18. Noah

NOAH

I t's the next day after Everett's big daddy reveal and Lottie and I drove down to the hospital this morning and partook in the birthing—or rather breathing—class with Sam.

The breathing class, oddly enough, turns out to be a lot less about breathing and a lot more about suppressing laughter—an exercise in which most of us failed spectacularly. Let's just say there were a lot of bodily noises, a lot of strange positions, and a lot of nervous new parents.

I'll admit, I didn't mind Lottie sitting cradled in my lap at the beginning of the class, per the teacher's instructions. Sam was kind enough to opt out of that part.

In fact, Sam struggled not to giggle every time we were instructed to breathe deeply and make a he he he sound on the exhale.

Honestly, I'm with Sam on this one. It sounded as if we were trying to impersonate a hurricane and came out sounding more like a squad of asthmatics.

After we wrapped up, I offered to take them both out to lunch and Lottie pointed out that Evie took Lyla Nell to the tree lot and that they had several food vendors there so that's where we are.

The sky is dark despite the fact it's afternoon, the tree lot is festive, there's a good smattering of people milling around, and the scent of all things deep-fried has my stomach growling.

"Who knew they had hand-dipped corndogs?" I muse as soon as we make our way to the row of booths sponsored by local eateries.

" Me , that's who," Lottie says. "Oh look, there's Lyla Nell and Evie over at the petting zoo. I'm heading over to say hello." She takes off before I can stop her.

I crane my neck in that direction and, sure enough, Evie is holding Lyla Nell as they pet a reindeer with furry-looking antlers.

"I think I'll join Lottie and see if Evie wants a corndog, too."

"Not me." Sam holds her belly as if she were trying to stop a helium balloon from floating off. "This kid needs to eat and he or she needs to eat now."

"Wait a minute." I fish a twenty-dollar bill out of my wallet. "It's on me. But I'll be right behind you."

I'm about to head toward the petting zoo when I hear what sounds like shouting to my left and, sure enough, two women are going at it in the area labeled Santa's Workshop . It's an older blonde and an older redheaded woman looking as if they're about to slaughter one another—with words, that is. Thankfully, there's not a knitting needle in the vicinity.

I'm about to turn away when the older blonde garners my attention.

" Mom? " I hear myself howl as I make my way over. Sure enough, Mom and Eudora Fairbanks are going at it.

I can't quite hear what they're saying above the carolers singing at top volume as they stroll by, but thankfully, another redhead steps in and breaks it up—and that other redhead just so happens to be my partner.

Eudora quickly slings her purse over her shoulder and makes a run for it, or at least she moves as fast as the snow will allow.

"Mother, wait," Ivy calls out as she starts after her but comes to an abrupt pause once she spots me. "Noah?" She quickly soothes the flyaway hair around her bun. "What are you doing here?" She glowers at me for a moment. "Don't tell me you're here to grill my mother, too? She told me all about how she had a nice chat with Miranda Lemon's daughter yesterday. Really, Lottie?" She shakes her head past me. "How dare she investigate my mother in connection to a homicide."

"I'm sorry. I'm sure Lottie was just trying to be friendly." While investigating her mother in connection to a homicide. "What was that spat about?"

Ivy glances back at the booth where my mother angrily rearranged the knit caps in front of her.

"Let's just say our mothers aren't exactly getting along," she says before stepping in close. "Noah"—she inverts her lips a moment and there's a pleading look in her eyes—"we've been friends for a very long time and I haven't asked a lot from you. But if you don't mind, I would appreciate it if you could remove my mother permanently from your suspect list." She glances away and there's a glint of moisture in her eyes. "She may not be perfect, but she's the only mother I've got. Just lay off of her and have Lottie do the same. I can't stand the thought of my mother going away for life. I just can't."

She darts off in the same direction her mother took off in.

What did she mean by I can't stand the thought of my mother going away for life ?

"Ivy?" I call out as she disappears from sight.

Does she think her mother is guilty?

I make my way to my own mother and sigh.

"What just happened?" I ask.

"That woman is a wicked witch, that's what happened." No sooner does she get the words out than Lottie shows up with Lyla Nell sitting on her belly as she struggles to hold her.

"Evie spotted her friends in the wild, so she's with them now," Lottie says before looking suspiciously at my mother and me. "What's going on?"

"Oh, I had a little spat with Eudora." Mom checks her hair in the small mirror hooked up to the post. "That woman doesn't know when to quit. Just because I was holding the knitting needles doesn't mean I'm the one who stabbed Glenda in the heart. Besides, everyone knows that Eudora has been hiding something as of late. And whatever it was, it must be a whopper because that woman is singlehandedly trying to pin Glenda's murder on me . She actually accused me of trying to cover something up myself." She picks up a purple Santa hat and smashes it over her head.

" Yay ." Lyla Nell laughs and claps. "Suzie Q!"

"And my name is not Suzie Q ," she sputters before taking off to help a customer.

Lottie shrugs my way. "It's not our fault she won't go by Grandma. And well, Lyla Nell may have picked it from Carlotta. You have to admit, Suzie Q does have a ring to it."

" Ring, ring, ring ." Lyla Nell laughs up a storm as she says it and my mother glances this way, looking twice as annoyed.

"You can call her whatever you like, Princess," I say, stealing Lyla Nell from her. "And Lottie, you really shouldn't be carrying her."

"I can't help it. She's still my baby." She presses her lips tight as she glances at my mother. "Do you think she has something to hide?"

I close my eyes a moment. "Knowing my mother, yes." I'm slow to admit. And just like that, I'm taking a page out of Ivy's book. "What other suspects have you got other than Eudora or my mother?"

"Clara Dickens Greenmantle. She's friends with our mothers. She has short dark hair and sort of birdlike features." She winces a moment. "Okay, so she reminds me a bit of an elf with a pointy nose and pointy ears, but I'll never admit it to anyone else."

"Elf?" Lyla Nell perks up and begins peeking around in hopes of spotting one.

A tiny laugh strums from me just as my mother comes back this way.

"Mom, would you by chance know if Clara Dickens Greenmantle is around?"

At this point, I'd gladly arrest my shoe for the homicide. I don't even want to think that my mother or Ivy's could do such a thing.

"Would you look at that?" Mom snips. "She's even got my own son calling her by all twelve of her names." She glances at the sky and shakes her head. "She's already finished her shift. But if you really want to arrest her for murder, you can find her at Honey Lake tomorrow. The Purple Santa Hat Society is hosting the Frosty Follies, a snowman building competition for all ages. There's an entrance fee, but all proceeds go to charity, and a few of the local businesses have even offered up prizes." She turns to Lottie. "I volunteered to purchase a box of your Christmas cookies for those in attendance."

"You'll do no such thing," Lottie tells her. "I'll be bringing them, and I'll bring twelve boxes."

I nod over at my mother. "I guess we'll see you tomorrow at Honey Lake."

Lottie and I head for the corndog stand with Lyla Nell in tow.

"I'm sorry, Noah, but Suze seems kind of guilty," Lottie says as we walk through the maze of flocked trees.

"She does." I sigh. "How about we focus on Clara?"

"What about Eudora?"

"Clara," I say again, lackluster.

Lottie nods my way. "You and Ivy had better hope there's a better candidate for murder out there. Because if the evidence leads elsewhere, well, someone's mother will be spending every Christmas to come in prison."

"Ho, ho, ho," I say with a sigh.

Say it ain't so.