3. Lottie

LOTTIE

E verett and I shuffle our way into the ballroom. His arms are laden with precious gingerbread cargo and mine are brimming with my scrumptious plum pudding, and yet I can't help but think we've stumbled into the epicenter of a purple hat-wearing Christmas catastrophe.

The ballroom of the Evergreen Manor pulsates with enough festive energy to power every last holiday light in Honey Hollow. The entire ballroom is decked out like a Yuletide fever dream, with more evergreen garlands than a forest and enough twinkle lights to guide Santa straight to us—without the aid of Rudolph and his shiny red nose.

A grand evergreen stands near the front of the room, outfitted with colorful lights, glittery ornaments, and big red festive bows.

It's so opulent and gorgeous I can't help but sigh just looking at it.

Bodies swirl every which way as "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" plays loud and proud, and laughter echoes through the room at ear-piercing decibels.

The air is a heady mix of sugary perfume and the sweet aroma of every holiday dessert known to mankind—namely the ones I've peppered the dessert buffet with.

"I'm getting a sugar high just breathing in here," I say, holding back a sneeze, and Everett chuckles.

"I'm right there with you, Lemon."

The ladies of the Purple Bonnet Society scuttle around in a vibrant sea of purple Santa hats bobbing above sweaters so ugly they could scare away the Grinch himself.

A giant banner stretches across the front of the ballroom, and in purple glitter it reads Welcome to the Purple Bonnet Santa Hat Society's Annual Christmas Party!

"Looks like the North Pole threw up in here," I whisper to Everett, who stifles a laugh and nearly topples one of the gingerbread houses onto its head. "All right, in all honesty, I find nothing ugly about these sweaters. They're darn right adorable. I have no idea why something so festive gets such a bad rap."

"Years ago, my mother would wear sweaters like these. She loved them, too. And I always knew the holidays were approaching whenever she put one on. I don't think they're ugly either. Although they're not making it on my Christmas list."

"Am I making it on your Christmas list?" I bite down on a smile as I lead us over to the table laden with undecorated gingerbread houses and we put down our loads from the bakery.

"Lemon, you're at the top of my list every day of the year." He pulls me close and I sort of position my overgrown belly to the left just so he can wrap his arms around me. Suffice it to say, there's been a lot of bodily strategy involved between the two of us as of late. "Are you ready for dinner?" he asks while landing a kiss on my lips.

"And dessert." I bat my lashes up at him. "And I'm not talking about anything they serve at the Tavern on the Lake." One of the twins gives me a swift kick and kicks Everett by proxy as the two of us share a laugh.

"I think they're trying to tell us that's how we got into this predicament to begin with."

Before I can respond, the lights flicker and an older blonde at the front of the room waves her arms like mad trying to get the attention of every purple hat in the room.

That older blonde would be my mother, Miranda Lemon, the saint who adopted me as a baby.

It turns out, my mother is this evening's unofficial purple queen. And she's so gorgeous tonight, it's not a wonder anyone wouldn't want her as their queen. In fact, she's seeing Noah's look-alike father, Wiley—who is wily indeed. Nevertheless, he, too, is enamored by her noble beauty and treats her as the royalty she is.

My mother beats a fork against a glass as she struggles to gain the room's attention, and I can't help but laugh. She's basically the conductor of this Christmas orchestra—chaotic as it might be.

She's wearing an ugly sweater that could only be described as a masterpiece of holiday cheer gone awry. A felt scene takes up most of the front as a plump Santa is stuck in a chimney with his boots flailing against a backdrop of snowflakes the size of dinner plates. The colors are loud, with both neon green and bright pink competing for attention. Tiny mismatched bells are sewn haphazardly around the hem and cuffs and they jingle along with her every move—somewhat annoyingly—as she continues to wave us to attention.

"Welcome one and all to the annual Purple Hat Society Christmas party," she shouts.

The room enlivens with whoops and hollers.

Mom clears her throat and lifts the drink in her hand just as the music dips in volume. "I want to take a moment and give a special thank you to our sister, Glenda Dasher!" She pulls forth a blonde who looks somewhere in her sixties, just like my mother. The woman is tall with pale glowing skin and narrowed eyes that scan the crowd. And everything about her suggests a noble elegance.

She's wearing a lovely forest green sweater with lots of gold embellishments. In fact, it looks far from ugly. It glimmers under the twinkle lights as if it were spun out of pure gold indeed. There's even a fuzzy brown reindeer on the front with a little ruby nose that catches the light with every turn.

Mom pulls the woman close. "Glenda here has generously provided the funds for the décor and all of the sweet treats, which were baked by none other than one of my sweet daughters, Lottie Lemon." She waves in my direction and a light applause breaks out.

I give a mock bow and nod a silent thank you to Glenda.

Honestly, I'd love to shout a thank you from the rooftops. Usually, my mother has me donating my sweet treats when it comes to entertaining her friends. But seeing there are hundreds of them here tonight, I'm thankful she didn't.

"Anyway"—Mom continues as she turns to the blonde— "Glenda, none of this would have been possible without you. Thank you for providing the ballroom, for providing so richly in every capacity so that we could have such a lovely party, and for being a good friend to one and all. Everyone, let's give Glenda a show of our appreciation!"

A wild applause breaks out and the room goes right back to its cheery state as the music grows in volume once again.

"Wow, she paid for the ballroom, too?" I muse to Everett. "That's not cheap. Glenda sounds like a real-life Santa Claus—or I should say Mrs. Claus."

Everett nods. "But does she keep reindeer in her backyard?" he teases.

"Don't you dare even whisper that around Lyla Nell or she'll be begging for a reindeer next. And I know for a fact that neither you nor Noah can deny that girl a single thing."

Noah would be Detective Noah Fox, Lyla Nell's biological father, who is just as much family to me as Everett is.

"Speaking of Noah." Everett frowns as he pulls his phone from his pocket and nods at the screen. "He's asking if he can borrow my snow blower."

"Yes, for sure," I say.

"No way," he growls as his fingers glide over his phone, typing out his response.

"Everett, why in the world wouldn't you let him?"

"Because I told him he's needed here."

I suck in a quick breath. "Don't you dare ruin Noah's night. Nothing has happened."

"Nothing has happened yet ," he corrects. "But we both know you don't see the dead for nothing."

Okay, so he's got me there. Although I do see the ghosts at my mother's happily haunted B&B all the time—and not a death ensues. However, I'm not sure why I can see them when the rest of the dead seem to be sent from above to help me solve a homicide case or two. But then, I don't make the rules, I just live with them.

"Oh, and before I forget," Mom calls out above the noise. "I want to sing the praises of the society's knitters who have made over one hundred hats for charity!" The crowd goes wild once again. "It just makes my heart swell with pride to be in the company of such talented people." She points to a table next to the tree that's laden with enough colorful knit caps to outfit all of Vermont. The display looks like a fashion runway for warm and cozy beanies. "And don't forget we have a few items up for auction this evening. All proceeds will help buy gifts for needy families, so feel free to bid and outbid! I've got my eyes on those antique knitting needles!"

The crowd oohs and ahs .

"I bet those knitting needles could tell stories," I say to Everett.

"Probably about all the times they narrowly escaped being used as weapons at society meetings," he quips back.

Mom waves in my direction as she makes her way over, and her eyes light up when she sees the gingerbread houses.

"Lottie, Everett, thank you so very much. I never expected this big of a turnout. I'm so thankful you were able to bring a few more houses for us to decorate. And I'm glad you survived the snow." She pulls us both in for a quick embrace. "It's so cold out there, I'm glad the two of you didn't turn into a couple of snowmen."

"We're happy to help," Everett says. "And I'm especially happy the gingerbread houses survived the ride over."

The blonde my mother just introduced, Glenda Dasher, steps this way along with a short brunette clad in red, save for the cat with a Santa hat on her sweater.

"Oh, honey." Glenda laughs as she looks at Everett. "Those gingerbread houses are more structurally sound than my first marriage," she teases and we all have a good-natured laugh. "All of your baked goods are great quality, Lottie." She nods my way. "And judging by all the people who seem to have enjoyed your desserts as their last meal, even the dead seem to be addicted to them."

I lift my head a notch as my eyes slit to nothing.

It's one thing to insult me, but my desserts? I can be a mama bear about my sweet treats just as much as I can regarding Lyla Nell.

This woman will be lucky if she doesn't end up dead tonight—and I might just do the deadly deed myself.