5. Lottie

LOTTIE

T he back door to the ballroom emanates an otherworldly glow as the Christmas party at the Evergreen Manor rages away inside.

Frank Sinatra sings "Jingle Bells" while hundreds of women converse and cackle at the very same time. But here outside, it's quiet, save for the sound of that scream that just ripped from my throat.

"What are you doing here?" I pant out the words at the stocky blonde standing before me. It's bad enough she's hovering over the body of poor Glenda Dasher, but with that demented glint in her eyes, it looks as if she's done the deadly deed.

She doesn't answer. She simply glares at the lifeless soul who lies at our feet with a pair of knitting needles sticking out of her chest.

"Am I late?" a female voice chirps from behind, and before I know it, Carlotta has cropped up next to me, dressed to impress with a purple Santa hat smashed over her head and an ugly sweater to end all ugly sweaters poking out from under her coat.

Carlotta is not only my biological mother, she's basically an older version of me with the same caramel-colored curls (hers are mostly gray at this point), same hazel eyes (she needs glasses, but she won't admit it), and the same features, albeit she has far more mischief in that crooked smile of hers.

But right now, she's a vision of holiday cheer, or more like fear, as her sweater blinks and buzzes and I can't help but recoil. The thing isn't just ugly, it's a full-on assault to the eyes—and perhaps the rest of the senses as well. It's decked out with neon lights, whirly gigs, and something that clatters and chatters. Emblazoned on the front is what looks to be a scantily clad stripper wearing a naughty Mrs. Claus outfit that could make even the girls down at Red Satin Gentlemen's Club blush.

"You like?" She peels open her coat another notch as she sheds a Cheshire Cat's grin. "Great news, Lot. As much as I hate to spoil your gift, you can expect to find one of these beauties underneath the tree come Christmas morning. They were having a two-for-one special at the garage sale down at the old folks' home. Turns out, when a resident over at Geezer Gardens kicks the bucket, they haul out their junk and practically give it away for free! I didn't even need to pay cash for these beauts. I traded some of those buy-a-custom-coffee-get-a-free-donut coupons you had lying around. Just a heads-up, I'd stock up on java beans if I were you because your little bakery is about to be hit with a gray tsunami." She gives a few sniffs, wrinkling her nose until she looks up at the menacing blonde in our midst. "I thought I smelled a fermented Fox."

The fermented Fox in question would be Suze Fox, as in Noah's mother, the shadowy figure with a wicked glint in her eyes.

"Why the sourpuss, Toots?" Carlotta goes on. "I mean, I know it's your go-to expression, but you've got a little extra rage around the eyes tonight. Did Lot spring some bad news on you? Let me guess. The two of you just figured out those are a couple of Fox cubs in Lot's belly and you're not too happy about it. I get it. We were all rooting for them to be Mr. Sexy's. But as it stands, he's got a surplus of Yip Yips himself. And believe me, you're not the only one vexed by the thought of having two more Little Yippies running around. But what do you have to worry about? It's not like you'll be up all night with them. I share a wall with the nursery." She slices a glance my way. "Which, by the way, I should be compensated for."

" Carlotta ," I practically hiss as I point to the body on the ground.

"It's the Christmas corpse!" Carlotta gasps and grunts at the sight. "Well, why didn't you say so to begin with, Lot? How many times do I have to tell you, always, always lead with the dead."

"You have never once told me that," I practically shout her way.

"Well, I'm telling ya now," she shouts right back before straightening and looking right at Suze. "Now I get it. You're not just a fermented Fox, you're a fiendish Fox! I knew you had it in you, Suzie Q. You've had a killer attitude for as long as I've known you, and now you're just a killer . What did the wicked witch do to deserve a couple of knitting needles to the heart?" She tips her ear toward Suze and I swat her.

"Would you stop," I say, just shy of a whisper this time. "Suze did not kill this poor woman." I cock a brow to the fermented Fox among us. "You didn't kill her, right?"

Suze growls at the two of us as her eyes grow red with rage and double in size. Her mouth contorts to something akin to a grimace as she bends over and does the unthinkable.

With a thunderous howl, Suze plucks those knitting needles right out of Glenda Dasher's chest and wields them our way.

Both Carlotta and I wrap our arms around one another and belt out a scream that can be heard all the way to the North Pole.