Page 15 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes (MURDER IN THE MIX #53)

LOTTIE

“ W hat did I miss, Lolita? Has she confessed?” That cute little white fox floats before me right here at little Fondu’s over-the-top birthday party as I’m about to shake down her grandmother.

“Is it time for my big reunion in the sky with Sebastian?” His tiny voice is practically vibrating with anticipation.

However, I can’t help but frown at his little moniker-based faux pas—the one he has with me.

I really should have a talk with Carlotta.

Besides, why is Carlotta always shmoozing with the dead who come back to help me?

Me being the operative word. She obviously doesn’t have anything in common with this cute little fox.

And why do I have to be Lolita?

I shake my head his way, covertly letting him know he hasn’t missed a beat and he breathes a sigh of relief, sending more miniature stars flying through the air. He’s so stinking adorable, I’d love nothing more than to keep him forever—and teach him my proper name.

“Well, that’s a good thing. Go on and take your time solving this one,” he chirps. “I’ve just met the most enchanting vixen by the koi pond. Turns out, the afterlife dating scene here on the planet is better than I expected.”

And now I see exactly what he and Carlotta have in common.

I suppress an eye roll and turn my attention back to Keegan, who seems to be studying me with great intensity.

“Keegan”—I lean in—“last night you seemed to know Sebastian Gallagher.”

The woman’s hands freeze mid-arrangement. Her eyes dart around as if checking for eavesdroppers among the party guests.

Wow, if ever there were a look of admission, that would be it.

“I’ve heard about him, of course,” she says, pinning her cornflower blue eyes to mine.

“I’m pretty sure more than half the people in the community center knew of him.

I like to keep my finger on the pulse of society, if you will.

And I’ve always been a big fan of whiskey.

” She dips her chin. “By the way, those whiskey-glazed donuts of yours were a real hit.” She winks my way and a chill runs up my spine.

“Wait a minute,” Sebby squeaks. “Wasn’t that the last thing that my Sebastian nibbled on before kicking his way to the light?”

I clamp down on my lips to keep from saying yes out loud and simply give a little nod.

As much as I’d like to play along and even ship a box straight to Keegan’s home, I just don’t feel as if I’ve got time to beat around the whiskey-glazed bush.

“Keegan, you knew that man on a personal level, didn’t you?” I press gently, looking her right in the eye as I ask the question and don’t let go.

She gives first by way of lifting her chin as if I struck her.

“Yes, I did,” she says with a sigh. Her fingers trace the edge of a rose petal. “I’m sorry, Lottie. I realize that my true relationship with the man will come out in the end, but I can’t say a word to you without speaking to my children first. They would never forgive me.”

Her true relationship?

I blink, stunned.

This isn’t at all what I expected. I thought she might have known Sebastian as an acquaintance or a friend, but her tone suggests something far more serious.

“She’s going to confess!” Sebby cries. “Stop her, Lolita! Muzzle her, fill her piehole with flower petals, push her into the champagne fountain and maybe hold her head down a little while too long. I still have a few wild oats to sow.”

I shoot the homicidal fox a look for even suggesting it. While my present condition might be conducive to a temporary insanity plea, I wouldn’t risk even the most curtailed prison stay in lieu of missing time with my precious babies—and I include Lyla Nell and Evie in that number, too.

I clear my throat as I look at the woman. “I completely understand,” I say, even though I don’t. “Family comes first.”

“Indeed,” she says, tossing a wreath she just fashioned out of chamomile flowers. “Although sometimes family is precisely the problem.”

Sebby flops dramatically across the table. “What does she mean by family ? She wasn’t Sebby’s family. His sister had a much more pronounced snout.”

“Believe me”—I say to the woman—“I know all about family trouble.”

Were her words a dig at my relationship with Eliza and what happened last night?

I shake my head at the thought. Regardless, I’m not here to point a finger at the innocent even if she feels the need to.

And if she feels the need to, then it makes me feel as if she’s twice as guilty for trying to get the limelight off of her and onto someone else.

A much easier target, might I add, considering Eliza’s inadvertent red gloves she was sporting last night.

“Keegan, could you at least tell me if you know who might have wanted Sebastian Gallagher dead?” I press not so gently this time.

Keegan looks my way and her eyes are as sharp as the shears in her hand.

“Who didn’t?” she says with a laugh. “Sebastian had a gift for making enemies.” She leans forward, lowering her voice.

“I know your relation to Eliza. I’m sorry, Lottie, but not only was the woman at the scene of the crime, but I think she may have had a very good motive. ”

My heart sinks for a moment. “What would that be?” I gird myself for whatever lie is about to sail from Keegan Meryl’s mouth. It’s clear she’s dead set on pushing my focus onto poor Eliza and off of her .

She shakes her head and her blonde hair catches the light. “If my suspicions are right, then that’s her story to tell, not mine.”

“Oh, come on!” Sebby protests, his tail puffing up in indignation. “You can’t just drop a bomb like that and clam up. That’s like serving a cupcake with no frosting!”

I wholeheartedly agree.

A sudden commotion erupts from the direction of the house. The unmistakable opening strains of “Pomp and Circumstance” blare from what must be professional-grade speakers, causing at least a thousand birds to take flight from nearby trees.

Keegan rises while dusting off her immaculate garden dress. “It seems the guest of honor is making her entrance.”

I somehow manage to make my way to my poor feet, too. These days the twins make the otherwise simple maneuver something between a yoga pose and an Olympic event.

The music picks up in volume and the crowd begins to scream and clap.

“This should be interesting,” Sebby says. “A three-year-old with her own processional. What a time to be alive. Or dead in my case.”

We turn toward the house just as a hot pink spotlight hits the back patio.

A small figure appears at the top of the grand outdoor staircase, draped in what looks like enough pink tulle to upholster a small country.

Little Fondu—and I will never say that name without craving bowls full of melted cheese—stands frozen, clearly overwhelmed by the sea of expectant faces below.

Poor thing.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” booms an unseen voice that sounds suspiciously like it belongs to a game show host—or at least the ghost of one. “I present to you the birthday princess, Miss Fondu Rose Sparrow-Meryl!”

“Sparrow-Meryl.” Keegan nods my way before I can even make an internal quip about the rhyming sensation.

“That’s why my daughter-in-law chose to marry my son.

She said she always wanted her surname to have a good beat to it.

She’s all about aesthetics.” She ticks her head when she says it and suddenly, I feel sorry for both the Sparrows and the Meryls.

Polite applause breaks out, punctuated by the click of expensive camera lenses as the tiny princess begins her procession.

That’s when I spot Carlotta near the bottom of the stairs with two martini glasses in hand, engaged in what appears to be an intense debate with the unicorn handler.

“Oh no,” I moan because, let’s face it, I’ve trained to spot a Carlotta catastrophe a light year away.

As Fondu takes her first tentative step down, Carlotta makes a sweeping gesture that sends her martinis flying—right onto the pony in front of her.

The animal rears onto its hind legs, its unicorn horn tilting precariously before he launches into the air like a glittery missile with a magnificent rainbow mane.

The tiny horse takes off with a start and screams abound, and Vivian unleashes an entire litany of unholy expletives—some far more creative than I have ever heard Carlotta string out and that’s saying a lot.

The crowd screams.

The birthday girl screams.

At least six different waiters make a mad dash after the rainbow-colored cutie, soon followed by several of the mothers, then an entire herd of children, and before we know it, the entire party has devolved into a chaotic conga line led by the quasi-mythical creature.

Keegan tosses her bouquet aside and lifts her dress at the knees as if she, too, were about to engage in a full-blown sprint. But before she can take a step, the unhinged unicorn dives right into the seven-tiered birthday cake with a satisfying thud.

The cake explodes, the conga line comes to an abrupt stop, causing the masses to tumble backward like a row of perfectly set dominos, and more expletives ring out all around.

“My masterpiece of a party!” Vivian wails as she shakes her fists at the sky. Then in three angry stomps she lands in front of the mother of all this destruction, none other than my own biological mother, Carlotta. “ YOU! ” Vivian’s scream could shatter crystal.

Carlotta backs away with her hands raised in surrender. “In my defense, that unicorn is a boozer if ever there was one.”

Chaos erupts—mostly from the owner of said boozer. Vivian lunges forward, with her designer heels sinking into the manicured lawn as she charges toward Carlotta.

The birthday girl begins to wail twice as loud.

The unicorn is busy eating its fill of what looks like a luscious vanilla cake with raspberries and cream filling before he decides he’s had enough of the sugary nonsense and trots directly through the buffet table, sending canapés flying like tiny edible frisbees.

Shoot.

I knew I should have loaded up while I had the chance.

“I should probably...” I gesture vaguely toward the escalating disaster.

Keegan hands me a hastily assembled wreath of clovers. “For luck. Something tells me you’ll need it.”

Sebby chortles as he strides by my waddling side.

“And here I thought the afterlife was where all the good parties happened! I’d better help clean up the mess.

Dead or alive, I’ll never say no to cake.

” He takes off and I’m tempted to follow along and do my part in cleaning up the mess, too.

After all, I have not and will not ever say no to cake.

And I won’t say no to bringing a killer to justice as well.

I’ve already established the fact that Keegan is hiding something. And ironically, she seems to think that Eliza is hiding something.

Carlotta runs this way with Vivian hot on her heels.

“Throw me the keys, Lot Lot!”

I do just that, and Carlotta misses and my six-pound keyring pegs Vivian right in the forehead.

“Oh geez!” I’m about to waddle her way or in the least make a run for it myself when my phone pings.

It’s a text from Evie.

Mom something’s happened to Dad. He’s missing. I think he’s been kidnapped.