Eggnog Trifle Trouble Page 4

  Ethel would be the sleek black Glock both Noah and Everett gifted me for my own protection well over a year ago.

  “No,” I tell him. “I’m working tonight, and I knew I’d have the two of you. Not to mention the fact it’s Christmastime. The last thing I even want to think about this time of year is murder.” I glance over to Gloria Abner’s body lying stiff over the snow and it breaks my heart. “Noah, someone did this to her. Your mother must have seen something. Hopefully, she’ll be able to tell you more once you’re down in Ashford later tonight.”

  His chest bucks with a silent laugh. “I’m not taking her to the station, Lot.”

  My mouth falls open as I look to the man I have professed my love to a countless number of times and a surge of adrenaline hits me like never before.

  “No fair, Noah. You let them haul me to Ashford last week when you knew darn well that I didn’t put a hit out on you—not on purpose anyway. I think this is a clear case of you playing favorites.”

  He inches back as if I struck him. “Lottie, this is my mother we’re talking about. And you know I had no control over what happened to you last week.”

  A choking sound emits from me. “I see how it goes. Your mother gets a free pass as a murder suspect while I had to endure spending Thanksgiving night on a hard, cold bench in the processing area, instead of stuffing my face with pie. Do you realize I could be cooking up a baby Fox in my belly? Doesn’t that purchase an ounce of mercy from you? I used to think so. But judging by the way you’re about to let a potential murderer off the hook, merely due to the fact she pushed you from her loins, then I think not.”

  I tread my way through the snow, past Everett, who quickly, and might I add wisely, abandons his post at Suze’s side. We’re about to head back into the open maw of the kitchen when I spot that honey-haired man, Chris Holiday, standing a few feet away from my bakery van with his arms crossed over his chest. He’s glaring at the crime scene as if it offended him on some level, and I waste no time in heading over.

  “Did you see something?” I call out his way.

  “Lemon”—Everett whispers—“we’re letting Noah take this one, remember?”

  Chris glances our way. “I just stepped outside to get some air and spotted that older blonde.” He does a double take in my direction. “And come to think of it, I spotted you, too. That gunshot sent me running this way right along with the sheriff’s department. Hey, you’re not responsible for this, are you?” There’s a flicker of something playful in his eyes as if perhaps he doesn’t mean the words.

  “No, she’s not,” Everett answers for me, and soon he’s navigated us right back into the ballroom where we run into both Carlotta and my mother.

  “Miranda”—Everett gently hands me off to her—“do not let her out of your sight. I need to find Dr. Barnette,” he grits it through his teeth as he bolts into the thick of the bodies still moving and grooving to the tune of “Jingle Bell Rock”. Each one of them seems hopelessly oblivious to the fact a tragedy just unfolded.

  “What’s the matter, Lottie?” Mom panics in an instant. Her creamy blond hair bounces around her shoulders, and I can’t help but note she’s donned the exact naughty Mrs. Claus sequin number that the victim was wearing.

  Carlotta leans in. “I recognize that homicidal gleam in your eyes, Lot. You found another one, didn’t you?”

  Evie pops up from behind her. “Do not freaking mess with me, Mom,” she spits it out like a reprimand. “If you found another body and didn’t bother to invite me to the killer party, I will never forgive you.”

  My mouth opens to say something, say anything when a sharp scream cuts through the air.

  “There’s been a murder!” a female voice shrills, and all eyes travel in that direction as every person in the room ceases to move.

  It’s Cormack at the center of the melee, as she starts in on an aria of screams once again. And soon enough, another familiar blonde gloms onto her. It’s Cormack’s wicked bestie, Cressida Bentley, Evie’s biological egg donor—aka her birth mother.

  Within minutes, the entire room is whipped up in a murderous frenzy, and before I can defuse my mother and Evie from spiraling out of control, both Cormack and Cressida are upon us.

  “You did this!” Cormack wags a red lacquered fingernail my way. “Don’t tell me you have nothing to do with this, Lainey!”

  Mom sucks in a quick breath. “Lottie, what does your sister have to do with any of this?”

  “Nothing,” I say as I glare over at the blonde featherhead before me. “Cormack doesn’t have the wherewithal to remember the fact my name is Lottie,” I snip it out in the direction of the ditz before us. It’s true. Both Cormack and Cressida outright refuse to call me by my given name, mostly because they’re a couple of socialite bullies.

  Evie scoffs. “Mom! You did it to me again!”

  Cressida pulls her over to their side, and to my shock Evie willingly stands between Cormack and Cressida. Both blondes have donned a red skimpy dress and heels that I’m sure cost more than the worth of the entire Evergreen Manor, and even with those pricey stilettos pressed to their feet, Evie towers over the both of them.

  Cressida growls my way, “I’ve had about enough of you!”

  “Me too!” Cormack shouts.

  “Me too!” Evie echoes to my horror, and the three of them stalk off in the direction of the kitchen.

  Both of my sisters, Lainey and Meg, appear in their place.

  Meg has long black hair and icy blue eyes, and Lainey looks like she could be my full-blooded sister with her caramel hair and hazel eyes. I used to think my parents got the details of my adoption wrong and that it was Meg who was the odd Lemon out—but, alas, it was me.

  Meg has got on a pair of silver pants and matching bustier. She’s definitely the moodier sister, with her eyes ringed with black kohl and her matching dark lipstick. She used to work the wrestling circuit down in Vegas, but now she teaches the women down at the gentlemen’s club in the next town over their dicey moneymaking moves. She’s been helping out with the Honey Pot Diner as of late, too.

  Lainey looks perfectly prim and proper in a velvet blue dress that happens to look like a twin to mine. Come to think of it, this might have been a power move on my mother’s behalf in an effort to get her girls to dress alike even though we’re well into our twenties. I’m sure she knew there was no hope of Meg joining in on the matchy match fun, but Lainey and I are still pretty much suckers for just about any shenanigans my mother has to offer. Lainey happens to work as the head librarian at the Honey Hollow Public Library. And if I wasn’t a baker, I’d be right there with her.

  “Are you kidding me, Lottie?” Lainey looks peeved. “I left the baby tonight for the first time since I had her. And now I’ve come to find out you’ve called another killer to the scene?” She starts to beat me on the arm with her sparkly red purse until Meg plucks her away. “How dare you take down date night!”

  Meg is laughing so hard, tears are streaming down her face. “Forest is back there talking to Hook. I’d better give Lainey back to her handler.” They take off for their respective plus ones. Lainey and Forest have been married for a while. He’s the love of her life, and no one has cheered them on more than me. And Hook Redwood is Meg’s longtime boyfriend. He’s basically Honey Hollow’s version of the Wolf of Wall Street. He and Meg are sort of an odd pairing, but hey, it works.

  “Oh, Lottie”—Mom steps in front of me—“something terrible has happened.”

  “The murder, yes, I know.” I press a hand to my chest just trying to process it all.

  “No, not that.” She waves me off. “My latest book isn’t doing so well. Rumor has it, my publisher is thinking of dropping me.”

  “What?” I squawk in disbelief. My mother writes raunchy fiction under the nom de plume Mirandy Lemonade, and she just had the second book in her Reckless series come out a couple of months ago. “Mom, you’re sleeping with your publisher.”

  Carlotta chuckles.
“Talk about having an in with the boss.”

  It’s true. My mother’s publisher is Noah’s dicey father, Wiley Fox. He once faked his death after stealing a bundle from God knows how many poor unsuspecting widows. He did it to Everett’s mother, Eliza. I’m shocked Everett let Wiley live once he magically resurrected himself a year or so ago.

  Mom shakes her head. “It doesn’t seem to matter that I’m sleeping with him. He said I’m underperforming.” She gasps as she brings her fingers to her mouth. “What if that was some sort of a reverse double entendre?”

  “I’m stepping away now,” I say. “I’m sure your book sales will pick up. It’s the holidays.”

  “Before you go”—her fingers wiggle in my direction—“make sure you don’t forget the holiday craft fair I’m hosting at the inn. I’m depending on you to cater the desserts.”

  “You bet. I can’t wait.”

  “Me either.” Carlotta smacks my mother on the back. “You bring the wallets, I’ll bring the kinky candles. Hey? Maybe I’ll set up shop with my van outside of the inn, too? I can get ’em coming and going.”

  I don’t stick around to hear the end of that wayward conversation. My mother owns the only bed and breakfast in town. It used to be that she got the run offs from the Evergreen Manor, but once a happy ghost family settled at the inn, it’s been the other way around. My mother’s inn is now listed as one of the must-see tourist attractions in all of Vermont. And I’m rather proud of that haunted fact, too.

  I scan the crowd for my handsome husband, and instead, I spot Candy holding herself while looking up at that rumored to be haunted painting. It’s almost as if her gaze is unbreakable. Soon, Carlotta and my mother join her, and I have to shake my head at the sight. It’s clear the man was a hypnotist. Or at least the artist was.

  Just past them I spot that ornery elf who earlier took more than a little heat from the newly deceased. She’s talking to Santa, and now it looks as if the two of them are locked in a heated conversation. I wonder if they know that it was Gloria who bit the big one outside? I feel so very bad for everyone involved.

  Everett comes my way with Dr. Barnette. She’s a stunning redhead who has garnered the privilege to call Everett by his proper moniker—Essex, but I’ve never let that bother me. She delivered Lainey’s little girl, Josie, last August, and she took care of Keelie after she gave birth to her son, Bear—named after his papa. Keelie actually had her baby down at Honey Lake a bit unexpectedly. He just arrived that quickly, and it was Noah who helped deliver him. And coming right up this March, Dr. Barnette is going to deliver my little sugar cookie into this world.

  She quickly checks my vitals and asks me a few dozen rapid-fire questions.

  “I think you’re going to be fine, Lottie.” She sheds a pained smile. “Your blood pressure might be elevated, and so for that alone I’m going to suggest you go straight home and rest. Should you feel even the slightest twinge, don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll have my phone on all night just for you. Otherwise, I’ll see you at your regularly scheduled appointment. I’m sorry you had to come upon such a grisly scene. It’s a horrible thing.”

  She takes off, and Everett pulls me in and holds me, whispering how much I mean to him, how much he loves me right into my ear.

  “Please, Lemon”—he breathes the words over my temple—“don’t even think about this case. This Christmas is all about new beginnings, getting settled as a family, and getting back to spending some serious alone time together.” He dots a kiss to my lips, and I nod up at him, all the while trying to ignore the fact a sugary perfume seems to be lingering on his suit. I’m sure it’s nothing. My hormones want to run wild in all sorts of crazy directions tonight.

  Dr. Barnette is right. I witnessed a horrible thing.

  A sharp scream erupts over by that haunted painting, and we look over to find Carlotta dancing a jig and pulling my mother in on the foot-stomping chaos.

  “I won!” Carlotta shouts at the top of her lungs to the amusement of those around her. “I won! I won!”

  “Frosty the Snowman” blares over the speakers, and people continue to dance to the peppy beat. One wouldn’t think that a body lies just outside of these walls—that a person who was just in this very room reveling in the merriment has turned up dead with a gunshot wound to the back.

  One would never suspect that a murder had taken place, let alone that there might be a murderer in our midst.

  But someone did pull that trigger, and I very much doubt it was Suze.

  Someone killed Gloria Abner in cold blood, and they just might have come back in to have a jolly good time.

  It would be the perfect cover.

  Not that it would help.

  They will be winnowed out.

  And come hell or high water, the protest from Noah or Everett—I’m betting I’ll be the one to do just that.

  Chapter 4

  December in Honey Hollow is the most magical time of the year. All of Main Street is lit up with twinkle lights, garland is strung up from one business to the next with cheery red bows dotting it intermittently, and each door is festooned with a wreath made of evergreens and poinsettias.

  The Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery is no different. The inside has always held a homey appeal with its butter yellow walls and mix and match pastel furniture, but Lily and I went the extra nine yards and put up garland and lights along the counter and windows. I’ve put an entire gingerbread village on display, frosted and dotted with colorful candies. And because of their apparent yummy goodness, I’ve had more orders than ever for those scrumptious humble abodes.

  My bakery and the restaurant next door, the Honey Pot Diner, are connected through a shared wall. They both once belonged to my grandma Nell—back when I still didn’t know she was my grandmother.

  Nell has since passed away, and she left just about everything she owned to me. Of course, she left a nominal amount to her children, Carlotta, Aunt Becca—my best friend Keelie’s mom—and Uncle William who actually took me to court in an effort to get back everything Nell gave me, which didn’t work. Nell felt guilty for keeping Carlotta’s secret all these years, and the cash and prizes were her way of making it up to me. But Nell got to watch me grow up with the Lemon family, and I worked for her as soon as I came back from college. We were closer than ever back then.

  The Honey Pot Diner was Nell’s baby. It’s as quirky as it is delicious, and there’s a life-size oak tree made of resin that sits in the middle of the establishment. The branches are strewn with twinkle lights that crawl over the ceiling and creep right over the ceiling of the café portion of my bakery as well, giving both places a fairy-tale appeal.

  A rush of customers just vacated the premises at what felt like the very same time, and Lily belts out a hard groan.

  She takes a moment to glare my way. “I thought I warned you not to actively participate in any more homicides.”

  “I’m not actively participating in any homicides.” More or less.

  “You know what I mean.” She narrows her dark eyes over mine. “That woman was found with a plate full of your eggnog trifle! Every last body that has bit the dust—or should I say cookie—has suspiciously been found with one of your desserts on their person. And you were suspiciously at each and every crime scene—discovering the body. Don’t tell me you haven’t been planting your desserts at the scene of the crime. I mean, I get it. You wanted to find an innovative way to advertise and, believe me, you have.”

  Before I can contest it, Meg and Keelie head this way from the Honey Pot.

  Keelie, my bubbly blonde bestie, is the manager next door. And Meg, my somewhat brooding sister, has helped her maintain it while Keelie has been taking a little extra time away to be with her new baby.

  Keelie married my old high school boyfriend Otis Bear Fisher. He basically cheated on me throughout our entire relationship and had me crying myself to sleep each and every night. But he’s since cleaned up his cheating ways, and now Keelie and he have started
a family. Bear is actually the contractor I hired to work on my grandma Nell’s house—one of the homes she left in my care. I’ve come to regret the fact I’ve hired him more than a handful of times. It’s taking so long to rebuild, it makes me wonder if he’s planting the wood from seedlings and waiting for it all to grow.

  “What’s up?” Keelie slings an arm around my shoulders.

  Meg grunts as she heads for the bakery shelf. “We just came to steal a few cookies,” she says while snapping up a handful of gingerbread men.

  Lily takes one for herself. “I was just telling Lottie she’s gone too far with this whole planting a dessert on a dead body thing.”

  Meg barks out a laugh. “Please. Lottie and our mother are in cahoots. Mom’s got the world convinced her B&B is haunted, and because of that she’s got a group of gullible hippies coming through each afternoon for those haunted Honey Hollow tours.”

  Lily nods. “And once she’s through with that, she sends an entire busload of hungry hippies our way for The Last Thing They Ate Tour.” She says that last part in air quotes.

  It’s true. And don’t think for a minute that my mother is giving those tours for free. Nope. She’s charging eighty bucks a pop and raking in money hand over haunted fist. Not that I’m doing so bad once those hungry hippies head my way. I’m sort of raking in the dough, too, and sadly it’s on the backs of those poor homicide victims.

  I frown over at Lily. “I have no idea why all of those bodies had one of my desserts nearby. But as fate would have it, people do seem to want to eat whatever the murder de jure is. And, this month, it just so happens to be my eggnog trifle.” I pluck a couple out of the refrigerator shelving unit and both Meg and Keelie coo at how adorable they are.

  “Mason jars,” I say. “It was the only way I could think to sell them individually.”

  “And look.” Lily pulls out a couple of miniature versions. “Tiny Mason jars for those who just want a few bites. Don’t worry, Lottie. I’ve already tripled our orders for all the ingredients—and picked enough Mason jars, big and little, for you to poison the entire state of Vermont with.”