Page 30 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes (MURDER IN THE MIX #53)

LOTTIE

“ O h, good grief.” I place my hands over my belly and both twins offer up a swift kick as if to say, this is what you get for bringing her along .

The Irish rock music blares away here at the Irish pub where Carlotta and I traipsed off to in hopes of shaking down Della Crane. But thanks to Carlotta’s no-nonsense, all -nonsense style of interrogation, the only one shook is me.

Della inches back to get a better look at Carlotta with her orange beard. I’ll admit, she wears it well.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Della says and her voice is suddenly tight.

“Oh, I think you do,” Carlotta presses on, much to Sebby’s delight, who happens to be barking and doing somersaults with such unmitigated glee you’d think he was the one sucking down green beer.

“You were having quite the heated discussion with the deceased,” Carlotta goes on.

“The kind that makes people wonder if you might have stabbed him later.”

“Good going, Carlotta,” Sebby is quick to cheer her initiative. “There’s no point in mincing words.”

Especially not if you don’t mind spooking a suspect.

“ Carlotta ,” I warn, shooting her a look. So much for the subtle approach.

The bartender returns with the rest of our drinks—a violently green concoction in a skull-shaped glass for Carlotta and what appears to be a mint milkshake with a shamrock cookie on top for me. Della immediately grabs her own already half-empty glass and takes a long, fortifying swig.

“Look”—I say once O’Malley drifts away again—“we’re not here to accuse you of anything. I just want to understand what happened that night.”

“Why?” Della asks as her knuckles turn white around her glass. “Are you a cop or something?”

“No,” I admit. “But I am someone who was there, who saw Sebastian alive, and then very much not alive. And I’m someone who needs to know the truth.”

She makes a face at her beer. “The truth?” she repeats with a bitter edge to her voice. “The truth is that Sebastian Gallagher was a manipulative, conniving, two-faced snake who built his entire whiskey empire on lies and theft.”

Sebby gasps. “Is she name-calling my sweet Sebastian?”

Carlotta chuckles. “Well. This conversation just got a lot more interesting. But let’s cut to the chase. How did he perform under the sheets?”

“ Carlotta ,” I hiss so loud this time half the bar stops its conversation for a beat.

“What?” Carlotta hisses back. “Inquiring minds want to know and all that other nonsense. And stop giving me the stink eye. With that beard and hat, it feels as if you’re putting a leprechaun curse on me.”

Della looks between us, then at the exit again, clearly debating whether to bolt or unburden herself. After a moment, she gives a dull laugh. It’s clear Carlotta is the one who cast a leprechaun pox on us all this evening.

“You girls are a hoot.” Della tugs at her beard for a moment, and I must admit, the color really makes her crimson locks pop.

“So, you really want to know? Fine. Sebastian Gallagher was a charming con artist who dated me just long enough to gain access to my finances. He cleaned out my bank accounts, maxed out my credit cards, and left me with nothing but debt and humiliation.” She sags at the thought and I feel terrible for even asking.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear it,” I say, practically gagging on the grief I feel for the poor woman.

“So, the plot thickens,” Sebby says with a swish of his tail. “I love a good revenge motive. It’s like those soap operas Sebastian used to watch when he thought no one was looking.”

I struggle not to react to my ghostly companion as I press on. “Della, is that why you were arguing with him at the community center?”

“Yes.” Her lips form a tight ball and turn as pale as her flesh.

“I’d finally gathered enough evidence to prove what he’d done.

Account statements, forged signatures, even recordings of him bragging about his demented financial conquests to other men.

” Her eyes flash with a mixture of triumph and pain.

“I confronted him with it all. I told him I was going to expose him for the fraud he was.”

“Men like that deserve to be exposed,” Carlotta offers up a mock toast with that skull glass of hers. “Preferably in public, with a spotlight and a hot mic. Or in private with handcuffs and a riding crop.”

“How did he take that news?” I ask, sipping my creamy, dreamy concoction and the twins give an approving kick.

“About as well as you’d expect,” Della sighs as she says it.

“He laughed in my face and said no one would believe me. He said he’d tell people that I’d given him permission to access my accounts, and threatened to destroy my business reputation if I tried anything.

” She takes another drink and the top of her orange beard is now stained green.

“Then he walked away like I was nothing.”

Carlotta leans hard into the woman. “And later that night, someone just so happened to stab him. Convenient timing, Ginger Snap.”

“ Ooh , Ginger Snap.” Sebby wiggles his tail with delight. “That does make me hungry for a cookie.”

Me, too. And because of that, I don’t waste any time gobbling down the cookie that’s spiked onto that mountain of whipped cream in front of me. Ginger snap, indeed. Mmm .

“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re implying,” Della says sharply. “Although I can’t say I shed any tears at the news either. Sebastian had a talent for making enemies. I’m just one in a long line of people who wanted him off of this planet.”

“Oh, do make her tell,” Sebby pleads. “Back in the day, Sebastian used to brag in depth about all of the women he wronged. And he seemed rather proud of it, too.”

Charming.

“Go on, Carrot Top.” Carlotta leans toward Della, suddenly all ears. “Nothing bonds women like sharing stories about terrible men.”

Della hesitates, then shrugs. “Sebastian Gallagher was the love ’em and leave ’em type.

As in leaving them holding the bag. Rumor has it, he would marry women then take off with everything they owned.

” She takes another sip of her drink. “And he once did some shady business deals with a person who ended up in prison because of it. Sebastian walked away clean as a whistle while his partner took the fall.”

“Partner in business or crime?” Carlotta raises an eyebrow.

I shrug at the two of them. “With Sebastian, it sounds like they were one and the same.”

“Both,” Della confirms. “I don’t know much about it, just that someone went to the slammer while Sebastian kept right on making whiskey and breaking hearts.”

“He sounds like a real prince,” I say as dry as that man’s whiskey—and heart, apparently.

Sebby hops onto my shoulder, peering at Della with newfound interest. “Ask her about his family. Sebastian the original, his father, was quite the family man. Had seven children and remembered all their names... most of the time.”

I clear my throat. “Did Sebastian have a family of his own? Any children?”

Something flickers across Della’s face and it looks a lot like pity. “He had a wife and a couple of kids once. But he walked right out the door and never came back. Rumor has it, he left them with nothing but his name, which probably did them more harm than good.”

“Oh wow.” I shake my head at the horror. “What was his wife’s name?” I ask, trying to sound casual while my heart pounds a rhythm in my ears. I’d bet money the ex-wife was the killer. And if she wasn’t, the killer did her a solid.

Della scrunches her nose. “Kay, I think. I asked him about her once, and he said, ‘Leave Kay out of this.’ That was the end of that conversation.” Della drains the rest of her glass. “The man had more secrets than Area 51.”

“Men always do.” Carlotta gives a dramatic sigh. “The pretty ones especially. I once dated a guy who claimed to be a bachelor. Turned out, he had three wives in three different states. I’d have been impressed by his time management if I wasn’t so ticked off at him.”

“How did you handle that?” Della asks, momentarily distracted from her own troubles.

“Let’s just say his other wives and I formed a support group that involved his credit cards and a very expensive booze- filled spa weekend.” Carlotta winks. “We found solidarity in margaritas and expensive shoes.”

“Look”—Della says, trying her best to extract one last green drop from her glass—“I need to get going. I’ve probably said too much already, but beer really does have a way of loosening up my lips. Plus, I don’t mind telling you ladies what a mule that man really was.”

“Had Sebastian been a mule all along?” Sebby looks stymied by the analogy. “Well, that explains why he had a habit of kicking people when they least expected it.”

Sounds about right from what I’ve heard.

“Della”—I say quickly before she leaps out of her chair—“just one more question. About how much did he take from you?”

For the first time, genuine emotion crosses Della’s face. “Nearly two hundred thousand dollars. My life savings, my home equity, everything. I was going to open my own real estate agency. Now I’m back to square one, working for a boss who takes sixty percent of my commissions.”

“Did you see anything unusual that night?” I ask, returning to the killer in question. “Anyone hanging around Sebastian who seemed out of place?”

Sebby floats to the ceiling and back. “Yes, Della, did you notice any suspicious characters? Perhaps someone muttering ‘I’m going to stab Sebastian in his cruel, cold heart?’ Now that would be a solid clue.”

I make a face his way.

Della considers my question while idly spinning her glass on the bar top. “Not really. Though there was that older woman he was talking to. A blonde, elegantly dressed. They seemed to be having a pretty intense conversation.”

“Keegan Meryl?” I ask as my pulse quickens.

“I don’t know her name. But Sebastian looked shocked when he saw her. Like he’d seen a ghost.”

“Or an ex-wife, perhaps?” Sebby suggests and I all but dismiss the thought. Surely Venus would have known if that man was her father.

“Anyone else?” Carlotta prompts.

“There was a dark-haired woman in a cream-colored coat who followed him outside at one point. I noticed because she seemed so out of place—everyone else was in far more casual clothes for the event. You could tell she was dripping with money.”

“That’s our Eliza in a diamond-encrusted nutshell,” Carlotta chirps.

My heart skips a beat. A woman in a cream-colored coat. Eliza Baxter wears cream-colored coats like other women wear jeans—frequently and without a second thought as to the blood she might get on them.

Sebby gives a dramatic gasp. “We have our killer, Lolita! It’s your mother-in-law! Hey? What if Sebastian was married to your husband’s mother? The fact that she killed him could make family dinners going forward a little awkward. Though I have to say, the drama would be delicious.”

“I should really go,” Della says, standing up. “But thanks for the conversation. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one who’s been taken for a ride by a charming con artist.”

“Want my number?” Carlotta offers. “I’m starting a support group. We meet weekly at the liquor store.”

Della laughs as she adjusts her beard. “It was nice chatting with you ladies. Enjoy the rest of your night.”

As she walks away, Carlotta leans toward me. “So, what are you thinking? Is Red still our prime suspect?”

I watch Della step outside, phone already pressed to her ear, looking more like a woman on a mission than a killer on the run.

“I’m thinking, we have a financial scam, a woman with a serious motive for revenge, at least two others with mysterious connections to Sebastian, and a very tangled web, indeed.”

“Sounds like we need another round,” Carlotta declares as she signals for the bartender.

“And possibly a flow chart,” I add, absently rubbing my belly as the twins execute what feels like a coordinated tumbling routine.

Between stolen money, broken hearts, and a mysterious woman in a cream-colored coat, this case has more ingredients than one of my blue ribbon cakes.

Someone places their hand on my shoulder from behind and I turn around as a scream gets lodged in my throat.