the hot cop that started off something like this.
His shirt falls off, and he’s dirty dancing up and around my body as the amped-up crowd howls as if their hair were on fire.
Before the song is through, he’s sniffed my hair, nuzzled my neck, and I’m not quite sure, but I think he stole second base.
But before long, the fire department steps in to regale the crowd with their own steamy moves, and Noah and I head over where Everett is standing. I’m about to suggest we hitch a ride home when Greer Giles descends from the ceiling in all her ghostly glory. Her dark hair shimmers like a sea of onyx stars and floats as if she were under water. So I do the only thing I can think to do—I take up both Noah and Everett’s hands so they can listen along.
“Lottie Lemon!” Greer snaps. “Winslow and I just witnessed the entire spectacle. How dare the three of you play along with the bawdy reindeer games those putrid new owners have dreamed up. You’re supposed to be working to get rid of them, not joining their twisted fantasies. And don’t for a minute think they’re not fantasizing about your hot judge and hot cop. I’m privy to all of their conversations, you know. They’re so steamy I’ve forbidden both Lea and Thirteen from going anywhere near those two deviants. Do whatever it is you need to do to get rid of them.”
“Me?” I ask as I blink back. “What happened to you and Winslow scaring the pants off of them? That sounded like a solid plan just a week ago.”
Greer frowns at someone across the way, and I follow her gaze to see those two blonde bombshells of destruction.
“It didn’t work,” Greer growls it out. “It only made things worse. They’ve doubled the tours. Winslow and I hate that they’re quickly raking it in while we’re quickly losing our sanity.”
Everett nods. “It’s because you’re too nice. You’re just knocking a few books off the shelves and rearranging some furniture.”
Noah glances to the general area where Greer is. “He’s right. No more Mr. Nice Poltergeist. It’s time the ghostly gloves come off, Greer.”
“I agree,” I say. “You have my blessing to take this haunting to the next level. Do whatever you have to do to get those nitwits out of here.”
Greer doesn’t waste a moment to respond. Instead, in record time, all four ghostly residents of this once sweet little B&B are shaking the walls, knocking furniture over, tearing chandeliers right out of the ceiling, and filling the reception area with a wild and violent wind.
But instead of chasing every last patron right on out those doors, it only seems to add that much more excitement to the party.
So much for amping up the haunting.
The night wraps up, and Everett and I are finally alone in our bedroom where I do my best to reciprocate those sultry moves he showed me.
But come tomorrow, I’m going to implement a whole other set of moves when I scour Vermont to track down the woman who just may have fed Verity Prescott that poisoned tart.
Watch out, Bambi Bailey.
I’m coming for you.
And if you’re the killer, I’ll sic a hot cop on you, too.
I’m saving the hot judge for myself.
Noah
“Hot cop?” Ivy Fairbanks looks a touch amused. “Now there’s a hashtag I can get behind.” An impish grin plays on her lips.
But I’m not smiling back.
The last thing I want to do is send Ivy the wrong message. Which is exactly why when Ivy said she wanted to meet for coffee to see how things were going, I suggested the bakery. I figured that way Lottie can see that nothing is happening, and Ivy will understand where my loyalty lies.
“I didn’t think of the hashtag,” I tell her.
“No, the masses did once you took off your shirt.” She frowns over at me and her skin pulls in odd directions from the strain of that bun she’s trapped her hair in. “What are you and Everett thinking? You’re both on suspension. And you’re not in the clear yet. The State may have put off pressing charges against you, but it doesn’t mean it won’t. Noah, you need to keep your nose clean. You can’t go stripping in nightclubs while teenage girls chant for you to take it off.”
Lottie comes our way and sets a platter of her treats on the table along with two cups of coffee.
“By the looks of
