Page 4 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes (MURDER IN THE MIX #53)

LOTTIE

T he music swells around us, a lively Irish jig that makes my twins do a little jig of their own against my ribcage.

Everett, Noah, Carlotta, and I weave through the sea of redheads toward Eliza Baxter, who stands like a statue carved from ice despite the warmth in the community center tonight.

“Mom?” Everett says with his voice as formal as it always is when addressing the woman who birthed him. “I had no idea you were coming to Honey Hollow.”

Eliza’s perfectly manicured hand flutters to her pearl necklace. Eliza is tall, statuesque, has a shock of dark hair, and has the standard-issued Baxter cobalt blue eyes.

Everett has them, too, as does our daughter Evie.

I actually adopted Evie when she popped into our lives a few years back after being all but abandoned by her birth mother.

I’m still so thankful each and every day that she’s in our lives.

But I digress. Not only does Evie have the Baxter baby blues, but she has the rest of their standard-issued good looks, too.

“Everett, dear.” She sheds an easy smile. “Forgive me. This was a last-minute decision on my part.” She leans in and kisses him on both cheeks and Noah as well.

“It’s always good to see you, Eliza,” he says.

“Likewise,” she says. “Especially you.” She points my way and gives a little wink.

Her silver-streaked auburn hair is swept into an elegant updo that would make my hairstylist weep with envy.

She wears an emerald green dress that probably costs more than my minivan and has on a cream-colored coat that screams old money. That’s because she is old money.

Eliza is a hotel heiress.

Fun fact: Noah’s dubious father was once married to Eliza. And after he stole a bunch of her money, he faked his own death. But he’s back from the proverbial other side and somehow he’s managed to latch himself to Miranda Lemon, my own mother—the one who raised me.

“Lottie”—Eliza nods with her usual restrained warmth—“you’re looking so very”—she cringes a moment as she inspects my painfully swollen body—“expectant.”

“That’s one word for it,” I agree, patting my belly. “The doctor says I can expect the twins any day now.”

Before Eliza can respond, a woman steps up beside her. She looks to be in her late sixties with short red hair with a hint of gray roots, wearing a stylish black pantsuit with a green silk scarf. There’s something skittish in her eyes as she quickly scans the room before landing our way.

“And this is the reason I’m here,” Eliza says, pulling the woman in by the elbow. “This is one of my bridge buddies from Fallbrook, Glinda Van Jance.” Eliza’s smile widens, genuine and warm. “Glinda, this is my son Everett, his wife Lottie, and my bonus son Noah.”

Carlotta coughs loudly.

“And Carlotta ,” Eliza adds with a sigh.

“That’s right. Lizzy and I are practically besties,” Carlotta is quick with the lie. “That’s why we color-coordinated today.” She elbows Eliza and nearly knocks her over like a bowling pin. “Glad you got the memo, Sexy Mama.”

Sexy is Carlotta’s nickname for Everett—for obvious reasons. And apparently, it’s been extended to his mother as well. Carlotta has a long history of giving people nicknames—that they’ve earned or she’s simply christened them with. Usually, it’s the latter.

“It’s a pleasure,” Glinda says, quickly shaking everyone’s hand with a firm grip that speaks of someone used to commanding respect. And I can tell by the way she holds herself, she certainly does that.

Carlotta grunts. “So what gives? The two of you just sit around all day playing bridge at the country club?” She locks onto Glinda. “You’re not a hotel heiress, too, by chance? Or let me guess, you came upon your wealth the old-fashioned way—by way of a wedding ring.”

“ Carlotta ,” I scold, but it’s useless at this point.

“Simmer down, Lot Lot,” she scolds right back before turning her attention to the poor woman in front of us. “I’m a big believer in marrying well and often—preferably to men with large life insurance policies and questionable health.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes at the thought. Carlotta has never once accomplished that questionably fiscal feat. At least that I know of.

Glinda belts out a good-natured laugh—and thankfully so.

“Actually no, I never married,” she tells us. “I’m retired now, but I used to be a chemistry professor at Vermont State. These days the only chemistry I dabble in concerns a mixologist.”

We all share a little laugh.

“Well, they have quite the bar here tonight.” Noah is quick to point to the bar in question.

Glinda nods. “I hear they’re serving the very best whiskey.”

“Whiskey?” Carlotta perks up. “Now you’re speaking my language, sis.”

I can’t help but notice how Eliza keeps glancing over Glinda’s shoulder at the handsome older gentleman holding court across the room. He’s tall, still broad-shouldered despite his years, with sharp features and a shock of white hair tinged with reddish gold.

Carlotta follows my gaze and groans hard once she spots him. She’s pretty good at spotting a handsome man in the wild no matter what his age bracket might be.

“Hubba-hubba.” Carlotta’s entire body convulses as she says it.

“Who’s that?” Everett asks while nodding in the man’s direction.

I’m glad he asked and not me. Not only would I have asked who he was, but I’d want to know why Eliza can’t seem to take her eyes off of him.

Subtlety has never been my strong suit. Unlike Carlotta, Eliza isn’t one to ogle men, so I am curious why he’s catching her eye—and the ire etched on her face, too.

Glinda follows my gaze as well. “Oh, that’s Sebastian Gallagher.

He’s something of a legend in the whiskey world.

He just launched a new premium brand called Sebastian’s Secret Reserve.

He claims it’s going to revolutionize craft spirits in Vermont—and the world.

I’ll admit, he’s not hard to look at. Don’t you agree, Eliza?

” She elbows her friend, but Eliza is too awestruck to speak.

“Maybe we should say hello,” Glinda goes on.

“I mean, he crafts whiskey and I was a chemist. I guess you could say I have more than a little professional curiosity.” She gives a slight laugh, but Eliza doesn’t play along.

In fact, Eliza grows so white I’m half-afraid she might faint.

She catches her breath as she turns our way. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I need some air.” She practically flees the scene, leaving behind a trail of expensive perfume—and Glinda follows in her wake.

Noah shoots a look to Everett. “What was that about?”

“I have no idea.” Everett frowns in the direction she took off in. “But something seems to have upset her. I’d better go track her down.”

“Yes, for sure, go,” I tell him. “We’ll be fine.” I give my belly a pat as if to prove my point.

Just as Everett disappears into the crowd after his mother, Venus Finnigan materializes before us with her vibrant blonde hair cascading over her shoulders in perfect waves.

Next to her stands an elegant woman with matching blonde hair swept into a French twist. The family resemblance is unmistakable in their green eyes, high cheekbones, and creamy vanilla locks.

“Hello, you three,” Venus says to Carlotta, Noah, and me. “Lottie, you look absolutely radiant,” she gushes. “Pregnancy really does agree with you—times two .”

I laugh at the thought. “If by agrees with me , you mean it’s turned me into a waddling dessert vacuum, then yes.”

Venus laughs. “Let me introduce my mother. Everyone, this is Keegan Meryl.”

The older blonde extends a hand and quickly shakes with all three of us.

“Lottie, my daughter has told me so much about your bakery. And by the way, those whiskey-glazed donuts are divine.” Her voice sounds cultured and refined, and she looks glorious in a ruby-red blouse dotted with red sequins.

And in a sea of green, she shines like a bright red beacon.

“I’m so glad you’re enjoying the desserts,” I tell her. “Your daughter is quite the baker herself.”

It’s true. Venus owns a bakery called Cupid’s Sweet Concoctions, out in Hollyhock.

Noah and I went to visit last month, and to call her establishment a mere bakery seems like an insult.

If a bakery and a princess castle had a baby, Cupid’s Sweet Concoctions would be the end result.

It’s posh, pretty, and pricey as can be.

But despite the dollars for donuts it demands, its success is in the stratosphere. And so is her chocolate cake.

Keegan nods my way. “Oh, I know all about my daughter’s desserts.” She pats her thigh. “And so do my hips.”

We all share a good-natured laugh.

Not to be left out of a good bodily pat-down—even if it is self-imposed—Carlotta does the same. Although her pat is more of an assault.

“My hips don’t mind Lot Lot’s sweet treats either.” She’s quick to bond with Keegan over their love of baked goods. “In fact, now that she’s filling those sweet treats with booze, I’m ready to pack up and move into the bakery full-time.”

Noah chuckles at the thought. “Everett will be glad to hear it.”

“Oh hush, you.” Carlotta is quick to wave him off. “Sexy loves our late-night hallway meet and greets. Half the time they’re in the nude.”

“Good grief,” I mutter.

Although it’s true for the most part—with Carlotta holding up the nude part of the deal.

Venus presses her lips tight for a moment.

“Um, Mom was the head curator at the Vermont State Museum of Fine Arts before she retired,” she says, expertly taking the limelight off of Carlotta and any nude visuals she might have provided—or more importantly, circumventing any future nude reprisals.

“She has an eye for beauty in all forms.”

“Including handsome Irish whiskey makers?” Carlotta teases and inspires Keegan’s gaze to drift right toward the whiskey maker in question.

My, my, Sebastian Gallagher seems to be attracting his fair share of attention. It’s almost as if he’s the senior version of Everett.

Hey? Maybe that has something to do with Eliza’s startling reaction to him.

Noah clears his throat. “If you ladies will excuse me, I need to make a quick call.” He leans in and presses his mouth close to my ear. “I’m going to call for backup and scope the place out for trouble. Those ghosts of yours have never been wrong before.”

Great. Even Noah feels the doom in the air. And I suppose he should. It is his job.

Noah slips away and I turn back to Keegan. “So, do you know that man? Sebastian Gallagher?”

Keegan’s posture stiffens. She exchanges a look with Venus, takes a deep breath, and says, “I—uh—I guess I don’t really know him.” The words hang between us in a way that makes you certain she’s not exactly telling the truth. It’s pretty apparent she knows something about him in the least.

She clears her throat. “I think I need a cup of coffee. Or perhaps something stronger.” She stalks off with her heels clicking sharply against the hardwood floor, and shockingly I can hear it above the boisterous music and lively chatter vibrating through the room.

“Sorry about that,” Venus says with a puzzled expression as she watches her mother go.

“Well”—she turns to Carlotta and me with a forced smile—“are you ladies thinking what I’m thinking?

” She hitches her head toward Sebastian, who stands surrounded by admirers with his shock of white hair with traces of whiskey-colored highlights.

Carlotta drools on command. “That we should introduce ourselves to the silver fox and make a few indecent proposals?” She waggles her brows. “I wouldn’t mind sharing my emerald isle with him, if you know what I mean.”

“ Eww ,” I groan her way, although I’m not actually surprised by anything she says.

Carlotta basically considers flirting a competitive sport.

Not to mention the fact she’s in a very committed relationship with Mayor Nash—who happens to be my biological father.

Not that it’s ever stopped Carlotta from flirting within an inch of her life—or her relationship.

“What?” she balks my way. “I’m old, not dead.” She smooths her hair out. “And clearly, I’m not the only one interested. Half the women in this room are eyeing him like he’s the last corned beef sandwich at an Irish wake.”

Venus laughs. “Well, I’m not eyeing him for those reasons. I was thinking more along the lines of finding out what has my mother in such a tizzy.”

I cast a glance his way again. “I’ll admit, he is a looker.”

Carlotta gags and gyrates. “Don’t you have enough men in your reverse harem, Lot?” She frowns my way. “Save some for the rest of us, would you?”

I shoot her a look. “I’m investigating, not collecting,” I say. “Besides, he’s old enough to be my father—and maybe yours.”

“Maybe so,” she says. “But he’s hot enough to be my next mistake,” she mutters as we approach Sebastian’s circle.

The air in the community center seems to shimmer with tension, as if the universe knows that someone in this room is about to have their time on the planet cut fatally short.

And I certainly wonder who that could be.