Page 34 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes (MURDER IN THE MIX #53)

LOTTIE

T he St. Patrick’s Day parade rages around me as I do my best to help fill orders, but I’m so exhausted I’m half-moved to go back to my office and take a nap.

While the twins practiced their synchronized swimming routine against my ribcage at four in the morning, I went ahead and did some digging into Sebastian Gallagher and his whiskey brand.

It turns out, his family’s original company, Gallagher Whiskey, collapsed decades ago amid a scandal.

Buried in old newspaper archives, I managed to find a story about a woman named Margaret “Maggie” Murray, a chemistry professor turned craft distiller, who spent twelve years in prison for an elaborate whiskey counterfeiting operation.

According to the article, Sebastian had masterminded the whole thing, but Maggie took the fall when he planted evidence in her lab and testified against her.

The counterfeiting scheme resulted in three deaths from methanol poisoning, which were ruled as negligent homicide in her case. She lost her academic career and apparently her freedom while incarcerated.

And try as I might to find a picture of what this Maggie woman may have looked like, the only photo I could find was one of her being led away by police. And all that photo offered was the back of a blonde woman’s head.

A trumpet blast yanks me from my thoughts as the redheaded roundup float approaches—a massive shamrock-shaped platform populated by hundreds of glorious redheads.

“Look at that, Lot,” Carlotta yips. “That float has more gingers than your spice rack during the holiday baking season.”

I make a face her way before reverting my attention to the happy crowd as some of the members march alongside the massive float like a crimson army while tossing glittery green beads to the roaring crowd.

“It’s raining jewelry!” Carlotta shrieks with delight and immediately abandons her post next to the donuts to dive into the fray.

“Save some for me! I love free beads,” Suze calls out, proving to be surprisingly spry as she darts after Carlotta into the melee of bead-hunters. It would figure. Free is Suze’s favorite word—four letter or otherwise.

I try to crane my neck to keep an eye on them—in the event one of them breaks theirs—when a familiar happy-go-lucky redhead with a touch of gray around the temples steps into my line of vision, and next to her is an all too familiar, always chic brunette.

“Lottie!” Glinda’s voice cuts through the chaos as she and Eliza approach our table. “We are in desperate need of caffeine and sugar. The parade is delightful, but it’s equally exhausting.”

I give a quick laugh in response. “I’ve gone pro in the exhaustion department as of late.”

“You look fabulous.” Eliza winks my way.

“Two Irish coffees and two whiskey-glazed donuts, please,” she requests, looking elegant as always in that cream-colored coat of hers that somehow remains spotless despite the festivities.

Come to think of it, unless she has a look-alike coat, she managed to get every drop of Sebastian Gallagher’s blood out of it, too.

Good for her. The past is the past and dead bygones are dead bygones.

“Make that three donuts,” Glinda adds with a wink. “I have a particular weakness for your whiskey glaze. Must be the scientist in me—appreciating the perfect chemical reaction of sugar and alcohol.”

“It’s a combo most can’t seem to resist,” I say, bagging up their order while Lily prepares their coffee. “So are you enjoying the parade?”

“It’s so very charming,” Eliza says as only she can. “Although I’m more interested in what Mayor Nash has planned at Honey Lake. Apparently, it’s going to be quite the spectacle.”

“Oh, the whole town is buzzing about it,” Glinda agrees as she shoves a twenty-dollar bill into Lily’s hand and tells her to keep the change.

“Well, we’d better find a good spot for viewing this spectacle.

Thanks for the treats!” They disappear into the crowd with Glinda already biting into her donut with obvious pleasure—and that’s exactly what I like to see.

As the owner of the bakery, the pleasure is all mine.

“One Irish cream latte, please,” a familiar voice requests, and I turn to find Della Crane at our counter, her red hair particularly vibrant against her green sweater.

“Coming right up,” I tell her. “How are you enjoying the parade?”

“It’s exactly the distraction I needed,” she admits. “Between my financial disaster and being questioned in a murder, I could use a little leprechaun magic.” She mutters that last part mostly to herself.

“Couldn’t we all,” I agree, handing over her latte in record time.

“Lottie!” My mother’s voice carries over the crowd as she maneuvers Lyla Nell’s stroller back to our booth.

“Hello, ladies,” I say to two of my favorite females. “How about a donut for each of you?”

“Dough- knee !” Lyla Nell belts out with a clap. “Sebby need dough- knee , too,” she says, reaching under her blanket and pulling the cute little fox up by his ear.

He looks my way with a bewildered expression. “I’d complain, but she just keeps the sweet treats coming.”

“I wouldn’t complain either,” I say, offering Lyla Nell two donuts—vanilla cake with vanilla frosting and lots of green sprinkles. “One for each hand,” I tell her.

My mother helps herself to a whiskey-glazed donut and leans my way. “Lottie, you will never guess who I just spotted across the street.”

“I sure hope it’s the stork,” I say, rubbing my belly.

“Heavens no.” She waves the idea away as if that wily bird never plans on paying a visit to Honey Hollow. And I’m beginning to believe it. “It’s my old friend, Kay! I haven’t seen her in years.” She takes an indulgent bite out of her donut and moans.

“Kay?” I inch back, trying to remember where I’ve heard that name recently—and then freeze solid. “Which one is she?”

Mom cranes her neck for a moment before pointing directly at Keegan Meryl, deep in conversation with Venus.

“There, in the green jacket. She was friends with one of my roommates in college. I know her from way, way back when.”

My brain stutters like an engine missing a spark plug—not exactly an anomaly these days. “But that's Venus’ mother, Keegan.”

“Oh, she went by Kay back then. I guess we all grow up sometime.”

A particularly glittery leprechaun passes by and manages to capture Lyla Nell’s complete attention.

“ Glam Glam ,” she cries as she does her best to reach out and touch the walking, talking good luck charm. “I want! Gimme gimme, please! Pa-lease! Right meow! ”

“Oh, all right. Let’s go try to catch him,” Mom says, already whisking my sweet baby girl away. “Hey, stop, leprechaun! My granddaughter would just love to have a picture with you!”

They wheel away in a blur, leaving me frozen in place as puzzle pieces slam together in my mind with the force of a falling piano.

Keegan is Kay?

Could she be the mysterious Kay Gallagher—as in Sebastian's abandoned wife?

She does have three children. Although Della mentioned Sebastian left Kay with two children.

Maybe she meant three? Or maybe Venus doesn’t belong to Sebastian.

He didn’t seem to have any real connection to her that day we spoke to him.

But he sure did have a real interest in speaking to Keegan. And I have a feeling I know why.

The blonde woman in the prison photo. Maggie Murray. That couldn’t also be Keegan, could it? No, that doesn’t make any sense.

Not much does these days.

A float sails by and opens up my view to the crowd across the street. There she is, huddled by her daughter’s side, so seemingly innocent.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” I say to my staff as I waddle my way toward the crowd.

“Where are we off to, Lot?” Carlotta asks as she jumps by my side with enough beads to fill a pirate’s chest.

“Off to speak with a friend.”

And maybe a killer.