Page 9 of Christmas Fudge Fatality
And, sadly, we sell out of each baked good that was associated with the latest, heinous crime. I’m not proud to say each homicide that’s taken place in Honey Hollow has had some morbid connection to my desserts. And this time, it just so happens to be my Christmas fudge.
Mom fans herself with relief. “Thank goodness, Lily. At least you’re thinking. Oh, and throw in a tray of those naughty gingerbread boys. The girls in the book club will just love to eat those up.”
Lainey nods to our mother. “Leave it to Miranda Lemon to make eating a gingerbread cookie sound like an X-rated event. What book did you lascivious ladies read this month?”
Mom lifts a finger. “Well, as you know, we tend to lean toward historical fiction. But, seeing that it’s the holidays and it’s just so cold out, we opted for something with a Christmas theme that was a touch spicier than we’re used to.”
Keelie sucks in a breath, a laugh quivering in her chest. “What exactly was my mother reading?”
Keelie’s mother and my own are very good friends as well. We’ve been one big happy family for as long as I can remember—with the exception of Naomi, of course. Naomi is rarely ever happy about anything.
Mom bites down on her cherry red lip. “Santa’s Sleigh Bells. Let’s just say Santa is a handsome thirty-something who makes nightly visits to all the naughty women on his list. I’ve read it cover to cover three times.” She gives a cheeky wink before heading to the rear of the café and pulling together a couple of tables.
Keelie leans in with a giggle in her throat. “I bet she’ll read it ten times before Christmas Eve.”
Noel gives a few friendly barks. “What about the investigation, Lottie? We’re wasting time with cookies and book clubs. We need to find whoever did this to my sweet Tamara.”
I sigh down at the pouty pooch just as an idea hits.
“Lainey? Are you busy this afternoon?”
“Nope. It’s my day off. I should be home soaking in a bubble bath, catching up on my to-be-read pile. I swear, one of these days all those books stacked on my nightstand are going to topple over and kill me in my sleep.”
Lily sighs hard. “Try not to drag any of Lottie’s desserts to bed with you beforehand,” she says as she heads to the kitchen.
“Duly noted,” Lainey shouts with a laugh before her features fall as she looks to me. “Only it’s not so funny, is it?” She makes an adorable face. “What do you need this afternoon? Going on another body hunt?”
“Nope. I just thought it would be nice to deliver a couple of cookie platters to the employees over at the Gray Farm. I’m guessing they could all use a little cheering up.”
“Hey?” Her face brightens. “Stacy will probably be there! I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m in.”
It’s nice to know that whatever schemes I might have brewing, I’ll always have my big sister by my side.
Now if I could only figure out who killed Tamara.
* * *
The Grays’produce farm sits on a forty-acre sprawl on the edge of Honey Hollow where the hillsides seem to butt right up to heaven. At the entry, there’s a big wooden sign that welcomes us to the property, and I drive the bakery van right to the front of the offices where most of the employees tend to congregate.
Lainey helps me schlep in four platters of every sweet treat I could get my oven mitts on. I’ve piled each one high with peppermint bark, peppermint chocolate brownies, and gingerbread men and women—mostly women, no thanks to my mother and her thorny horny book club. But there are peppermint pinwheels and sugar cookies in the shapes of Santa, wreathes, reindeer, and Christmas trees. I even included a couple holiday stollen, a German sweet bread made with candied fruit, nuts, and spices. Stollen has been a family tradition for so long, I could practically bake this with my eyes closed. But, lucky for me, I opt to make it with my mouth open. I confess, I’ve made it a tradition to eat the very first roll that comes out of the oven.
But nothing says Christmas quite like my walnut fudge, and I came prepared with two pink bakery boxes full of—
I suck in a quick breath and block Lainey from knocking on the door.
“What was I thinking showing up with the exact sweet treat that poor Tamara ate last?”
Lainey makes a face. “You’re talking about the fudge, right?” She rings the bell. “Trust me. Once they take their first bite, no one is going to care. If anything, they’ll be glad the poor thing had one last burst of joy. Your fudge is that good, Lottie.”
The door swings open before I can refute it, and both Lainey and I find ourselves staring right at Stacy Culberson.
Her hair is pulled back into a loose ponytail, and she’s donned an old flannel shirt and a pair of cowboy boots as if she were ready to head off to the barn despite the snow flurries we’re experiencing.
“Lottie—Lainey.” She offers a pained smile. “Please come in. What is all this?” She takes a tray from Lainey and smiles as she peels back the aluminum cover.
“Just a few treats for you and the rest of the employees,” I say as she ushers us into an expansive room next to the foyer that looks like a comfortable living room with oversized leather couches and round wooden coffee tables that are strewn about.
A few people migrate over, and we set the desserts down on the elongated dining room table. Soon enough, there’s a smattering of people thanking us profusely and enjoying the sweet treats at hand.