Page 5 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes (MURDER IN THE MIX #53)

LOTTIE

S ebastian Gallagher is finishing up what appears to be a tense conversation with a stunning woman who looks to be in her forties.

She’s a brunette with auburn highlights, physically fit, and has on a deep maroon pantsuit that screams success.

Although at the moment, her perfect features are twisted into a scowl.

“You think this changes anything?” the woman says under her breath. “A new business? I know exactly who you are, Sebastian.”

He purses his lips, and if I had to guess, it looks as if he’s hiding a smile.

“Della, my love, it’s water under the bridge.” He winks and it only seems to infuriate her even more. He glances our way as we come upon them and does a double take at Venus. “Ah, Keegan’s precious daughter.”

Della turns our way with an indifferent look on her face, but she’s still notably annoyed from the encounter she just had with him. I’m starting to think this was a bad idea.

“Venus Finnigan,” Venus says in a voice that suddenly sounds more professional than it does warm.

“Carlotta Sawyer.” Carlotta quickly throws both her name and her hand out there, but Sebastian doesn’t waver his gaze from Venus.

“I didn’t realize your mother would be here tonight,” he says it low and slightly out of breath as he quickly scans the room for her.

“My husband is on the board for the event,” she tells him, but he’s still on the hunt for her mother.

The woman standing next to him gives a hard sigh and I offer her a commiserating smile.

“Lottie Lemon,” I say, extending my hand her way. “I own the bakery here in town and brought the baked goods this evening. Or at least some of them. Venus supplied her fair share, too.”

The woman stares at my hand for a moment before shaking it and I can’t help but note her fingers are ice-cold to the touch.

“Della Crane,” she says curtly as she nods to both Venus and me. “The desserts look fabulous. And as long as either of you didn’t use Sebastian’s whiskey in your products, then I’ll be sure to sample them.”

“Oh no, I didn’t do that,” I’m quick to say. “I mean, I used whiskey in a few of the recipes.” I turn to Sebastian and cringe. “I’m sure your whiskey is amazing. It’s just not what I had on hand.”

Sebastian offers a slight smile my way. “I’ll be sending an entire box of my whiskey to your bakery come morning.” His gaze shifts to Venus. “And a pallet to yours.”

An entire pallet to hers? I can’t help but stifle a laugh. Talk about preferential treatment. Clearly, Venus’ mother made a huge impression on the man.

“Did you hear that, Lot?” Carlotta straightens. “You’re getting a free case of the good stuff. I’ll be there bright and early to help you put it away.”

I shoot her a look because I know exactly what she means by put it away .

“Ah, the famous Lottie Lemon!” Sebastian clasps my hand. “Your whiskey-glazed donuts are the talk of the evening. I was hoping to meet you as well.”

“What about me, Hot Stuff?” Carlotta balks at the man. “I’m Lottie Dottie’s OG mama. I bet you were looking forward to meeting me, too! Saving the best and the hottest for last.”

Oh, good grief. More like saving the most psychotic for last. If he’s smart, he’ll have a restraining order on her by morning.

He offers a nervous laugh in response.

Carlotta schmoozes her way closer to the man. “And what would a big, important whiskey man like you want to waste your liquid gold on this preggo pinata? Send it my way, Hot Stuff, and I’ll make sure we both have a good time.”

He belts out a belly laugh and it sounds genuine. Della rolls her eyes, and believe me, I’m trying hard not to do the same.

“Honey, I’ll be sure to send a box earmarked just for you as well,” he’s happy to tell her—and Carlotta is more than happy to hear it.

“But as for the bakeries,” he gives a wistful sigh as he looks at Venus and me, “I’ll admit, my intentions are not all that pure.

I’m hoping to discuss a business opportunity with the two of you.

” He says the two of us even though he’s right back to being completely focused on Venus.

“Sebastian’s Secret Reserve is thinking of launching a line of whiskey-infused foods.

Cookies, cakes, chocolates—all with my premium spirits. ”

“Interesting,” I say, mostly to remind him that I’m still here, although I don’t know why. Venus really seems to have cast a spell on him.

He nods to her as if she said it instead. “I’m a big believer in seizing opportunities,” Sebastian continues. “Life is too short for regrets. Tomorrow isn’t promised, especially at my age.”

A chill runs down my spine as he says it and it has nothing to do with the twins kicking away as if they were trying to swim away from a shark.

And while Sebastian is busy ogling Venus, I can’t help but notice the way Eliza is watching him from across the room. Her eyes are cold as she raises a glass in his direction—as if she’s giving him a toast or a warning, I can’t tell which.

Venus’ phone chimes with a text, and she glances down at the screen.

“Oh, it’s Sean. He needs help with the presentation setup.

He’s going to give a toast and give a little history of the club.

Please excuse me, ladies.” She squeezes my arm before leaning in close.

“Don’t let my mother and Sebastian cross paths if you can help it.

I don’t have a good feeling about this.” And with that cryptic warning, she vanishes into the crowd.

Della checks her watch and sighs. “I should get back to mingling. I’ve got three potential clients here tonight.

” Her gaze drifts toward the dessert table.

“After I sample some of those Irish cream brownies, of course. A girl has to have priorities.” She stalks off and her high heels click against the wood flooring like gunshots.

“Well, how about that?” Carlotta slides closer to Sebastian, batting her eyelashes with all the subtlety of a fog horn—an old weathered one at that.

“How about you and I find a nice, dark corner and discuss the finer points of whiskey? I’ve been told I have an excellent kisser.

” She offers a demonstration by way of puckering up.

But thankfully, he doesn’t seem to be falling for it.

Sebastian winces her way. “I’ve no doubt about that, madam.”

“Hey! Who are you calling a madman ?” Carlotta scoffs his way and holds up her dukes as if she were ready to introduce her fist to his kisser.

“We should really let you get back to your admirers,” I tell him before cringing.

“I mean, friends or clients.” I try to backtrack, but let’s call a spade a spade.

I’m pretty sure I had it right the first time with admirers.

“We should go,” I say, grabbing Carlotta’s arm before she can embarrass us further.

Although, let’s be honest, everyone knows Carlotta will embarrass us well into the future—and quite possibly eternity.

“The babies need sustenance, and those desserts aren’t going to eat themselves,” I say as I pat my belly.

Sebastian gives a rich laugh that seems to draw envious glances from the women all around us. “Enjoy your night,” he says. “I’ll be in touch about those whiskey-infused treats, Lottie.”

I practically drag Carlotta to the nearest dessert table, which groans under the weight of Irish-inspired confections. “Could you be any more obvious?” I hiss. “On second thought, don’t answer that.”

“What?” she balks. “He’s single, I’m single, and life’s too short to beat around the boozy bush.” She snags a Bailey’s cheesecake bite and shoves it into her pie hole.

“We don’t know that he’s single,” I say, snapping up a bright green dessert plate. “And you are definitely not single.”

“I don’t see a ring on my finger.” She spikes her hand to my nose. “And don’t you get any funny ideas about yipping away to your daddy. I’m not looking for a ring either. I’m the kind of girl that likes to take it slow.”

“ Ha! I needed a good laugh.” And I don’t mind laughing right in her face. “The only thing you’re slow at is trying to commit. You share two children with the man.”

“That you know about,” she says with a cheeky wink and I really hope she’s kidding.

She pops one of Venus’ sweet treats into her mouth. “ Mmm , this is sinful. Try the Irish coffee cupcakes. The whiskey buttercream is straight from Heaven.”

I load my plate with mini Irish apple cakes, whiskey-glazed donuts, and, of course, a few shamrock sugar cookies. “Wow, Venus really outdid herself with these treats.”

“ You outdid yourself, Lot,” Carlotta corrects, sampling a chocolate Guinness cake pop.

“These taste just like your recipes. I bet Venus bought up a bunch of your goodies and just slapped her name on them. How about we ask her to catch us outside? We can use your shamrock cookie cutters as brass knuckles.”

I avert my eyes. I’m about to say something, but my reply dies on my lips as I spot Eliza and Sebastian near the exit.

His back is against the wall—literally—as Eliza jabs a finger into his chest. Even from here, I can see the fury radiating off her body like heat off a summer sidewalk.

Sebastian’s easy charm has all but vanished, seemingly replaced by a mournful look in his eyes as he grabs her wrist.

I gasp and step away from the dessert buffet. “Should we go over there?” I ask, setting down my plate. And it would take something of this magnitude for me to do just that. I don’t give up on my desserts so quickly. Or ever .

Carlotta follows my gaze and snorts. “And interrupt whatever that is? No, thank you. Eliza always gets the hot ones.” She winks at me. “Must run in the family.”

“Speaking of hot ones… I don’t see Everett anywhere.

” I scan the room as anxiety begins to bubble up in me.

Something is definitely off here tonight.

And if that ghostly fox is a barometer, then it should be half past a murder by now.

“Maybe I should text him? Things look as if they’re getting heated with Eliza and that man. ”

“Nah, let Long Legs Lizzy have her moment. Whatever that silver fox did, she clearly has a thing or two to say about it.” A wicked grin begins to carve itself into her face. “Besides, nothing makes the hanky-panky hotter than having a good argument first. Trust me. I speak from experience.”

“Spare me the details,” I mutter. “Besides, that’s Everett’s mother we’re talking about. But regardless, I think you’re right. Maybe I should stay out of it.”

Carlotta lets out a whoop that manages to rise over the noise. “Say it again, Lot. The part about me being right. I want to record it on my phone.”

“Not on your life,” I sing, turning back to the desserts where my attention belongs.

Whatever history Eliza has with Sebastian, it’s not my place to interfere.

Twenty minutes pass in a blur of sugar and raucously loud Irish music. I sample sweet after sweet, each more decadent than the last—Irish cream fudge squares, whiskey truffles, mint chocolate grasshopper bars, and tiny soda bread pudding cups drizzled with whiskey caramel sauce.

The volume in the room only seems to increase. The music grows louder, the laughter more boisterous, and the chatter seems never-ending.

The twins seem to be performing somersaults in response to my sugar intake, and suddenly I need peace and quiet and a breath of fresh air.

“I’d better find Everett,” I say, holding my far too bloated belly as I crane my neck into the crowd. “Oh, look! I think I see him over there,” I tell Carlotta, squinting toward a tall, dark, and far too handsome figure near the hallway that leads to the bathrooms.

“Lead the way, Lady Waddles-a-Lot.”

Carlotta is lockstep with me as I push through the crowd, but sure enough the figure disappears down the hall.

We follow, but instead of finding Everett, we discover a door leading outside.

The cool night air beckons, promising relief from the stuffy, overcrowded room, and it’s a lure far too luscious to resist.

“Let’s get some fresh air,” I suggest, pulling her in that direction. “Just for a minute.”

We step outside and the night is gloriously crisp as clear sparkling stars dot the velvet sky.

I take a deep breath, grateful for the quiet after the cacophony of noise inside.

We step further onto the small patio behind the community center and move around a hedge that shields us from the view of the parking lot.

I’m about to suggest we take a seat when I stub my shoe on something soft yet immovable.

We glance down and gasp as a far too familiar face lies toes up with his eyes fixed on nothing and a knife protruding from his chest. His white shirt has been stained crimson and that stain has spread like spilled whiskey.

And speaking of the devil’s favorite libation, one of my whiskey-glazed donuts is in the man’s right hand while the ghost of a tiny white fox sits right on one of his kneecaps.

The tiny poltergeist lets out a little yip before disappearing completely.

Carlotta grabs my arm and digs her nails into it. “I told you, Lot,” she shouts. “That room full of fiery redheaded firecrackers is bad luck.”

Bad luck is right.

Carlotta won’t have to worry about Sebastian becoming her next big mistake. Sebastian Gallagher is dead.

I open my mouth to scream, but before any sound emerges, a figure steps from the shadows on the other side of the body.

Eliza Baxter stands over Sebastian with her hands covered in blood.

Oh my word!

It seems Sebastian Gallagher just may have been Eliza’s biggest mistake of all.