Page 10 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes (MURDER IN THE MIX #53)
LOTTIE
T he scent of cinnamon and fresh coffee hits me the moment I push through the door of the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery with my arms full of squirming toddler and a belly full of more of the same.
Lyla Nell has decided that walking is for peasants today. Lucky for her, my enormous belly doubles as a shelf—or in this case, a seat.
The bakery is decked out to the nines in St. Patrick’s Day glory with shamrock garland draped every which way, cutouts of leprechauns dancing along the walls, and green-frosted everything in the display case. The place hums with morning chatter and the hiss of the espresso machine.
The crowd of customers is thick and so is that aforementioned heavenly scent of coffee.
The bakery happens to be conjoined with the Honey Pot Diner, the restaurant that I own along with my sister Charlie.
The Honey Pot is cute and cozy and even has a life-size resin oak tree that acts as the centerpiece.
In fact, its branches spread out from the Honey Pot and across its ceiling and mine, connecting both businesses like a botanical umbilical cord.
Each branch is wrapped in magical twinkle lights, with green ones added for this shamrock-shaped season.
Right now, the effect is part enchanted forest, part Irish pub fever dream.
I spot my mother at a table near the window, surrounded by a small army of caramel-haired females.
My sister Lainey is there with her girls—rambunctious two-and-a-half-year-old Josie and tiny Mimi, or as her birth certificate reads, Miranda Lottie Donovan, hardly a month old and already commanding attention like a seasoned Donovan diva.
Carlotta strides in next to me and cups her hands around her mouth. “Listen up, folks! Breaking news—Lot Lot’s hoity-toity Murder-in-Law will be going up the river soon enough! But rest assured, she’ll be going to the big house in style!”
I suck in a quick breath just as Carlotta jumps out of swatting range.
She turns to me with a wicked grin. “Hey, Lot Lot, do they make designer jumpsuits for the criminally fabulous? Orange Chanel, perhaps? Prison-yard Prada?”
A titter of nervous laughter circles the room.
“Very funny,” I snarl her way just as my mother comes over and wrestles Lyla Nell right out of my arms—or from off my belly as it were. “Keep it up, Carlotta, and I’ll need bail money myself.”
“Oh, Lottie, don’t engage,” my mother says as she kisses Lyla Nell on the forehead.
“And please stop picking Lyla Nell up. She’s a very big girl and she has two perfectly good legs.
Yes, you do!” She rubs her nose to Lyla Nell’s and the two of them break out in giggles. “Who is Glam Glam’s little doll?”
“ Glam Glam ,” Josie shouts from her high chair with a deeply affronted look on her face.
“Oh, you know I’ve got more than one,” my mother trills as she lands Lyla Nell in a waiting high chair of her own.
“After all, I’m a professional grandma now.
I’ve got this.” She gestures to the spread before them—cinnamon rolls the size of salad plates and shamrock lattes complete with green foam art.
That was my idea. Come to think of it, all of it was my idea.
“Morning, Lottie,” Lainey sings and I do my best to give her a quick hug—albeit awkward and more of a chokehold while she bounces little Mimi against her shoulder. “Mom said you know all about Meg’s Vegas trip? I am definitely going. Please tell me you’re going, too!”
I pinch off a bite of her cinnamon roll—so soft and gooey. “You already know the answer to that. And I can’t believe you’re going. You’re insane.”
Mom gags. “Well, if I wasn’t going before, I am now.” She tosses her hands in the air. “I volunteer to babysit in the hotel—with lots of room service, of course.”
Lainey gasps. “Hear that, Lottie? We’ve got a free sitter! You have to come for sure now.”
A quick laugh bubbles from me, albeit a mournful one. “I’m pretty sure the twins won’t let me go to the bathroom, let alone all the way to Vegas—with or without them in tow.”
Carlotta bops over. “Are we talking about my upcoming Vegas trip again? The one where I’ll finally fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming a showgirl—or at least getting arrested impersonating one?”
“Carlotta, you don’t even know who’s invited,” I point out. “This is Meg’s big trip.”
“Details, details.” She waves me off dismissively. “I’m a package deal. Where trouble goes, I follow. Or is it the other way around?”
I’m not sure exactly what she said, but it sounds about right.
I head to the counter to greet my bakery brigade where Suze, Noah’s mother, is busy arranging pastries with military precision.
Her stocky frame moves with efficiency, and her short blonde hair with those long, impractical bangs sweeps into her eyes.
Her smile tightens when she sees me—forced and pointless, the usual fare.
Suze doesn’t much care for me, but her paycheck seems to ease the pain of our interactions.
Next to her, Lily Swanson arranges colorful macarons into a cookie rainbow.
The dark-haired beauty is currently involved with Alex, Noah’s younger brother, and helping raise his baby boy Levi—a situation that sounds like the plot to a romance novel and thankfully works for them, and not just in the parenting department but in the romance department, too.
Fun fact: Lily isn’t in my fan club either. But as long as she smiles for my customers, that’s all I care about.
And then there’s Effie, our resident queen of comebacks, who just so happens to be busy at the register. Her coffee-colored eyes sparkle as she banters with customers. Her sarcasm is legendary. It’s less of a skill and more of a superpower.
“Morning, sugar slingers,” I call out with a wave.
“Oh, look, it’s our killer boss.” Suze chuckles to herself as she says it.
“I heard all about that poor man last night.” She rolls her eyes.
“This is exactly why I avoid public outings when you’re involved, Lottie.
I’ve cautioned Noah to do the same, but that boy has never listened to me.
” She picks up a green frosted cupcake and sticks a chocolate gold coin into the buttercream.
“I heard there was a community center showdown with none other than Eliza Baxter. The husband-thief herself.”
I sigh. For the record, Eliza didn’t steal Wiley from Suze—he left of his own accord—but facts rarely get in the way of a good grudge in this town.
“ Now, Suzie Q”—Carlotta interjects—“let’s tell the truth.
Eliza didn’t steal your man. She just borrowed him until she realized he was a defective model and threw him back into circulation.
” She leans my way. “I came within an inch of my hoo-ha from having my own fortune stolen by the Feckless Fox.”
I avert my eyes at the thought. Carlotta has no fortune to speak of.
Unless, of course, she’s somehow found a way of siphoning from my own.
Other than that, she already blew through the money Nell left her in the will.
Nell would be my grandmother who left me the bakery, the Honey Pot Diner, and an entire list of other real estate endeavors.
Carlotta got cash—which she quickly made disappear.
Funny how she’s yet to disappear, though.
Suze’s eyes narrow to dangerous slits. “At least I had a husband to lose. Some of us can’t even manage to keep a man around long enough to learn his middle name.”
Carlotta gags and scoffs. “I’ve got Harry!
Harry as in Mayor Harry Nash, my girls’ baby daddy.
” She looks my way and squints. “What’s Harry’s middle name again?
” She waves me off. “Never mind. Everyone knows middle names are overrated,” Carlotta fires back.
“And so are husbands, from what I hear. They’re like appendixes.
You don’t notice them until they cause trouble, and you’re better off once they’re removed. ”
A titter of laughter breaks out in the bakery and I can’t help but join in.
Although I very much love my husband. I love Noah, too. It’s complicated.
I’m about to warn Carlotta not to mention internal organs around my customers when a familiar spray of blue and pink stars glitters near the walkway that leads to the Honey Pot Diner. And I certainly know what that means.
“Duty calls,” I whisper to myself, already moving toward the connecting doorway. “Hold down the fort, ladies.”
“Where are you off to now?” Suze shouts after me. “I’d like to know the places to avoid.” She titters to herself as she says it.
Very funny.
“She’s off to see the dead about a dead guy.” Carlotta laughs, and oddly enough, evokes a few laughs from Lily and Suze as well.
I’m already racing toward the Honey Pot Diner, determined to catch that slippery supernatural trickster before he or she causes another round of magical mischief in my bakery.
Some women chase dreams. Some chase men. I chase the spirit of a long-gone fox with a penchant for dead men and terrible timing—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.