Page 19 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes (MURDER IN THE MIX #53)

LOTTIE

T he bakery hums with the whir of the industrial mixer battling with the chime on the front door, along with the happy chatter of customers who can’t seem to start their day without a sugar rush by yours truly.

The scent of fresh cinnamon rolls mingles with the thick, heavenly scent of fresh brewed coffee, and it creates that signature Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery perfume that no department store could ever bottle. Although if it could, it would make a fortune.

I balance a tray of shamrock-shaped cookies with my forearm while my bump—now visible from space—keeps those sweet treats at a precarious distance from my body.

I make my way behind the counter and begin boxing them up for a custom order. Effie, Lily, and Suze are all busy as well.

Everything seems to be selling this morning, but those whiskey-glazed donuts have sold out twice already.

It’s sort of a known fact around here that if a body turns up with one of my sweet treats on or near the poor soul who lost their life, well, that sweet treat turns into an instant bestseller.

And because of that fact alone, I can see why the conspiracy theories would fly about yours truly as well.

Not only do I discover the bodies, but my desserts always seem to beat me to the punch.

“Good morning, Lottie,” Effie calls out while sliding a tray of chocolate muffins into the display case like the expert she is. “How is Bed Rest Boy holding up?”

I snort out a laugh.

Everyone was worried over the fact that Everett might have indeed been kidnapped, so I let them know exactly what happened in a group text last night.

“Poor Everett,” I say. “He’s taking it about as well as a soufflé with a slammed door.

For someone who spent weeks lecturing me about taking it easy and staying off my feet, Everett has the bed rest tolerance of a toddler on Halloween night.

He’s already threatened to go to the courthouse a half a dozen times, and it’s not even noon. ”

Lily laughs as she puts the finishing touches on three shamrock shakes—two for a customer, and by the looks of it, one for her. That mountain of whipped cream sitting over pastel green vanilla mint ice cream is waking up my appetite—not that it ever went to sleep.

“Men are always the worst patients,” Lily insists. “My grandmother used to say a man with a cold thinks he’s dying, but a woman with pneumonia still makes dinner.”

“Amen to that,” Suze says with a nod.

“That’s the truth.” I nod, pulling another platter of my shamrock cookies out of the refrigerated shelves.

“Thank goodness Evie came home. She has him properly terrorized into compliance. I caught her threatening to superglue him to the mattress if he tried getting up one more time. Thankfully, Evie doesn’t have any morning classes so she was able to ‘daddysit’ as she put it. ”

“Like father, like daughter,” Suze quips from the register. “That girl is the only one who can tell a man like that what’s what. She must get that from me.”

Suze has certainly told a man what’s what before, but I’d like to think Evie gets her confidence around both men and women from me —and, of course, Everett.

I bite back a response about what else Evie might have gotten from Suze—or rather her influence. No sense poking that particular bear before I’ve had my third cup of coffee of the day, even if it is decaf.

The bell above the door jingles, and in struts Carlotta, looking like she stepped off the cover of a magazine—if magazines featured women in red sequins with too much perfume at eight in the morning.

She’s still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, but her skin has a certain glow that suggests a good night’s sleep was not on her agenda. Both of which are typical for her.

“Someone looks like they enjoyed their sleepover at the mayor’s house,” I say as I pull a couple of whiskey-glazed donuts off the rack behind me and set them on a plate for her.

Carlotta plops down in front of me and wastes no time in taking a bite. “Please, Lot. Harry and I are far too sophisticated for sleepovers.” She wolfs down half her donut. “We prefer the term adult recreational evening .”

Suze chortles at the thought. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days? We used to call it getting lucky.”

“Not that it’s anyone’s beeswax”—Carlotta continues, gulping down another quick bite—“but we ended up at the casino down in Leeds and got lucky there.” She waggles her eyebrows.

“As in we found a dark corner and got lucky with each other. Then I won three hundred bucks at the slots—turns out, I’m good at pulling things. ”

Lily nearly chokes on her shamrock shake.

“I think those four-leaf clover cookies are really starting to pay off, Lot,” Carlotta continues, unfazed. “Hand over another dozen, would you? I need all the luck I can get before round two tonight.”

Suze is quick to oblige, packaging up cookies as if her own finances depended on it. Most likely she’s eager to get Carlotta out of the bakery because aside from the morning and afternoon rush, it’s Carlotta who keeps this place on its toes.

“Lottie”—Lily cranes her neck past me—“where’s Lyla Nell today? Don’t tell me you finally enrolled her in preschool.”

“She’s probably in the back,” Suze says with a frown.

“Barking orders at the kitchen staff as if she owns the place.” She shakes her head my way.

“You and Noah are raising quite the saucy bossy young miss, I’ll have you know.

Unlike little Levi and Willow Grace—now those two are simply angels sent straight from heaven. ”

Now it’s my turn to frown.

It’s no secret that Suze has never cared for Lyla Nell, and it has more to do with the fact she’s never cared for me than it does anything with my sweet babe. But now that Suze has two other grandchildren under her belt, it’s clear she’ll be favoring them from here on out.

“Suze”—I start—“Levi is eight months old and Willow Grace is eight weeks old. They’ve hardly had a chance to bark out orders at anyone. Besides, Lyla Nell can be an angel when she wants to.”

I bite down on my lip because she is rather expressive about her needs. That’s called confidence, isn’t it?

I glance at Lily. “I haven’t enrolled Lyla Nell for school yet.” I’m about to tell her exactly where Lyla Nell is when Lily starts in.

“Are you kidding? Alex and I have already enrolled Levi,” she’s quick to tell me with a bright green ice cream mustache on her lips from that yummy shamrock shake she’s been teasing me with. “The waitlist is years out. I doubt you’ll ever get Lyla Nell in.”

I suck in a quick breath. Drats. I should’ve jumped at the chance last year when Lainey and Keelie were pressuring me to do it.

“So where is Little Yippy?” Carlotta asks while holding up another whiskey-glazed donut. “Did you finally come to your senses and drop her off at the Honey Hollow Fire Station?”

I make a face. “She’s at the B&B with my mother, insisting on a makeover.

I think that birthday party did her more harm than good.

It took Noah and me almost an hour to chip the diamonds off her fingers and toes last night.

They were choking hazards, you know. But Noah thinks it should be enough to pay for her college fund. ”

“Forget the future—it can’t get here soon enough.” Carlotta dismisses with a wave. “I want to talk about the here and now. Where are we headed off to today? Please tell me it’s somewhere with cocktails. Or suspects. Or preferably both. Gin for the win!”

I’d like to know where we’re headed off to myself.

Eliza Baxter, where are you, and what do you know?

I sigh, resting one hand on my belly while the twins do some serious Irish step dancing on my bladder once again.

Out there somewhere between shamrocks and suspects, I have a feeling Eliza Baxter holds the missing piece to this homicide, whether she realizes it or not.