20. Lottie

LOTTIE

" A ll right, Lot Lot," Carlotta says, bouncing next to me as we set foot at the snowy grounds of Honey Lake. "You make sure Foxy and Sexy sweep your category, and I'll make sure to sweep the floor with those old fogies from Geezer Gardens."

Lyla Nell gives a wild clap from her stroller as if she approves.

"That's right, Little Yippy." Carlotta claps along with her. "With Evie Stevie taking home the prize for the teen and tweens category, we've got all of the prizes in the bag. How's that for keeping it in the family?" She pauses while pulling on her mittens. "On second thought, for all we know, everyone here under eighteen could be Mr. Sexy's family. You're probably good either way."

"That is not funny," I tell her as she trots toward the registration table. "And don't go spreading rumors!"

A handful of eyes drift my way and it becomes more than clear that all rumors necessary have already been spread.

The sky is dark and ominous, and yet Honey Lake glitters as if a thousand stars have fallen into it. Bodies are bustling in the snow, and a few tables are set out along the cobbled walkway offering hot cocoa, hot apple cider, and more than a few sweet treats from my bakery.

Lily and Effie were kind enough to bring them out for me earlier. As it stands, I can hardly bring myself anywhere. Except maybe over to the hot cocoa and sweet treats. I can smell the fudge brownies from here, and I can't get to them fast enough.

Everett and Noah sign up for the snowman challenge while Lyla Nell and I find a bench nearby to watch the madness. Mounds of snow are amassed everywhere you look, and it's as if Mother Nature was the one setting up the competition.

The Frosty Follies down at Honey Lake are turning out to be the social highlight of Honey Hollow's Christmas season, and believe me, I'm here for it, bundled up and balancing a steaming cup of cocoa on my belly, ready to cheer on the competitors—my competitors to be exact.

By the looks of it, the Purple Santa Hat Society has really outdone themselves with the lake's shoreline segmented into a competitive arena for snowman architects of all ages. It's a sight to behold with each patch of snow a blank canvas awaiting its transformation. And I can hardly wait to see it.

I spot my mother, along with Eudora, near the registration booth, but so far no sign of?—

Well, well, there she is.

It seems Clara Dickens Greenmantle is working with the under twelve crowd, helping them out by handing them carrots, lumps of coal, scarves, and hats. I'll keep an eye on her—or more to the point, seek her out after the competition. Right now, I have to keep my eye on someone else—two someone else's.

Noah and Everett have stepped out of their usual roles for the day and into the frosty fray. And in a few minutes, they're about to go head-to-head, and I've got front-row seats for the action.

Noah pulls a carrot and a top hat out of a bag before smirking over at Everett.

"I hope you brought your A-game, Baxter," he shouts. "I've been practicing my snow-sculpting skills just for today."

"Practicing, huh?" Everett ticks his head at the thought. "Well, I've spent the last two hours doing some research on optimal snowman structure. Prepare to be impressed. Lemon, victory is ours."

Noah shakes his head. "Victory stands to be seen. Although if you had researched the optimal structure for not getting into a certain genetic predicament, we might not be on the verge of forming the Baxter All-Girls School."

"Winner, winner, zinger dinner! " Carlotta laughs while taking the spot next to Everett. And floating by her side is none other than Thimblewick, the apparently very naughty, naughty elf. I can't help but frown at both of them. "Way to go, Foxy. Keep the cheap shots flying," Carlotta shouts. "Your biting barbs are fuel for my sassy soul. Now let's get this snowman party started!"

Before the officials can start this frozen party, an older woman with long silver hair that sweeps past her bottom treks this way. She's wearing a long velvet skirt that acts as a snow plow with her every step and she has a scowl on her face that suggests she doesn't care for the fact it's snowing down south.

We watch as she scurries over to the spot next to Carlotta, and both Carlotta and I freeze solid.

That long-haired, gray-headed granny is none other than Francine Dundee, Carlotta's nemesis .

"What are you doing here, Francine?" Carlotta doesn't waste any time before snipping at her.

"I'm here to whoop your butt ." Francine laughs her own tushy off after making the remark.

"Well, I'll be a marshmallow in hot chocolate," Thimblewick says as he floats her way. "Alas, the fairy queen of my dreams has arrived with hair of silver and eyes of coal. Just the combination I've been searching for all my life—and all my afterlife, too."

Carlotta sniffs his way. "You get back here, you cotton-headed ninny, or you can forget all about that high-flying routine we've all but perfected."

Thimblewick materializes next to her without missing a beat.

" Yay! " Lyla Nell breaks out into an applause once again. " Thimby Wicky! "

Francine squints at Carlotta as if she were trying to decipher what just happened.

"What are you staring at?" Carlotta snips at her. "Shouldn't you be home tending to your flock of fifty-two mouths to feed, instead of frolicking around in the snow with a bunch of heathens on the devil's snowy playground?"

I sigh at the remark.

Although Carlotta is mostly right. Francine has somewhere around twenty kids and umpteen grandkids, too. She believes women should never cut their hair, always wear long skirts, and always bake their bread from scratch.

I happen to agree with her on that last point.

"I'm here providing for my family, Carlotta," Francine shoots back. "I'll have you know that in our category the prize is a one-hundred-dollar gift card to the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery."

" What? " I squawk and Lyla Nell echoes the sentiment, albeit she sounds cuter and she's added a spontaneous applause to punctuate it.

How could this be? I don't remember donating that. Although with the twins wreaking havoc on my body and brain that's not a surprise. Then I spot Suze and my mother chatting away to our right, and between those two it all makes sense.

"Good luck, ladies," I say, resigned to the fact.

And good luck to my sales as well.

An air horn goes off, and soon just about everyone at the lake is busy rolling snow into globes the size of beachballs. In fact, I see just about everyone I know here doing just that.

Keelie and Bear are working as a team. Lainey is here cheering on her husband, Forest, who is hanging out with the rest of the firefighters. Meg is cheering on Hook, and Lily is cheering on Alex. And all of those people just so happen to be in Noah and Everett's age bracket, too. It looks as if there's some stiff competition up ahead, but I don't dare say a word.

It seems everyone is here.

My eyes land on Clara Dickens Greenmantle in the distance, and it makes me wonder if a killer showed up for the festivities, too.