Page 20 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes (MURDER IN THE MIX #53)

LOTTIE

I snatch up a shamrock cookie to take the edge off these constant hunger pangs right here in the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery.

“I think I need to talk to Eliza,” I tell Carlotta in answer to her question. “But I have no idea where to find her. I sent her a text this morning, but she hasn’t answered.”

“I know where you can find her,” Suze says with a smug certainty in her voice that makes me stop mid-bite with my own shamrock cookie.

“You do?” I nibble away, but I don’t dare take my eyes off the know-it-all before me.

“Of course, I do. With a state this size, everyone knows everyone’s business.” She flips the bangs out of her eyes. “She’s headed to the Leprechaun Jubilee out in Fallbrook this afternoon.”

“The what now?” I ask.

“The Leprechaun Jubilee,” Suze repeats, looking more than a little delighted to know something I don’t.

“It’s an annual St. Patrick’s Day extravaganza that takes over the Fallbrook fairgrounds each year.

They’ve got everything from Irish soda bread competitions to Blarney Stone tossing contests.

There’s Celtic ax throwing, traditional Irish music, and enough craft beer to drown a leprechaun.

Plus, those ridiculous shillelagh showdowns where grown men try to outdo each other with those Irish walking sticks—all while wearing kilts. ”

“Aren’t kilts a Scottish thing?” I ask.

“Who cares?” half the bakery says in unison.

“Don’t forget the food,” Lily chimes in. “My cousin’s boyfriend runs one of the shepherd’s pie stalls. Says he makes more in that one weekend than he does in a month at his restaurant.”

“And the whiskey-tasting pavilion is epic,” Effie adds with an all-too-knowing smile. “My brother Nico judged it last year. He couldn’t remember his own name by the end of the day, but he swears it was worth it.”

“They also have that Irish Whiskey Cake Challenge where people compete to eat these decadent, golden-brown cakes soaked in premium Irish whiskey,” Suze continues.

“Last year, Mayor Nash and Wiley nearly came to blows over who finished more. Wiley was winning until Mayor Nash accused him of dropping slices in his pants. It was the most ridiculous display of male competition I’ve ever seen—well, until they moved on to the Bailey’s Cream Puff Sprint and transformed their suits into what looked like cocaine kingpins caught in a sting operation gone horribly wrong. ”

“Cocaine kingpins aside—do you know for a fact Eliza will be there?” I ask, almost amused.

“She and just about anyone with or without Irish descent.” She shrugs. “That’s according to Wiley, who heard it from Todd at the hardware store, who’s dating Eliza’s second cousin’s hairdresser. Ever since she snatched my husband away from me, I’ve been keeping tabs on the little hussy.”

I press my lips tight.

I don’t even bother questioning Suze’s oddball intelligence network. It sounds frightening in its accuracy.

“Well, Carlotta”—I say, already mentally mapping the fastest route to Fallbrook—“it sounds like we’re headed to an Irish paradise. Between all that red hair and all that Irish whiskey, that place is going to be nothing but a good time.”

Carlotta’s eyes light up like she just found a diamond in her whiskey-glazed donut. “Day drinking and detective work? Lottie, you really know exactly how to show a girl a good time.”

Effie slides a to-go shamrock shake my way. “Are you sure about this, Lottie? Everett and Noah will have a conniption if they find out you’re cooking up theories instead of cooking up pastries.”

“What Everett and Noah don’t know won’t hurt them,” I say, accepting the shamrock shake with a heartfelt thanks, and don’t waste a second before sucking half the whipped cream right off the top.

“Besides”—I say, coming up for air and with a dot of whipped cream on my nose—“I’m just going to talk to my favorite mother-in-law. It’s completely innocent.”

Suze shoots me a look. “I always knew you liked her better.”

“Oh, please”—I can’t seem to stop myself from rolling my eyes—“you’re not even officially my mother-in-law. Noah and I are technically divorced, remember?”

To be truthful, I hardly remember. Noah does his best to make me feel as if we’re still together in just about every way. Case in point, waking up together in the very same bed this morning. He’s good, I’ll give him that.

“Semantics.” Suze waves dismissively. “Once you’ve endured my daily critiques, you’re family for life. There’s no escape clause. There’s no resignation letter strong enough to break that bond.”

I blink over at the woman. For someone who has gone out of her way to make sure I know how glad she is that I’m out of her son’s life, she sure has a funny way of showing she cares.

Carlotta belts out a laugh. “If enduring criticism made someone family, I’d be related to half the men in Honey Hollow—and almost all the women.”

“I was referring to my helpful suggestions”—Suze says—“not criticism.”

“In that case—” Carlotta smirks. “I’d only be related to a quarter of them.”

I wipe the whipped cream from my nose. “If we’re ranking mothers-in-law, Suze, you’d definitely make the top five.” I bite back a smile.

Under normal circumstances, I would have bitten my tongue, but I’ve got all of these feral hormones coursing through my veins and heaven knows the mood swings they cause have to be directed somewhere.

“Top five?” Suze looks stymied. “But you’ve only got two of us.”

“Exactly,” Lily says with a grin. “What Lottie is trying to tell you is that you’re solidly in second place.” She winks my way and I just shake my head.

Keep laughing, Lily, I want to say. Soon enough, she, too, will be Suze’s daughter-in-law and then we’ll see what’s so funny.

“Don’t worry, Suzie Q,” Carlotta says, reaching for a third whiskey-glazed donut. “Second place just means you’re the first loser. That’s practically winning in your case.”

Suze narrows her eyes on Carlotta. “Remind me again why I haven’t poisoned you yet?”

“Because I make your life look good by comparison,” Carlotta says, taking yet another daring bite out of her donut. “It’s called public service. You can thank me anytime.”

“We’re out the door in ten seconds,” I tell Carlotta while grabbing my purse. “And try not to flirt with random strangers or stray unicorns this time.”

“I can’t make any promises, Lot. Redheads are my weakness. All that pent-up anger from years of sunburns? Makes for explosive chemistry.”

“I’ve seen pictures of Mayor Nash when he was young,” I tell her. “He was certainly a redhead.”

“That’s why I’m saving all my best moves for him.”

Carlotta and I say a quick goodbye to the staff as we dart for the door—Carlotta speeds, I waddle.

Something tells me that Eliza Baxter knows something about Sebastian Gallagher’s last night on Earth.

And I’m going to do everything I can to get her to talk—even if it takes some Irish whiskey to do it.