Page 6 of Macaron Massacre

“If you’ll excuse me,” my mother happily chirps. “A campaign coordinator’s work is never done.” She takes off for greener boyfriend pastures and leaves us holding the dysfunctional family bag. Lainey says something about spotting her fiancé and abandons poor Meg and me to fend for ourselves.

Meg waves wildly at someone who just walked in. “Hook!” she barks so loud half the restaurant goes silent for three solid seconds before rumbling to life once again. “That’s myhookup. Gotta run.” And run she does. Both Meg and my bestie, Keelie, have been seeing Hook Redwood for the last few months. It’s twisted. I’m going to highly recommend Keelie ditch that tiresome threesome and branch out on her own. She deserves to be happy, and I doubt that’s ever going to happen while attached to my sister and her all too randy hookup.

I’m about to make up an excuse to leave, myself, but by the time I look around, the entire Dallas family has disbanded. Gloria is flirting with an older man at the bar, Rich has magnetized to my mother once again, strapping his arms around her as if he were a life preserver—more like a rusted anchor complete with crusty barnacles—and Michelle and Claret are to my right, carrying on a lively conversation with Mayor Nash’s daughters, Kelleth and Aspen.

Figures.

From what my mother says, the Dallas family is loaded to the hilt. I bet they recognize one another from their billion dollar social circles. Although Mayor Nash is far from a billionaire, the Nashes were always a bit better off than we were growing up.

Mayor Nash starts in on his speech, and the din in the room quiets just a notch. I do my best to spot Noah and Everett, but it’s officially wall-to-wall bodies. Instead, I spot Carlotta Sawyer, my bio mom, chatting away with someone in the corner and head on over.

“Carlotta”—I start as I come upon her—“I’m sorry to interrupt, but have you seen—” I stop my sentence mid-flight when I notice the fact Carlotta is seemingly chatting it up with the wall. “Who are you talking to?” The air before us sparkles in a spray of microscopic stars, and I gasp. “It’s Nell, isn’t it?” I yank Carlotta back by the elbow as if I just caught her stealing a cookie from one of my prized cookie jars.

Come to find out, Carlotta is supersensual like me, although the gift isn’t nearly as strong with her. She helped set up a meeting at my bakery a few months back with others that were like us, but my powers were the strongest and the deadliest by far.

Carlotta grunts as she yanks her arm right back. Carlotta is an older version of me, same caramel waves, same hazel eyes, but she’s enhanced the look with frown lines and wrinkles, a stray gray hair here and there.

“None of your beeswax who I’m chatting it up with. It just so happens our friendly ghost doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

“Carlotta!” a faint voice wobbles beside me, and I recognize it as none other than Nell Sawyer.

“Ha! You are here. Why are you hiding from me, Nell? Is someone going to die this afternoon? My God, it’s not Keelie, is it?” I crane my neck for my bestie and spot her mother, Becca—Nell’s very own daughter, and Naomi, too. “Oh God, it’s one of them, isn’t it?”

Carlotta swats me. “Don’t you get it? She doesn’t want you causing a scene. She said to tell you she’ll meet you someplace where the two of you can be alone.”

“Fine.” I bite the air between us. “We can go now. The bakery is empty. We’ll meet in the kitchen,” I say, talking in the direction I heard Nell’s voice emanate from.

“No can do.” Carlotta spins me around. “She said she’ll wait until this mosh pit clears out. Too many people spook her.”

“Now there’s a role reversal. The spook is spooked.”

“Go on.” Carlotta gives me a shove. “Get out there and find that boyfriend of yours who lets you play with his gavel. Nell promises she’ll talk all night long once this fiasco is through.”

I head out into the crowd, discouraged. I miss Nell so much. Just knowing she’s in the same room and that I can’t wrap my arms around her kills me.

Mayor Nash drones on and on about the public works department, and I want to cry enough tears to fill the fountain in Town Square over the fact Nell wants very little to do with me. Worst yet, she won’t even give me the heads-up on whether or not we’ll have a murder on our hands.

Mom rushes up just as Mayor Nash is wrapping up his speech.

“Oh, Lottie, please bring out the cake. Rich was livid earlier because he’s starting to feel like a second-class citizen at his own birthday party!”

“Newsflash, Mother. He is.”

I take off for the kitchen. I’m more than familiar with the inner workings of the Honey Pot Diner. I was the head baker—onlybaker, here for years.

The kitchen is empty, most likely due to the fact the entire town is riveted by all of Mayor Nash’s shiny new promises.

The chefs have the steel island laden with finger foods ready to replenish the chafing dishes out front. I bet the cakes are in the walk-in, where I’m hoping to find at least one. I bake all the cakes for the Honey Pot Diner, and unfortunately, I can’t remember the last time I sent one over.

I open the enormous door of the walk-in refrigerator and gasp.

Rich Dallas won’t be needing a birthday cake, after all.

Rich Dallas is dead.

Chapter 3

Rich Dallas lies facedown on the floor of the walk-in with a handful of my raspberry macarons still clutched in his grip. There’s blood splattered over the back of his crisp white dress shirt. He’s either been stabbed or shot.