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Cormack giggles like a schoolgirl as I make my way around the counter to take a look at the items they’re adding.
I quickly scan the screen and balk.
“Cormack, this is a registry list at Tiffany’s—for earrings, necklaces, and rings. Your baby isn’t going to be wearing fine jewelry for a while.”
“Relax, Lot Lot,” Carlotta says, leaning in to peruse the loot. “Her guests have probably already snapped up the basics.”
“Actually”—Charlie ticks her head to the side—“Cormack hasn’t wanted to add any baby basics to the mix just yet. She thinks it’s bad luck.”
“That’s because it is,” Cormack insists. “Besides, all I need is a baby cage and for Noah to put it together for me.” She takes an anxious bite of a butterscotch cookie. “And how I can’t wait to see him getting all worked up and sweaty with his shirt off—all those muscles flexing as he works that hammer.”
“Good grief.” I avert my eyes and catch my mother’s writing group disbanding.
Crane, Marlena, and Danya all dart out the door at once.
Mom heads this way. “So much for a productive meeting.” She sighs as she snaps up a pineapple upside-down cupcake for herself. “Everyone was so uptight, we decided to try again in a week or two. We’re going to loosen up and have a little fun at the baby shower first. I think that’s what we all need, a little pick-me-up to get back on track. The death of a friend can be very taxing and hard on the imagination of us writers. I’m sure looking at all of those adorable little girl clothes will perk us up a bit.”
“Clothes?” Charlie tips her head to Cormack.
“No,” Cormack hisses at her bestie. “Don’t you dare even suggest that people purchase anything for my precious peanut. Goodness knows they’d probably buy right off the rack.”
Charlie rolls her eyes. “That’s the only place to get children’s clothes. I don’t think anyone but you is dabbling in infant couture. But I’ll add an addendum to the newsletter I’m sending out.”
“Cormack’s baby shower has a newsletter?” I ask, not that I’m surprised.
Lily steps up before my sister can answer or justify the cause, wagging a pair of sunglasses in her hand.
“Miranda, these were left at your table.”
“Oh, those belong to Marlena,” she says, taking them from Lily. “I’ll email her right now and let her know.” She does that and her phone pings instantly. “She just pulled into her driveway. I may as well take them to her. She just lives a block from the B&B.”
My adrenaline spikes a notch. “I’ll take them,” I say, quickly snatching the sunglasses from my mother’s hand. It’s the perfect excuse to prod her a little bit more. If Marlena knows Bella’s secrets, then I’m determined to know them, too. “Just give me the address. I don’t mind one bit. In fact, I’ll box up a chocolate babka to bring along.”
“In that case, here you go.” Mom is quick to hand me the sunglasses. “She lives on Pine Ridge Road, third house on the left, blue roof. If anyone can use a chocolate babka, it’s poor Marlena. She and Bella were very close.” She blows a kiss at Lyla Nell. “Come to Glam Glam. Why don’t you and I indulge in a little shopping right here on Main Street while your mama makes a special delivery?”
“Perfect,” I say as I finish boxing up the babka. “Walk out with me, and I’ll give you the stroller.” I lunge at Charlie with a warm embrace. “We’ll talk more as soon as I get back. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” She nods sincerely. “And you know I’d do anything for you.”’
“You’ve already done too much.”
Mom takes Lyla Nell and we zip out the door.
As soon as I get my sweet baby girl set up in the stroller, I hop in my car and head to the north end of town.
In no time I come upon Pine Ridge Road.
“Third house on the left,” I whisper as I look at the houses all separated by a miniature forest of evergreens. “Ah, blue roof,” I say, triumphant, as I pull up behind the driveway where a blue sedan is already tucked near the garage. And just my luck, it looks as if she’s still seated inside.
I grab the cheery pink box from the bakery and prance up the walkway.
“Marlena?” I sing with a friendly trill.
The last thing I want is to alarm the poor woman as she’s getting out of her car.
As a woman, I always feel so much more vulnerable getting out of my car even if I am in the driveaway of my own home.
I mean, what if there’s a homicidal maniac hiding in the bushes, waiting to slaughter me?
