Pecan Pie Predicament Page 7

  Lily is helping a few stragglers by the register while Carlotta and I enjoy a platter of deep-fried butter just the way God intended.

  I take in the first bite, and the first thing I experience is the powdered dusted sugar on top, quickly followed by the crispy crunch of the deep-fried batter, then comes the warm buttery reward.

  I moan with delight as my eyelids flutter.

  I’m not sure if there’s any food on the planet that’s brought me this much joy. As the butter melts over my tongue, I take a moment to soak in my sweet bakery, with its pastel mix and match furniture and its warm yellow walls. There’s a shared opening in the wall that leads next door to the Honey Pot Diner, and since Grandma Nell left them both to me in her will, I don’t mind at all sharing a customer base with them.

  Years ago, Nell had a life-size oak tree made of resin installed in the middle of the Honey Pot dining room. It’s a majestic wonder whose branches crawl up over the ceiling and extend all the way over the ceiling of my café as well. Each branch is wrapped in twinkle lights, and it gives both establishments an enchanted appeal.

  Carlotta moans. “You done did me in with this, Lot.” She plucks another pad of perfectly deep-fried butter off the platter. In truth, they look like adorable little square cookies. “I don’t think I can ever go a day without it.”

  “You know what else you can’t go a day without?” I lean across the counter and glower at her. “An electric razor. Are you nuts running around with that stubble taking over your chin? And don’t get me started on that dark, furry shadow on your upper lip. How did this happen to you? Is this something you need to see a doctor about?”

  Carlotta rolls her eyes. “Don’t you worry about my hairy scary peach fuzz. I’ve got this under control. And no, it’s not a medical issue—or more to the point, genetic. So don’t you worry your little smooth face over it. The truth is, my high school BFF, Caterina Canelli, had me shave my face on a dare. And you know I don’t take a dare well. I can’t refuse one.”

  My lips twist at the thought. “I double dog dare you to find an apartment.”

  She wads up her napkin and tosses it at me. “You can’t weaponize my weakness against me, Lot. You know I can’t leave you.”

  “You’ve done it before. The Honey Hollow Fire Department can attest to that.” I give a little wink.

  “And now it’s time for me to make amends. Besides. You’ll want me around in four month’s time. I’m practically a built-in babysitter.”

  “That’s very nice of you, Carlotta.” Alarmingly so, because we all know where she’s capable of leaving an infant once it becomes too much for her. “And just for the record, I was teasing. You’re welcome to stay with me. That is, if I had a place to stay myself.” A swell of emotions fills me, and now I’m not sure if that was me or the hormones talking. “So what motivated Caterina to put you in such a hairy situation?”

  “We were having a sleepover, and I dared her to shave her eyebrows off.”

  “Did she?”

  “Yup. Looked like an alien without them, too. She drew them right back on as soon as she could get to a Sharpie. Odd thing is they never grew back. Anyway, she dared me to shave my face with her daddy’s electric razor, and boy, did I go to town. It felt like a nice, soothing massage, so I made sure I got every square inch of my chin, cheeks, and upper lip. But unlike Cat, my facial hair came back long, thick, and dark, and it wouldn’t stop coming. But once I got knocked up with you, it was coming in something fierce. That’s when I knew I had to take up shaving. And I had to do it twice a day, too. The five o’clock shadow is a very real thing.”

  “Carlotta.” I wince her way. “I’m so sorry.”

  “You should be. It’s your fault.”

  “Why am I not surprised that the finger pointing has circled my way?”

  “That’s one of the reasons I’m glad I had you, Lot. Without you, I’d have no one to blame but myself.”

  Before she can regale me with more tales from the hairy side, an all too familiar ghost floats right through the window until she bellies up to the counter right next to Carlotta.

  “Greer Giles.” I brighten at the sight of her. Greer Giles is—was—a girl about my age who was shot a few years back on Valentine’s Day. She still wears the white ruched dress she had on that night—bullet wound included. Her long dark hair gleams with a spray of miniature stars, and her eyes glow an eerie shade of neon green like only the dead’s can do. “What brings you here this afternoon?”

  Greer is one of four ghosts that have permanent residence at my mother’s B&B. Her plus one, Winslow Decker, is a two-hundred-year-old pig farmer who once owned the land under my mom’s place.

  Then there’s a little girl named Azalea, Lea, whom they’ve adopted. Lea is perennially six, has long dark hair combed over her face, wears a dirty pinafore and scuffed Mary Janes, and happens to wield a machete. Her family was slaughtered over that prime haunted real estate that houses the B&B, and she’s been looking to exact revenge ever since. And the happy little ghostly family just so happened to adopt a little black cat named Thirteen a while back. That wily kitty once helped me solve a murder investigation, but for whatever reason, he was allowed to stay. Staying south of paradise is rare, but as evidenced by the fab four, it can happen.

  Greer fluffs her hair before popping a piece of fried butter into her mouth.

  “Mmm!” She moans. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Lottie. I think it just needs a dash more butter.” She gives a cheeky wink.

  Suffice it to say, the ghostly residents at my mother’s B&B were more than thrilled when my powers grew last year and they garnered the ability to eat. I have no idea why their abilities are tied to mine, but let’s just say I’m hoping my powers are on a permanent moratorium as far as growth is concerned.

  Carlotta grunts, “Now look what you’ve done, Lot. You’ve woke the dead with these butter bombs. You keep this up, and we’ll have a deep-fried zombie apocalypse right here in Honey Hollow in time for Thanksgiving.”

  Greer shakes her head. “I’m not here for the butter bombs, but don’t you dare show up at the B&B without these ever again, Lottie Lemon.” She scoops up a couple more. “I’m here because I happen to have a date.”

  “A what?” both Carlotta and I say in unison.

  “Greer”—I whisper as I lean in hard—“you’ve already got a man.”

  The girly ghoul frowns my way. “That’s never stopped you.”

  Carlotta belts out a laugh. “She’s got you there, Lot.”

  “Greer.” I shake my head. “What’s really going on? I know for a fact you and Winslow are solid.”

  “We are.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s just that this is Barry Honeycutt.” She nods as if I should know what that means. “He stopped by the B&B yesterday, and I went nuts at the sight of him. Oh, Lottie, I used to have the biggest crush on him back in the day.” She fans herself with her fingers. “Anyway, Barry said he’d loved to catch up sometime and asked if I wanted to meet up for coffee right here at your bakery. Winslow said he didn’t mind.” She waves it off. “That man knows I’m his through and through. It turns out, we’re soulmates, Lottie. Can you believe it? Your Grandma Nell told me herself when she visited last June.”

  My lips cinch. “She told me the same thing about Noah and Everett.”

  Greer gasps. “You get two? Hey? Maybe I get two?” She gasps again with a lot more force behind it. “Maybe Barry Honeycutt is my second soulmate!” She cranes her neck past me as she looks toward the kitchen where Barry is currently devouring a pumpkin cheesecake I made upon his request. “Before I forget, Lottie, I heard your mother talking about a Friendsgiving event for her guests. She says she’s going to have enough pecan and pumpkin pies to feed all of Vermont. Consider yourself warned.” She waves to someone behind me. “Hey, hot stuff!”

  Barry floats out of the kitchen looking lean and mean, his muscles look suspiciously far more inflated than they did this morning, and I get the feelin
g he’s interested in Greer for more than just a quick coffee klatch.

  Carlotta and I watch as the two of them glide over to a table next to the window, already immersed in conversation and laughter.

  “Friendsgiving.” Carlotta looks up at me, and I can practically see the pumpkin pies swirling in her eyes. “That means delicious eats. I guess it’s time for me to get on your mama’s good side again.”

  A frozen wind sweeps into the bakery and in stride five faces that all but bring tears to my eyes, and this time it’s not just my hormones on overdrive.

  “Mother! Keelie, Lainey! Precious baby one and precious baby two!” I come around the counter and pull both my bestie and my big sister into a warm embrace, or at least as much as I can with those two tiny peanuts strapped to their front sides. Mom leans in and offers me a pat to the back as well.

  “You look great, Lottie,” she sings. “Your skin is just glowing.”

  “Nah.” Carlotta is quick with the commentary. “That’s just the sheen from the butter she’s been rubbing her face in.”

  “Ooh,” Keelie squeals. “I’d like a butter facial myself.” Keelie is my bubbly blonde bestie, and her sweet baby Bear, named after his daddy, is just as cute as a blond little button. He’s all boy through and through with his stern expression and husky build and voice. Both baby Bear and my sweet niece, Josie, are just three months old, but I can’t even remember life without them.

  Lainey is one year older than me and shares the same caramel-colored waves and hazel eyes that I do. Lainey and I look so much alike she’s the reason I doubted the adoption story my parents kept feeding me.

  I reach down and give Josie’s precious reddish-blonde hair a quick pat. My dear sweet niece is the most beautiful baby girl on the planet.

  “Oh, these babies.” I flick my fingers at them. “Give me one quick. I’m having a serious craving for some baby cheeks to munch on.”

  “Me too.” Carlotta is right there next to me with her baby hungry fingers, and soon I’m holding baby Bear and she’s holding Josie.

  “Wow.” I sigh as I take in Bear’s heavenly baby scent. “Why do babies smell so good?”

  Josie spits up over Carlotta’s shoulder and Carlotta hands her to my mother so fast you’d think a baby bomb were about to go off.

  “Why do babies insist on puking?” Carlotta gags as she wipes off her sweater.

  Keelie and Lainey share a quick laugh.

  “Puking is the easy part. Bear just had a blowout this morning,” Keelie says, taking a seat on a stool. “Trust me, Lottie, he didn’t smell so good then.”

  “What’s a blowout?” I ask as I make my way behind the counter and produce a couple of slices of my creamy pumpkin roll for them to enjoy.

  Lainey laughs. “Oh, Lottie, you’ve got so much to learn. A blowout is when your baby waits until you put them in their most adorable outfit before their bottom decides to do an impression of a human volcano.” She nods to Keelie. “Josie had one yesterday. I’ll never get those stains out of that outfit, and it’s the dress I spent a mint on for her to wear to Thanksgiving.”

  “Ooh, speaking of which”—Mom goes from rocking Josie to jostling the poor thing—“I’m hosting Thanksgiving at the B&B and you’re all invited. Keelie, of course, I’ve already invited your mother and sister as well. And I’ve hired a photographer to come by so we can all do our Christmas pictures.”

  “Christmas pictures?” Carlotta squints her way. “What’s with the holiday hopscotch, Toots?”

  Lainey lifts her fork. “They’re for our Christmas cards. It takes a while to put ourselves together with the baby, and we figure this way we’ll already look our best. Plus, it’ll take some time to pick out the prefect picture then have it made up, not to mention finding the time to send it out. It’s going to be a rush job. Next year we’ll have to start around the Fourth of July. But regardless, I can’t wait to send out our first holiday cards with the baby.”

  Keelie swallows down a bite of her pumpkin roll and moans. “I appreciate that, Miranda. Count Bear and me in for Thanksgiving, but I don’t think we can get our holiday pictures done that day. Thanksgiving is all about elastic pants and cranberry stains on my shirt.”

  Lainey nods. “You’re so right. We’re going to have to move it up.”

  “I have an idea,” I say, cradling little Bear’s soft head with the palm of my hand. “Mom, why don’t we have the photographer come to the surprise birthday party I’m throwing for Everett? I’d love to have the party at the B&B. It can be a Friendsgiving theme. I’ll have the Honey Pot cater the savory, and I’ll cater the sweets.”

  Carlotta moans as if she were staring down a Thanksgiving Day turkey right this moment. “Now that’s a delicious idea, Lot.”

  Mom nods. “Consider it done.”

  “Great. His birthday is in two weeks on a Friday. If we can have the conservatory, that would be fabulous. The baby and I will get everything together.” I pat my belly as we share a laugh.

  Keelie leans in and inspects my tummy. “I’m just dying to know what you’re having, Lottie. How are you carrying? High or low?”

  “Hey, yeah.” Lainey squints at my tummy. “High—it’s a girl. Low—it’s a boy.”

  I cup a hand over my belly for them to see. “I’m just now pooching out. I can’t really tell which way we’re going.”

  Carlotta barks out a laugh. “You’ve been pooching out for a while now, Lot. I think you’re having a fried pickle.”

  I make a face at her, although she’s probably onto something.

  Lainey twirls her fork in my direction. “How does your skin feel? Dry—it’s a boy. Smooth and silky—it’s a girl.”

  “I don’t know.” I hold out my hand and examine it. “I’m sort of in between.”

  Mom scoffs. “You girls are silly. Everyone knows it’s about the taste. Lottie, I craved nothing but cookies and sweet treats with your sisters. It’s true what they say, sugar and spice and everything nice—that’s what little girls are made of.”

  Keelie lets out a hard groan. “She’s not wrong, Lottie. I had a mad hankering for anchovy pizzas the entire time I was pregnant with Bear. In fact”—she checks her phone—“Mangias just opened. I should call one in.”

  Lainey leans my way. “It must be a girl, Lottie. All you do is eat sweet treats.”

  Mom wags a finger. “I don’t know. I’ve seen her polish off more fried pickles these last few months than should ever be legal. Reckless Pickles?” she mutters those last two words to herself.

  “Pickles are old news,” Carlotta grunts. “She’s on a butter kick now. I think she’s having a Butterball turkey.” She grins my way. “You’re not going to mind a little cannibalism on Thanksgiving, are you?”

  “I’m not going to mind any in twenty minutes. The Honey Pot has a Thanksgiving Day plate special with turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, cornbread stuffing, and a creamy green bean casserole topped with fried onions.” I’ll sneak a fried pickle in there myself.

  Every customer in the place moans with delight at the thought.

  The bell on the door chimes and in strides Britney Fox with her requisite yoga pants, a short coat pulled on top, and that lone stray blonde lock of hair covering her left eye. I’m still not even sure if Britney has a left eye. That’s to be determined.

  Lainey snatches baby Bear from me, and I head back behind the counter to take Britney’s order.

  We step toward the register and Britney all but snarls my way.

  “You’re in a good mood,” I tease. “How about the very last slice of pecan pie and a cup of pumpkin spice coffee? On the house. You’ve been through enough.”

  “You bet I’ve been through enough. And it’s all your fault.”

  Carlotta moseys over, noshing on her pumpkin roll. “Hold the fireworks.” She gets cozy on a stool. “As you were.”

  “My fault?” I blink over at Britney. I won’t lie, a part of me thinks she might be onto something.

  “That’s r
ight.” Britney doesn’t miss a beat. “You’re bad luck, Lottie Lemon. Noah mentioned your house burned down and so did the one that belonged to Essex.”

  “Yes, they burned to the ground.” I shudder. “Anyway, we’re with Noah until a room opens up at the B&B.”

  “I bet you are.” She smacks her lips. “Anyway, Noah says I’m a viable suspect. He won’t clear me, Lottie. So I need you to do it for me. My gym will be closed for another week. Thank God for Fanatical Fitness. I wasn’t sure when Reese opened up shop next door if it would hurt business or not, but at least my customers have somewhere to go until I open again. Let’s just hope they don’t prefer aerobics to cycling, or my entire business model will go up in smoke.” She sucks in a quick breath while looking at me. “It’s that Hearst curse at play, isn’t it? Noah mentioned something about it and laughed it off, but that’s why those houses burned down, isn’t it?” She sucks in another breath. “And poor Hannah was found eating one of your cakes!”

  “Pies,” I correct. “She was eating one of my pies.” I bite down on my lip. “I’m not proud of it, but it seems to be a running theme.”

  “Exactly,” she hisses. “Lottie Lemon, face it, you’re not just bad luck—you’re cursed!”

  Carlotta nods. “I think you’re onto something, Blondie.”

  “Would you hush?” I bring a finger to my lips as I glance around. “I am not cursed, nor do I have bad luck.”

  Britney scoffs. “Then how do you explain all of the death and destruction left in the wake of your desserts? Don’t think I haven’t heard the rumor going around town that you’re a serial killer. I know for a fact one of your desserts has been at the scene of the crime from the very beginning. I’m no mathematician, but I think the odds are one in impossible for that to randomly happen. I’m sensing a deadly pattern. And now you’re coming after me.”

  “You weren’t the victim!” My voice hikes in a panic.

  “Well, I am now. I’m taking a hit where it counts—on the bottom line. And I’m not thrilled about it either. If only I could figure out a way to boot you out of Honey Hollow for good.”