Chapter 25 Lottie #2
“Joe was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Chuck shrugs. “He saw me leaving the kitchen after Jolene. Got it in his head that he could make some easy money blackmailing me. Plus, pinning it on that detective of yours was just good strategy. Everyone already knew they’d been arguing.”
Carlotta gasps with theatrical horror. “You killed two people because you couldn’t keep it in your pants?
That’s the worst reason for murder since that guy who offed his neighbor for playing ABBA too loud.
” She pauses. “Although, to be fair, there is a limit to how many times a person should hear ‘Dancing Queen’ in one day.”
“Not for me,” I mutter.
Chuck’s gaze shifts from me to Carlotta, then to the exit behind us. I can practically see the calculations running behind his eyes.
“You won’t make it,” I tell him calmly. “Security is already on the way. Detective Morrison knows everything.”
“Then I have nothing to lose, do I?” he snarls, lunging forward suddenly with the desperation of a man who realizes that all his careful planning has come to nothing.
I block his path, positioning myself between him and the exit. He’s taller, and stronger, but I’ve faced down scarier things than a middle manager with murder on his résumé. Like twins with simultaneous diaper blowouts at three a.m.
The sound of running footsteps echoes down the corridor outside. Chuck’s head snaps toward the noise and his expression hardens as he realizes his escape window is closing faster than a bakery on Sunday afternoon.
Before I can react, he grabs me and spins me around with my back against his chest. His arm locks across my throat in a hold that sends instant panic through my system.
“Nobody moves or the baker gets it!” he shouts as Noah, Everett, and Detective Morrison burst through the door, weapons drawn.
“Let her go, Longnecker,” Morrison orders, his gun trained on Chuck with unwavering precision.
Noah’s expression is deadly calm. His eyes are locked on mine with a silent promise that everything will be okay and that he’s probably planning Chuck’s demise in very specific detail.
Everett looks equally focused and I can see the barely contained fury in the way his jaw is set that suggests his judicial restraint is being severely tested.
“I’m walking out of here,” Chuck insists as his arm tightens across my windpipe. “Or she’s not walking out at all.”
“That’s my wife,” Everett and Noah shout in unison, which would be touching if I weren’t being used as a human shield by a double murderer with questionable negotiation skills.
“Really not the time for any marital issues, boys,” I rasp, my air supply diminishing by the second and my patience for any relationship dynamics reaching an all-time low.
Ray-Ray floats directly above us, his spectral face tight with concentration as he examines the array of copper pots hanging from the rack like someone planning a very specific type of supernatural intervention. “Hold tight, sugar cube. The King has got your back.”
With a ghostly roar, Ray-Ray passes his transparent hand through the chain securing one particularly massive copper pot. The links separate as if cut by invisible shears and send the pot plummeting directly toward Chuck’s head.
CLANG!
The sound reverberates through the storage room like a church bell, followed immediately by Chuck’s grip loosening as he crumples to the floor. I lunge forward, gasping for air as both Noah and Morrison tackle Chuck’s semi-conscious form.
Everett reaches me in three long strides and pulls me against his chest with the kind of desperate relief that makes my knees weak despite the adrenaline.
“Are you okay?” he pants into my ear, his voice rough with emotion.
“Just another day at the office,” I manage, even though my throat feels like I’ve swallowed sandpaper. “However, most offices don’t come with falling cookware as a security feature.”
Carlotta claps her hands with delight and whoops at the top of her lungs. “Talk about divine intervention!”
Ray-Ray floats down to eye level, his rhinestone jumpsuit twinkling with ghostly satisfaction.
“Told you I had your back, honey bunch. Looks like my time here is through again, but my baby girl awaits!” He strikes a dramatic pose with one hand pointing skyward.
“Don’t be cruel to a heart that’s true, and remember—it’s always better to rock around the clock than to get all shook up over heartbreak hotel!
The afterlife express is leaving the station, and this time I’ve got a VIP ticket to see my Jolene! ”
He begins to fade, and his form becomes increasingly transparent as he rises toward the ceiling. “Thank you, thank you very much,” he calls as his voice grows fainter. “Elvis has left the building!”
With a final shower of blue and pink stars, Ray-Ray vanishes, leaving behind nothing but the faint scent of fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches.
Morrison handcuffs a groggy Chuck, reciting his rights as Noah helps haul him to his feet. “Charles Chuck Longnecker, you’re under arrest for the murders of Jolene Nelson and Joseph Tuggle.”
Everett keeps his arm firmly around my waist as if he’s afraid I might disappear if he lets go or possibly run off to investigate another murder before this one is fully processed.
I lean into him, suddenly exhausted now that the danger has passed and my adrenaline is crashing like a sugar high after too much candy.
Then, from the distance, a sound cuts through the aftermath of chaos—the distinctive buzz of a timer going off with the urgency of something that cannot be ignored.
“Oh my word!” My eyes widen with panic as reality comes crashing back. “My cinnamon rolls and cake!”
Because in my world, even catching killers takes a backseat to perfectly baked goods. Or at least they should.
After all, you can’t serve justice if it’s burnt around the edges.