Chapter 24 Noah
NOAH
The parking lot looks like a war zone designed by teenagers with too much time and too little supervision.
The asphalt is a minefield of broken eggshells and scattered candy and enough trampled Easter grass to outfit a football field. Two groups of kids face off near the lake entrance, their Sunday best now bearing the battle scars of whatever social media drama escalated into actual warfare.
“Seriously?” I mutter, surveying the damage as Ivy approaches with that expression she reserves for situations that test her faith in humanity’s future. Usually, those have to do with Lottie.
“The one with the bunny ears started it,” she says, gesturing toward a girl who’s somehow managed to maintain her composure despite looking like she wrestled with a rainbow.
“Something about someone stealing someone else’s boyfriend, which led to accusations about fake designer purses, which somehow escalated into a full-scale turf war involving bunny ears and plastic eggs as weapons. ”
“Of course, it did.” I watch as one kid tries to untangle himself from what appears to be fifty feet of pastel ribbon. “Because nothing says teenage romance drama like weaponized holiday decor.”
Ivy snorts, pulling out her notepad. “I’ve got statements from half the combatants, but they’re all speaking in some kind of code that involves social media platforms I’ve never heard of and relationship terminology that makes my head hurt.”
“The joys of law enforcement in the digital age,” I say, stepping over a deflated inflatable bunny that’s seen better days. “Remember when teenagers fought over valid things like who looked at whom wrong in the hallway?”
“Those were simpler times.” Ivy glances around at the carnage with something akin to nostalgia. “At least we could understand the motives back then. I can finally say I don’t even understand teenagers.”
“I don’t understand teenagers either,” I tell her. “They say things like, ‘I love that for you,’ and they mean it as an insult.”
“Sounds like the next generation’s way of saying ‘bless your heart.’”
I tick my head toward the blossoming crowd of teens. “Let’s go bless a few hearts.”
We work together to separate the warring factions with the diplomatic skills that come from years of dealing with people who think violence solves problems. By the time we’ve got everyone calmed down and heading home with warnings about public disturbance charges, the afternoon sun is starting to wane over Honey Lake.
“Not bad teamwork, Fox,” Ivy says as we watch the last of the teenagers disappear toward the festival. “We make a decent crime-fighting duo.”
“Don’t let it go to your head, Fairbanks,” I reply, but there’s no heat in it. “Besides, breaking up teenage drama hardly counts as crime fighting.”
“Hey, we prevented at least three assault charges and probably saved someone’s Easter outfit from total destruction.” She pauses, studying me with that investigative look that means she’s about to ask uncomfortable questions. “Speaking of crime fighting, how’s the Whitmore case going?”
I blow out a breath, watching the festival blossom all around the lake. “Getting more complicated by the hour.”
“Complicated how?”
“Toxicology said that Duncan Whitmore had enough digitalis coursing through his veins to put down an elephant,” I tell her.
Ivy’s eyes widen. “But he was stabbed!”
“I know.” I run a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of another impossible case. “And to add another odd element to this mess, Luke Lazzari is somehow involved in a roundabout way. I don’t think he offed Duncan, but I can’t get the angle.”
Ivy snorts. “Lazzari’s the kingpin of money laundering, not stabbing. The guy is too smart to get his hands dirty with—”
We both freeze as the thought hits us at once.
I shake my head. “Who would be desperate enough to wash Lazzari’s money through a multi-million-dollar chocolate enterprise?”
Ivy shrugs. “I’d start with the—”
“The one with lesser stakes than Duncan,” I cut her off, as it hits me like a punch to the gut.
“Someone who had every reason to want to turn an extra buck.” I look out at the shimmering water, thinking about mansions and money and family dynamics that make murder seem reasonable.
“Like purchasing a mega mansion on the lake.”
I take off toward the festival with adrenaline surging through my veins.
Ivy trots behind me, hot on my heels. “Oh no, you don’t, Fox. I’m going to help you take down this killer.”
“Not if Lottie gets to them first,” I call back over my shoulder.
And knowing Lottie Lemon, that’s exactly what’s about to happen.