Page 3 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes (MURDER IN THE MIX #53)

Carlotta is my biological mother who rematerialized in my life a few years back—just in time to claim her inheritance. Typical. She’s sarcastic, cunning, and all around a prickly cactus of a person who just so happens to live with Everett and me. It’s a long and sordid story.

“There she goes,” she sings as she watches me wolf down another shamrock sugar cookie. “Stuffing her face with cookies. Just what the doctor ordered. Where can I get me a doctor like that?”

Noah shakes his head. “You need to get knocked up first.”

Carlotta ticks her head to the side wistfully. “I’m afraid my baby-making days are over, Foxy. And don’t think I’m not sorry about it. I hear babies are big business these days. And to think I gave Lot away for free.”

It’s true. I ended up on the floor of the Honey Hollow Fire Department while my sister Charlie had the misfortune of actually being raised by Carlotta. All things considered, I got off pretty easy.

“Hear that, Lot?” She taps her elbow to mine. “If you change your mind about keeping the little yippers, you can make a mint—as in double the dineros! I’ve got connections if you want to make a deal.”

“Sorry to dash your dinero dreams, but I’m keeping them,” I tell her as I snap up yet another cookie—a caramel turtle wonder. “And I’m keeping the cookie train going, too. It’s medicinal. The babies demanded it—telepathically, of course.”

“That’s funny.” Noah tips his head my way. “The babies also telepathically demanded you stay home last week when we wanted to go fishing.”

I cringe a little at the memory. Okay, so it was me who didn’t feel like sitting next to a bucket of wiggly worms.

“Pregnancy telepathy is very specific,” I tell him. “And highly accurate.” I crane my neck into the crowd. “Have you ever seen so many people with glorious red manes in one room before?”

“Nope,” Carlotta is the first to answer.

“And that’s exactly why I don’t trust this night,” she mutters while staring at the crowd as if they’re all about to burst into flames.

“I just know this event is going to be trouble. It’s unnatural for this many gingers to be in one place at one time.

It’s like a fiery-haired omen. I say we pack it up, burn some sage, and call it a night. ”

“ Carlotta ,” I hiss. “Would you keep it down? These are nice people. And I hate for anyone to hear you ranting and raving about fiery-haired omens and burning sage, of all things. We don’t dabble in witchcraft.”

“Says the wickedest witch of them all,” she snips back.

I’ll admit, my hormones may have earned me that title as of late, but again I’m carrying twins. Who could blame me for a little emotional outburst here and there? And well, everywhere .

A couple of redheaded women stride by and give us the stink eye as if they’ve heard the entire conversation.

“See that?” Carlotta harps in their wake.

“They look as if they’re ready to hang you at high noon, little yippers and all.

Hate to break it to you, Lot, but I’m never wrong about these things.

We’ve had a killer show up at almost every event in this town, and now you want to tell me a whole convention hall full of redheads isn’t going to end in murder? I call bull-hockey.”

Noah ticks his head. “She’s got a point.”

“I’m not saying a word.” Everett straightens as he gives a quick glance around. “But as long as you two don’t see a ghost, we might be in the clear. Big might.”

“Well, I don’t see a ghost,” I’m quick to tell him.

“And I refuse to dwell on the Grim Reaper for no good reason. For once, I’d like to have a crime-free celebration.

” I nod up at the ceiling as if trying to make a pact with the universe.

“Just one event where nobody ends up in cuffs or a body bag.”

Carlotta snorts. “And just like that, you jinxed it.”

Noah nods. “I one hundred percent agree.”

“ Noah .” I swat him without hesitation.

“I’m just saying”—he offers up a shrug—“I might as well go ahead and put caution tape around the perimeter now.”

Everett leans in. “I wouldn’t have said that, Lemon.”

“But you were thinking it.” Noah nods his way and Everett presses his lips tight in response.

“You’re both hilarious,” I grunt just as a flash of a familiar redhead catches my eye from across the room.

Venus Finnigan waves enthusiastically with her husband Sean by her side with his red hair even more vibrant in this dim light, and I give a quick wave back.

They’re the reason I’m here. Venus was kind enough to ask me to cater alongside of her own bakery, and between her charm and my inability to say no to anyone, here I am, nine months pregnant and on my feet—that I can’t actually see.

Venus and Sean melt back into the crowd and I spot my mother and my sister Meg. And oddly enough, the two of them look as if they’re arguing about something. I bet it has to do with the baby.

Meg just had a sweet baby girl named Piper and my mother has been watching the baby now and again while Meg checks on the strip club where she works. Meg is the one who teaches the girls their money-making moves without actually making much money herself.

Generally, my mother and Meg get along just fine, but I bet Meg caught my mother doing something goofy like the time she cut a hole in her bra and stuck the baby bottle through it so she could feel as if she was nursing.

I caught her doing that once with Lyla Nell and about had a heart attack and committed matricide all in the same afternoon.

I’m about to mosey in their direction when the sight of an elegant older woman stops me in my tracks.

“Oh my goodness,” I whisper, grabbing Everett’s arm with a death grip.

“What is it, Lemon?” Everett is instantly alert—and well, instantly in panic mode, too. “Contractions?”

“The hospital bag is already in the car,” Noah pants in a panic himself, already reaching for his keys.

“No, it’s not that,” I say. “Look who just walked in.”

The crowd parts just enough to reveal none other than Eliza Baxter, Everett’s mother.

Her silver-streaked dark hair catches the light as she scans the room with laser precision.

Her eyes lock onto an older, handsome gentleman standing nearby speaking to a crowd rapt at attention.

And that cold look she’s giving him seems to cause the temperature in the community center to drop ten degrees.

Without warning, the lights cut out and the entire room is plunged into darkness.

A few shrill screams go off, along with the illumination of a few cell phones just as the lights come back.

And to my surprise, I find a cute little white fox sitting on my belly with freakishly tall ears spiked into the air. It belts out a few quick barks before disappearing in a vat of pink and blue stars.

Both Carlotta and I yelp in response.

“What is it, Lemon?” Everett asks while pulling me in.

“It was that tiny little ghost of a fox,” I say. “It was just here.” I pat my belly in the exact same spot. “But now it’s gone.”

“It might be gone”—Everett says as he scours the room—“but I have a feeling the killer has arrived.”