Page 14 of Peach Cobbler Confessions
A chill rides through me at the thought of that poor man staring vacantly at the ceiling while clutching my cobbler.
It’s been a bit of a phenomenon these past few years—people dying, being murdered to be exact, and one of my innocent desserts just so happens to be at the scene of the crime. It’s unnerving, unbelievable, and apparently, darn good for business.
The bell chimes up front and Lily makes a face. “I’ll take care of the customers, but only if you take care of me, Lottie Lemon. I’m single and ready to mingle, and I happen to know Ridge is single, too. I’m a proficient stalker of his. I want to be set up on a date.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I say as she takes off to the front.
Carlotta grabs ahold of me. “Forget that whippersnapper. A man like Ridge Porter needs a woman who’s been around the block a time or two.”
Meg shakes her head. “I wouldn’t do it, Lot. You’ve already got two good ones on the hook. I say cut the line and slip into that extended family situation the three of you are destined for. The first three and a half days of the week belong to the horny detective, then you can spend an extended weekend with the judge with a grudge between his legs.”
“Good Lord.” I close my eyes,
Carlotta waves her off. “I’m not talking about Lot and Ridge. I’m talking about Ridge and me. Just give me an hour with Ridge Porter. I can do things to that man that will make him forget other women ever existed. But he won’t forget meeting me anytime soon.”
“He won’t forget meeting you. He’ll regret it,” I’m quick to point out. “You can’t attack a man for a solid hour once you’ve been introduced.”
“Why not? I’ve done it before. How do you think I got the baby ball rolling with your daddy?”
I straighten at the thought.
Bydaddyshe means Mayor Harry Nash, who as fate and my ill-gotten DNA would have it is my biological father. I became apprised of this genetic tidbit about a year ago, and since then, Mayor Nash and I have developed an amical relationship—as I have with my new half-siblings as well.
“Carlotta, why are you always so quick to step out on poor Harry?”
“Poor Harry nothin’,” she balks. “You know we’ve got an open door policy. It’s what keeps the fires of love a stokin’ and a smokin’. In fact, you can thank me for your roving eye. I’m the one that gave you the desire and the stamina to handle two grown men at a time.”
I don’t bother raining down the facts on her. Something tells me my efforts will just be wasted.
“Ridge Porter.” Meg lands her elbows on the counter as she gawks up at me. “I haven’t missed a single episode ofUnsolved Mysteries Tonight.”
I nod. “Neither have I. But there have only been seven so far. They keep repeating a few episodes, so it feels as if there’s more.”
Carlotta snaps up a handful of confetti cookies. “Which one’s your favorite? I like the one with the missing biker from Hartford. I think the neighbor did him in because of the winning lottery ticket they went halfsies in.”
Meg snorts. “The ticket was worth twenty bucks. Hardly enough for murder. But maybe a slashed tire or two. According to text messages, the biker made it clear he didn’t want to share.”
“How about you, Meg?” I wipe down the counter between us. “What’s your favorite episode?”
“It’s a toss-up.” She narrows her icy blue eyes as she considers it. “The home invasion up in Scooter Springs a year ago where they shot the old guy while he was playing a crossword puzzle. Or the disappearance of Alison Beamer.”
Both Carlotta and I shudder at the mention of that last one.
“Alison was the nurse that lived up in Templeton.”
Carlotta nods. “She went out for a drink with friends and never came home.”
“It’s every woman’s nightmare,” I say. “I’m sure her family would love a resolution.”
“How about you, Lottie? Which one is your favorite?” Collette asks, dismissing the fact Meg can’t hear her.
I twist my lips. “I guess I’m enthralled with all of the episodes. There’s the one where Jenika Tate, the au pair from England, takes out the trash and ends up disappearing without a trace. Then there’s Gerald Watson, the old school bus driver who was known to have an explosive temper. He never came home either. I’m betting one of the parents lost their minds with him. What else is there?”
“Ooh!” Meg snaps her fingers. “The mysterious circumstances surrounded that couple that went camping? They found everything but the bodies.”
“They didn’t find the keys to their AMC Gremlin.” Carlotta gives a wistful shake of the head. “Good car that was.”
“Carlotta,” I say. “I’m betting the people were better.”