31. Lottie

LOTTIE

" L ottie?" Thimblewick calls out just as I exit the ballroom here at the Evergreen Manor.

The hallways are dark, yet just as festive, with miles of garland wrapped in twinkle lights dancing their way down the corridor.

Thimblewick glows all on his own from the inside out with his ruddy expression and mischievous glint in his eyes. His green and yellow outfit seems to sparkle a touch more this evening. In fact, his entire countenance emanates a charge that seems far more otherworldly than before.

"Have you seen the apple of my eye?" He cranes his neck past me into the ballroom. "She's been a slippery fish all night long."

"She's a slippery something, all right," I say, hiking up on my tiptoes to look past him. "Oh, there she is," I say as I take off after my suspect once again.

"Carlotta?" he calls after me as he races to float alongside me.

"No, not Carlotta," I whisper. "Eudora Fairbanks." I nod up ahead. "She's standing in that makeshift forest of trees to the right of the foyer, fiddling with her phone. I just got some red-hot dirt on the woman." I give the elf before me an impish smile. "And you didn't think I'd catch up, did you?"

I speed that way and Thimblewick gags and stammers.

"What are you talking about? Wait for me!"

"Eudora?" I say, winded from the trek over. Face it, a trek from my own bed to the bathroom can leave me winded these days.

The redhead looks up, her eyes lifting with surprise as she stands among a trio of pastel-flocked trees that are taller than her by a foot, one pink, one blue, and one purple. They may not sound too festive, but they're covered in glitter and adorned with twinkle lights and they just look heavenly.

"Oh, Lottie." She tucks her phone to her chest. "You scared me." She gives a little laugh. "I hope you're bidding on the auction. I've donated quite a few treasures from my shops."

"I'm sure you did," I say, and my words can't help but drip with sadness. This is Ivy's mother. Sure, Ivy and I aren't exactly friends, but that doesn't mean I want to ruin her family. Maybe I should walk away and leave the heavy lifting to Noah and Ivy herself. I'm not the right person to do this. "I'll go have a look at them."

"Please do," Eudora says. "I'm afraid none of my treasures will be around much longer. I've made the decision to sell my shops."

"What?" I say, sounding a bit too incredulous at the thought. And truthfully, I am. "What are you doing? I mean, a woman had to die so you could keep them."

"Oh, a lot of people had to die for me to have those treasures, I'm sure of it." She laughs as if it were nothing. And I can see Ivy's mother for who she really is—a cold-hearted witch. "You know, I get most of my inventory from estate sales."

"Oh, that ," I say a bit drawn-out. "Of course." I give Thimblewick a look that says what a relief , but that still doesn't mean she's not our killer. In fact, I'm about to prove it. "Eudora, I know about the shady loans Glenda gave you."

She lifts her chin and her purple Santa hat all but glides off.

"Of course, you do." She tosses up her hands. "That woman was an insidious gossip. I don't know how she hid her forked tongue and horns from people for as long as she did."

Thimblewick chuckles. "Santa used to say the very same thing."

My mouth squares out at the thought. That's a bit harsh even for Santa.

I shake my head at the woman. "Eudora, I also know that Glenda had you put her name on your businesses as collateral. If you didn't pay her back, you would have lost it all."

Her nostrils flare. "Okay, since you know so much, I may as well tell you the truth."

I glance at Thimblewick and nod because we both know we have her right where we want her.

Eudora leans in. "I'm not sorry at all that someone struck her dead that night."

My mouth squares out once again.

"You mean you're not that sorry that you struck her dead that night." I nod as I say it in hopes to coerce a proper confession from her.

But she doesn't confess. Instead, she inches back as if I struck her.

"Lottie, I didn't kill Glenda. Trust me, the thought had crossed my mind." She waves off the idea. "But my daughter is a renowned detective down at the Ashford County Sheriff's Department. Believe me, as much as I would have liked to have poked a few knitting needles into Glenda Dasher, I would have been found out by my daughter in no time. She's a whiz at solving homicides."

Now it's me inching back.

Noah has hardly solved a homicide in years, let alone Ivy who has only ever shown up well after the killer has been handcuffed.

Her daughter couldn't solve a crossword puzzle, let alone a crime.

Eudora's phone buzzes in her hand. "Ah, that's my girl now. She says she's on her way. I was going to wait until after the party to break the news to her about closing my businesses, but I think I'll tell her tonight. She might be just as relieved as I am. She's been after me for years to retire." She stalks off and I hold up a finger in her wake, unsure of what I was going to say.

Thimblewick starts in on a giggling spree that morphs into an all-out laughing conniption that sends him floating in the air a good three feet.

"You thought she was the killer!" He hoots and hollers, and all I can do is shoot him a dirty look for not cluing me in on who the real killer is. Although I'd rather have the satisfaction of figuring it out myself.

I look out at the crowd just as Felix Sterling makes his way in this direction, looking as dapper as can be in a crimson velvet jacket with a black dress shirt and slacks.

"Lottie," he nods my way, "you look resplendent."

"Thank you," I say, holding my enormous belly, and it's about as subtle as holding a school bus. "I'm surprised you remember me."

"Well"—he offers a simple smile at my stomach—"you're a little hard to miss. If you'll excuse me, I've got to find my date. I like to say she's always the unassuming one among us." He winks as he ducks into the ballroom.

"Carlotta is not unassuming," Thimblewick points out, just this side of rage, as he glares in the man's direction. "And how dare he presume she's his date. Carlotta is my date, tonight and for all eternity. I've called dibs, as Carlotta would say."

Carlotta would say that. And she would also say I licked it, it's mine , but those are words I'm not interested in repeating tonight or ever.

I'm about to gently set Thimblewick straight on the nature of his relationship with Carlotta when Noah just about strides on by before doing a double take my way.

"Lottie?" he says, turning his head to the side with curiosity before giving way to a devilish grin. "Last I saw, you were on your way to the dance floor with Everett. Don't tell me his dance moves have frightened you so much that you're hiding from him. I can keep you safe at my cabin if you like. We'll bring Lyla Nell and make a party out of it."

"No, actually." I stop shy of telling him that I just accused his coworker's mother of murder—mostly because that puts the spotlight right back on his mother. "What were you in such a hurry for?"

There. If all else fails, deflect.

He grunts as he cranes his neck toward the ballroom. "You're never going to believe this, but I finally figured out why Felix Sterling looked so familiar. The guy was a private eye for years. I remember hearing about him from back in my own PI days. The guy is basically the stuff that legends are made of. He mostly specialized in tracking down cheaters, but he was the best of the best in that niche."

"Oh wow," I say, glancing in the direction of the ballroom. "I didn't realize that. I'd love to chat with him about that. I'm going to head to the little girls' room and I'll catch up with you."

"Do that," he says. "Don't rush. I won't let him get away."

He takes off just as a thought comes to me.

"He's Clara's boyfriend," I say, pulling out my phone as I look at Thimblewick. "She mentioned she had a husband once, too."

" Had a husband," Thimblewick repeats. "Sounds rather ominous, don't you think?"

"Well, people die, as you well know," I say, quickly doing a search on Clara Dickens Greenmantle and her name is highlighted in the obituary of a man named Harlan Greenmantle. I quickly peruse her husband's obit, and when I read the cause of death, I stop cold.

I look up at Thimblewick and he nods.

"The truth feels a lot like a Christmas present, doesn't it?" he sings.

More like a cold case wrapped in murder.