Page 5 of Macaron Massacre
I’m about to say that it doesn’t matter, that in my heart she’ll always belong to my father, Joseph Lemon, but before I can get a word out, I spot Mayor Nash’s daughters, Kelleth and Aspen, up front. They’re svelte, sandy-headed blondes with tiny turned-up noses and perpetual scowls that frown at the plebs of Honey Hollow. They’re both about my age, one a year older, one younger. They have a brother, too, Finn, but he’s pretty much down-to-earth. He manages a ski resort not far from here. I’m not sure what the girls have been up to, but I’m betting it’s no good.
Mom leans in as we come up on my sisters standing awkwardly in a small crowd of angry looking people, all who resemble Rich in some small way.
“Everyone—this is my middle daughter, Lottie. She baked all the goodies for the party, and she baked a very special cake for the birthday boy as well.”
Technically, that’s true, but I didn’t bake a cake for Rich, per se. I was just going to pull one out of the refrigerated shelves and slap his name on it.
A thought hits me. Councilman Dushane just cleaned my refrigerated shelves right out.
Oh well, I’ll have to take one from the Honey Pot’s kitchen. Keelie is the manager here, and I know for a fact she won’t mind.
“Lottie, this is Gloria”—Mom practically shoves me in the older woman’s face. The woman is pretty, trim, short red hair, and an eerie grin that looks more like a painful grimace. Her lips are glossy and red, and her eyeteeth bear a matching stain. “Gloria is Rich’s ex.”
“Ah! The lucky one that got away.” I give a playful laugh, and the older woman chortles right along with me. I have a feeling Gloria and I will get along just fine.
Rich bucks as if I just shot him with my shiny new gun—which I don’t happen to have on me. I left it at home, tucked safely in my underwear drawer, in the event my sweet Himalayan cats, Pancake and Waffles, decided to grow opposable thumbs while I’m gone and go on a shooting spree. Stranger things have happened in Honey Hollow as of late.
“Funny.” The taller girl steps forward and offers me a rather enthusiastic shake of the hand. Her crimson hair is long and has that spiral perm effect, but I can tell it just grows out of her head that way.
What I wouldn’t do to have hair that amazing. It’s larger-than-life, and I bet it has to have its own zip code, too. But I wouldn’t dare say that out loud in the event she thinks it’s an insult. If she’s at all like her father, she takes everything way out of context.
“I’m Michelle Ireland”—she continues—“my married surname, of course.” She says it so confidently, with just a touch of humility, as if I should know who she is. She does have the aura of an extrovert. I can’t help but notice there are a handful of people turning to look at her every now and again.
She shrugs. “You’re probably wondering where you’ve seen me before. I’ve got an entire slew of ads running on cable right now. I’m sorry if you’re sick of looking at my impish mug. I’m a life coach. I do events and speaking engagements for large corporations. In fact, I have an entire string of seminars set up for the area. Home is Hollyhock, but I’ve only slept in my bed twenty times this year so far.”
“Please.” The younger redhead next to her rolls her eyes. “As if she cares.” She extends a hand. “Claret Dallas. Single. Not a life coach. I still live in Fallbrook with my mother.” She wrinkles her nose. “And I really don’t care who knows it.”
We all share a warm laugh. Claret is a shorter version of her sister, Michelle, but she seems far more down-to-earth. Her hair is straight but has just about as much body.
Claret juts her head forward a notch. “Your sisters mentioned that you’re the town sleuth.”
I shoot a look to Lainey and Meg before glancing around at the overcrowded room. If Nell is here, then there’s a good chance a homicide will take place today. The last thing I want to do is tip off the potential killer that I’m already onto them—sort of.
“Not really.” I wave it off as if it were no big deal. “I just got lucky a time or two.”
Meg lands an arm over Claret’s shoulder and balks, “She’s just being coy. Lottie here has stumbled across nine bodies in nine months.” Gloria, Michelle, and Claret each gasp in unison. And I think my mother and Lainey just joined in on the breathless fun as well.
Rich leans in toward his younger daughter. “Tell ’em what you do, honey bun.”
Claret’s face pinches the same color as her name. “Dad, this isn’t about me.” She tries to shoo him away with her hand but to no avail.
Good luck with that, toots. My mother has been trying to shoo him away for the better part of the last few weeks.
Michelle offers my mother a look of disdain. “So, when’s the big day?”
Lainey tips her head back. “July twenty-fifth.” She thrusts that sparkler on her ring finger forward, and the sisters admire it with an audibleooh. Lainey is so high off her upcoming nuptials, it didn’t even register to her that the question wasn’t aimed at her. But I’m pretty sure everyone in this circle prefers it that way.
Gloria lifts a brow to my mother. “Let’s see yours, Miranda. I know what Rich is capable of. I’ll be able to tell if you’re a keeper just by the size of that rock.”
I exchange a quick glance with my sisters. What a terrible thing to say.
Mom giggles like a schoolgirl and wiggles her left hand at the woman who had the gall to ask.
Gloria scowls at my mother’s bling as if it offended her on some level. “Two carats, occluded, and, my God, Rich, is that a yellow stone?” She shakes her head up at her ex. “You’ve insulted this poor woman and you’ve dragged us all out here to witness it.”
Geez. I don’t know who’s worse, Rich or his ex. I can see why the divorce was imminent. He’s too crazy, and she’s too honest.
My mother’s mouth opens to say something, but she gags on her reply. Her attention instead diverts to the front of the restaurant where Mayor Nash is attempting to get everyone’s attention by way of spitting into the mic.