4. Lottie

LOTTIE

" E asy, Lemon," Everett whispers from the side of his mouth as I try my best to not fall into a rage right here in the ballroom of the Evergreen Manor.

And who could blame me?

One of my mother's so-called friends just brought to light the fact that my sweet treats always seem to end up at the scene of a homicide.

She's not wrong.

But still .

It's not a nice fact to point out either.

Although let's face it, Everett has seen me fall into a fit of rage over far less. I've been nothing but a ball of hormones as of late, so I'm hardly to blame.

Hey? If I did kill the woman, I bet I could plead insanity. Plus, seeing that I'm married to a prominent judge and had a baby with a prominent homicide detective, I bet I could so get away with murder.

Mom wraps an arm around the woman's shoulders. "Lottie, Everett, this is my good friend, Glenda." She nods to the brunette with a slender yet pointy nose, elf-like ears, and a pointy chin. Come to think of it, she sort of reminds me of an elf overall. "And this is Clara. She heads up most of the extracurricular activities for the club. In fact, we're planning a cruise in the summer. She just moved here from Sugar Loaf about two years ago." She wiggles her shoulders. "Glenda, Clara, this is my daughter, Lottie, and her handsome husband, Judge Everett Baxter."

We quickly exchange niceties as Clara's eyes drop to my blooming belly.

"It looks as if you're baking something in your own oven as well," she muses.

I nod as I hold my stomach. "I've got two buns in the oven and it's all this man's fault," I tease as we share another laugh.

"Well, congratulations," Glenda says. "I've always wanted children, but it never quite panned out for me. You are truly blessed."

"Thank you," I tell her, but before I can add another word, a shadow comes over us and we look over to see none other than Suze Fox giving me the stink eye.

Suze would be Noah's mother. She's as tall as she is stocky. She wears her blonde hair short with her bangs forever in her eyes. And even though she works for me down at the bakery, she can't seem to stand me. Although I suppose she does tolerate me for the sake of her paycheck.

Suze has donned a sweater that's—well, just plain ugly. It's basically a kaleidoscope of colors that clashes with a cacophony of Christmas designs and culminates in a runaway train that looks every bit the stuff of nightmares.

And is that Bigfoot I see in the mash-up?

Or is it an alien riding on Santa's back?

A pained look crosses my face just examining it.

"Lottie, Essex," Suze says, using Everett's formal moniker—traditionally reserved for the masses who have slept with him—sort of like a parting gift. For a short time, Everett and Noah were stepbrothers, so that's how Suze came to call him by his proper moniker as well. And then at some point, around the time he was in college, Everett was insistent about ditching his formal name and just going by Everett.

Suze leans our way, and I'm half-afraid her sweater is going to reach out and grab me.

"I see you've met Glenda, my BFF, sister from another mister." She shrieks with laughter as she toasts us with the eggnog in her hand and I can smell the liquor on her breath. It would figure. Suze doesn't normally talk too jovially about anyone. If anything, she's your basic killjoy . My guess is, she doesn't realize the eggnog is spiked. "The two of us used to tear up Hollyhock back in the day—before she deserted me for out-of-state pastures," Suze goes on.

Glenda laughs at the thought. " Deserted is such a strong word. Let's just say I went on an extended vacation to Maine. But I've been back in Honey Hollow for over a year. Suze and I are just now picking up right where we left off." She shoots Suze the side-eye. "We had a little falling-out for a time, but we've come out on the other side of it, now that we've had a rather amicable resolution."

A falling-out with Suze? That's sort of mandatory for anyone who knows the woman. I can hardly blame Glenda.

Suze's expression hardens, and her smile tightens around the edges like shrink-wrap—sort of a go-to look for her. Although it's clear the resolution between the two of them was about as smooth as a lump of coal in a stocking. It may have been amicable for Glenda, but Suze is still harboring a grudge. That's basically her MO in life.

"Amicable as a catfight on ice," Suze mutters under her breath, just loud enough for Essex and me to hear.

Thought so.

Everett and I exchange a glance.

A part of me wonders if the conversation between the two of them is about to end in an ugly sweater throwdown.

"Well, it's great to see old friends reuniting for the holidays," Mom sings, trying to lighten the mood. "Especially when they come bearing stories of their wilder days."

"Wild doesn't begin to cover it," Suze says, slurring her words slightly as she wraps an arm around Glenda. "But what happens in Hollyhock stays in Hollyhock, right, sister?"

Clara snorts as if that could never be so.

What do these women know about Suze that I don't? On second thought, I probably don't want to know. I know more than enough.

Everett and I exchange another brief glance. I can already tell that Drunk Suze will eat up our conversation in the car on the way to the lake.

"Absolutely," Glenda agrees as her laughter mingles with the cheery Christmas carol ripping from the speakers. "Our past is dead and buried in Hollyhock . Though I dare say, the tales from Honey Hollow might just give Hollyhock a run for its haunted money." She winks my way and Suze's expression hardens to stone once again.

I wouldn't be surprised if we end up needing a little more than mistletoe to keep the peace tonight.

Suze declares a rather urgent need for more eggnog before ducking into the crowd, and no sooner does she leave than a tall redhead takes her place.

"Oh, Everett, Lottie," Mom coos while looking at the woman. "I'd like you to meet another very dear friend of mine." She pulls the woman close. I can't help but notice that the woman's hair is about as fiery as a Yule log, and her features are cut sharper than the blade of any knife. "This is Eudora Fairbanks, the creative genius behind Eudora's Vintage Vendetta. Eudora, this is my middle daughter, Lottie, and her husband, Everett."

" Ooh , I've always wanted to go in," I say. "But I'm always on my way to the bakery when the thought hits me. I just love vintage things."

"As do I." Eudora offers a pleasant laugh. "And you must visit. As with most things in life, we have to make time work for us—or we're just working for it . Stop in this week and I'll give you the grand tour. It's so nice to meet you both."

"Likewise," we say in unison.

"Miranda has told me so much about you," she says. Eudora's faded red sweater is a nostalgic throwback, combining the charm of vintage chic with the glitziness of holiday attire with a jolly snowman in mismatched buttons and scarves surrounded by puffy, hand-stitched snowflakes. The worn patches on the elbows hint at many seasons of celebrated wear. And I love every last bit of it.

"And she doesn't just own Eudora's Vintage Vendetta"—Mom goes on, eager to sing Eudora's praises—"she also owns The Teapot Antiquary, a quaint little shop that sells antique teapots and tea sets. And she owns Retro Rags as well—a boutique specializing in vintage-inspired children's clothing."

Glenda offers the redhead a brief pat on the arm. "It's wonderful how you keep finding treasures. I suppose it's easier when you're not weighed down by the burden of modern money. Vintage budgeting for a vintage lifestyle, isn't that right?"

Eudora lifts her chin and slits her eyes in the woman's direction. "I'd like to think it's all about investing in timeless pieces. Much like friendships—it's always better when they're tried-and-true and not just a flash-in-the-pan."

Glenda gasps and straightens like a pin. It's clear she's had her feathers ruffled.

I say it's about time, considering she's done most of the ruffling around here.

Glenda and Eudora step away a few paces and begin bickering all at once as if they've been waiting all night to do it.

Clara, the brunette left in our midst, clucks her tongue as she looks their way. "Just goes to show, you can't fix broken ornaments," she states matter-of-factly. "Those two are never going to get along. In fact, put them in a room alone, and only one of them will come out alive." She winks our way before excusing herself and heading to the dessert table.

Mom sniffs at the thought. "Don't mind them. We've got a few real characters here tonight. But then at the end of the day, we're all sisters." She looks my way. "Speaking of sisters, we really should start planning your sisters' baby shower soon. They're due in a month."

"Meg is due next month," I tell her. "But Lainey isn't due until February."

"Don't forget Sam," Everett says and I shoot him a look for reminding me.

Sam was once on Everett's dating roster. I probably should fault Sam for it since just about everyone has made that roster, but not only is she Noah's twin sister, but Everett and Sam had thoughts about getting serious.

Thankful that's over with and she's with Jed Silver now—the man Everett and Noah helped put behind bars once upon a time.

What can I say? It's twisted.

"Yes, and Sam," I add with a nod. "We should have one big party for all of them. Let's do it after the new year when the holidays have cooled off. That way they can have our full attention."

" Ooh , that's a great idea," Mom sings. "It'll be a baby trifecta! I'll start planning it right away. But not until I get home tonight. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a party to tend to!" She trots off to mingle, and those bells attached to her sweater jingle all the way.

Everett glances at his phone once again. "Noah is here." He glances at the entry. "I'm going to meet with him at the front desk and fill him in on what happened."

He takes off before I can remind him that nothing has actually happened. With the exception of the man dressed as an elf—the man who Everett couldn't see.

I sigh as I look out at the crowd and spot Glenda having it out with Clara and what looks to be a man in a dark crimson suit. Clara stalks off, and yet Glenda continues to rage at the gentleman. He's older with a swath of gray hair and a slight beard to match. And he looks to be telling her a thing or two as well before taking off in the same direction Clara disappeared in.

Looks as if Glenda is having a rough night. But then, she did seem to have a bit of an abrasive personality, as far as others are concerned, that is. And if she's friends with Suze, well, that probably doesn't speak too well of her either.

The party rages on and I help serve slices of my plum pudding to one and all it seems. It has an eggnog frosting and extra candied fruits—and I made sure the cake itself was steamed to perfection.

I crane my neck out at the crowd. Still no signs of Noah or Everett. I'd better step away from the dessert table regardless, lest I inhale it all. I've been known to do just that at my bakery when the hankering strikes. I can't help it.

I rub my belly.

Someone has to feed the twins, and as nature would have it, that someone is me.

The icy night air seeps in and sends a shiver right through me.

"What the heck?" I give a quick glance around, only to find the back entrance gaping wide.

Everett and I must have left it open when we came in. No wonder it's starting to get chilly in here.

I head that way and step outside for a second in the event Everett and Noah have drifted into the parking lot. I take a few steps into the night and my foot catches on something soft. I glance down, only to see it looks like someone discarded a sweater, green and gold with ugly red splotches.

"Oh, for goodness' sake," I mutter. "Someone is going to trip right over this thing." I squint in the dim light as my eyes adjust and I gasp as the scene takes shape.

That ugly sweater just so happens to be very much attached to the body of some poor woman!

Something silver catches my eye near her chest and a scream gets lodged in my throat.

"Oh my word," I pant as I spot a pair of knitting needles spiked through her chest. And sprawled out on the ground next to her is a slice of my plum pudding.

I glance back at the woman's face and suddenly I realize exactly who she is.

Glenda won't have to worry about arguing with another soul.

Glenda Dasher is dead.

A figure emerges from the shadows, staggering my way, slow and steady. And once the moonlight reveals their face, I let out a blood-curdling scream.