5. Lottie

LOTTIE

“ I ’ll do just that.” Francine stalks right out of the conservatory just as my mother takes her place.

“What in the world was that about?” Mom fiddles with the pendant on her neck as she eyes the door. The baby shower times four is in full swing, or full chaos as it were, and tempers have started to flare. “Carlotta, you know better than to rile her up. That poor woman has had far too many children and far too few baby showers and it shows.” She manufactures a quick smile to the two women before us.

“And perhaps far too little sleep in her life as well,” I add and we all share a mournful chuckle.

Mom pulls me in. “Ursula, Agatha, have you met my daughter, Lottie? She’s one of the mothers we’re honoring today. And she’s the baker who provided all the sweet treats—fabulous crepes included! Lottie, these are my old friends, Ursula Wingate and Agatha Reed. Two best, best friends you ever did see.” She nods to the brunette with short hair and the redhead respectively. “Ursula and her husband have been staying here at the B&B with me while their home undergoes some renovations.”

We exchange a quick hello.

“Oh, Lottie, your desserts are divine!” Ursula is quick to sing my praises and she licks her lips. She doesn’t have a stitch of cosmetics on and she’s so cute it would be a waste if she did. She’s a true natural beauty. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to abstain from the crepes. I’ve never been a fan of the texture, but everything else is up for grabs. And for the record, we just love Francine,” Ursula is quick to tell me, although her eyes still seem to be laughing at the woman. “We just like to tease.”

“Speaking of Francine”—Mom turns my way— “she was kind enough to knit an entire mountain of baby blankets with matching scarves for the mothers. She said the scarf is wide enough to cover you while you’re nursing. How’s that for creative?”

Ursula laughs. “That woman is creative everywhere but the bedroom. It seems she’s a one-trick pony when it comes to that room of the house.”

“More like a one-trick donkey whose baby-making station should be put out to pasture,” Carlotta is quick with the dig and I make a face before shoveling another crepe into my mouth.

The redhead with the matching crimson lips flicks her wrist. “Oh, that old biddy’s baby-making station closed shop a long time ago. Those little folks you see following her around like a herd of baby ducks are her grandkids. The entire Dundee brood is dead set on overpopulating the planet.”

The three of them share another laugh, but my mother and I abstain. I mostly abstain because I just picked up another crepe. Nothing gets between my desserts and me, not even laughter.

“But I have to admit, those adorable baby blankets and scarves—” Mom shakes her head. “I think she’s really onto something there. She could sell those at all the baby boutiques in Vermont and make a killing. Heaven knows the Dundees can use the money.”

“Francine works for Ursula,” the redhead, Agatha, is quick to tell us. “And her husband has some sort of whittling business. Ursula, what is it called again?”

The brunette takes a moment to glare at Agatha.

“It’s called Dundee Diddles and Whittles,” Mom is quick to chime in.

Carlotta scoffs. “You mean Dumbo Diddles and Whittles. That man couldn’t whittle himself out of a paper bag. It’s no wonder they’re flat broke half of the time.”

A sharp whistle pierces the air and we look over to see Wiley waving my mother to the bar.

“I bet we’re out of orange juice again.” She turns my way. “Evie has Lyla Nell, but let me tell you, that sweet little angel has been the life of the party, telling everyone she’s having two baby dolls coming to live with her. She’s so excited about the babies, it’s adorable.”

“Yeah, she’s excited,” Carlotta grouses as my mother takes off. “She’ll be excited right up until they start pooping, and crying, and stealing her sanity. Then she’s going to ask for the return to sender label.” She plucks the plate out of my hands. “Little Yippy and I have that in common.” She takes off as well and I shake my head in her wake.

Little Yippy is the not-so-nice nickname Carlotta has had for Lyla Nell since her conception.

Ursula and Agatha have drifted off a few feet and Ursula looks as if she’s saying something very serious to the redhead. Agatha tries to interject, but Ursula raises a hand as if she were about to slap the woman, but thankfully she doesn’t. She simply continues with her tirade.

Agatha shakes her head and walks away. Now that’s the bigger thing to do.

Ursula’s entire face turns purple, and before she can explode like a pinata, Suze steps up to the woman and the two of them begin to tussle as well.

Suze Fox is Noah’s mother. She’s tall, stocky, and has short blonde locks with bangs she can’t seem to get out of her eyes. It’s safe to say I’m not Suze’s favorite person, but that hasn’t stopped her from collecting a paycheck from me twice a month.

She’s been working at the bakery for a few years now. It just so happens she’s a permanent resident of my mother’s here at the B&B. And just last month, someone left a nasty note on her car, along with a dead man with a Santa hat to go along with it.

The note read, you’re next.

Suffice it to say, Noah’s hair has aged ten years since that night, and the fact he can’t get any info on the dead guy isn’t helping. Neither is the fact Suze is being rather tight-lipped as to what her connection to him could have been.

It’s a mess.

Most things with Suze are.

Ursula lifts a hand and Suze raises a hand right back.

But I’m not interested in anything those two have going on. The only thing I’m interested in is getting myself a few more of my sweet treats. And I do just that.

I head to the dessert table and pile a plate high with a few of my colorful glazed donuts, about a half dozen miniature cream puffs, a couple of my scrumptious black and white cookies, an entire rainbow of macarons, and I finish it all off with several squares of my chocolate peanut butter brownies.

There is nothing better than a chocolate peanut butter dessert. I’m sure the headlines rang out with joy the day humans discovered that scrumptious combination.

Before I make my way to the crepe station, I decide to hunt down Evie and Lyla Nell. The room is so crowded, the music is so loud, the chatter is twice as boisterous, and there’s no sign of either of my daughters, so I decide to step out of the conservatory to steal a moment of peace and quiet instead.

The cool air is a welcome relief, and the farther I get, the more the music and the chatter die down.

I stride down the long hall and spot a couple of men walking around. One of them is an older man with a swath of gray hair and long features, but handsome, wearing a dress shirt and dark slacks. He’s drumming his fingers over the reception counter, and the closer I get, he opens up the guest book, albeit upside down.

“Can I help you?” I ask with a hesitant smile. “My mother is the owner, and she’s a little busy at the moment. But I’m sure I can do it in a pinch.” That’s a bald-faced lie. I don’t know what goes where in this place, outside of the ghosts that rule the roost. And I don’t see them anywhere either.

The man looks up and takes a deep breath, his eyes widening as if I caught him off guard.

“I was just waiting for my wife.” He offers a pleasant smile. “She’s at the big party.” His eyes drift to my enormous belly. “ Your party, I’m assuming.”

“Oh yes.” I grab my belly. “But the party is still raging on. It might be a while.”

“Ah, well, I guess that answers my question. I’m on my own for dinner. I’ll see what the dining room is serving up.” He winks my way before taking off.

I don’t get two steps closer to the library when I’m enveloped by the scent of strong, woodsy cologne and I can’t help but smile.

“Lemon.” Everett closes the distance between us, and soon I’m in his big, strong arms. Everett is lethally handsome with his dark hair, matching facial scruff, brilliant blue eyes, and body built to lift a building right off its foundation—not to mention the things it does to me on a nightly basis. “Are you okay? Did you find the body? Am I too late?”

“You’re right on ti?—”

A shrill scream cuts me off at the pass and we follow the unholy cry until we’re in the heart of the library where we find Suze sounding the vocal alarm.

At her feet is that short-haired brunette, Ursula Wingate, lying on the floor with a pink scarf wrapped so tight around her neck, every last inch of her is blue, and next to her lies an upturned plate with a few half-eaten crepes scattered about.

Everett quickly checks the woman’s pulse before shaking his head up at me.

He quickly works off that scarf and does a few chest compressions, but that doesn’t change a thing. I’d better call Noah.

Ursula Wingate is dead.