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LOTTIE
“And this is my daughter, Lottie,” my mother says to the women next to her while waving a hand my way as if I were a prize. “She happens to own the place and the bakery out in Honey Hollow, too.”
“I thought I owned the place, Lot.” Carlotta looks more than a little befuddled as she takes a stunned look around Rizzo’s Trattoria.
“You do,” I tell her. “I’m just sort of a silent partner.”
The silent one that does all of the work.
“Ladies,” Mom says to her guests. “My daughter happens to own these two handsome steeds as well.” She winks at the handsome steeds in question. “Judge Everett Baxter and lead homicide detective out in Ashford County, Noah Fox.”
“A judge and a homicide detective?” The tall one in the middle, a brunette with lots of thick blonde highlights, a tall forehead, and harsh red lipstick cackles. “Why, Lottie, I think you’re in the perfect position to commit a homicide or two,” she says and the women around her light up with laughter.
I detect a distinct Southern drawl, and it only seems to add to her inherent magnetism.
Mom is quick to wave her off. “Don’t even think of it. Lottie is innocent as the day is long.” She gives a nervous laugh my way because, let’s face it, she happens to know a little too much about me. “Everyone, this is my little writing group.” She nods to the woman who just pointed out my proximity to getting away with murder. “This is Bella Hall, a retired attorney who spends her days writing gritty legal thrillers—the popular Gritty Gavel Series.”
Gritty Gavel?
I make a note to seek it out later.
“I’m a retired defense attorney,” Bella says to Everett before looking my way. “And I’m not kidding. With these two in your back pocket, you could pick off half the patrons in this place and skip right along. I should know, I’ve seen it happen a time or two in my legal eagle days.”
A light round of laughter ensues—sans Everett, of course.
“As enticing as that sounds,” I say. “Believe me, I have zero interest in homicides.”
Noah clears his throat because it just so happens I’ve landed myself in the middle of a homicide investigation or two—or fifty.
“Anyway”—Mom points to the tall redhead to her right with short hair, an overall no-nonsense style, and from the outset, she looks to be the least friendly of the bunch—“this is my friend, Crane Mitchel. She writes the ever so popular Elizabeth Pope Detective Series.”
“I love those,” Carlotta belches it out unexpectedly.
“I didn’t know you read mysteries,” I say to her.
“Where do you think I’ve been ripping off ideas for my next novel?” She turns to Crane. “I’m a writer myself. My book, Whole Lotta Lovin’, ranked number ninety-eight on the Vermont bestseller list for nonfiction a little over a year ago.”
“That’s so impressive.” A dark-haired woman clamps her hand over her chest. “I’m sorry, I’m Marlena Mills. I’m a friend of Bella’s. We’re actually co-writing a series together. I’m the only one of the bunch who hasn’t been published just yet.”
Marlena is pretty, and perhaps younger than the others by about ten years. The rest look about my mother’s age or older, perhaps somewhere in their mid-sixties.
Bella scoffs. “I’m afraid Marlena is still dazzled by anything having to do with a bestsellers list. Everyone knows they don’t really sell books.”
“Says you.” Laughs the woman with a caramel bob on the end. She has long dimples that cut through her cheeks, large dark-framed glasses, and a warm smile. “That’s because Bella’s not on any list.” She sheds a toothy smile my way. “I’m Danya Swanson. Nice to meet you, Lottie, and your husbands, too.” She nods to Carlotta. “And especially another writer. You should join us for dinner. It’s Bella’s birthday. The more the merrier.”
“It’s your birthday?” I ask the brunette who’s still scowling at Danya for the slight. “I just brought over a few fresh pineapple upside-down cakes from my bakery, but if you prefer chocolate or something more traditional, I’d be glad to head back to my shop and—”
“Pineapple upside-down cake is perfect,” the woman cuts me off. “I haven’t had one since I was a kid in Alabama.”
I thought I detected a slight country twang.
She opens her mouth to say something else, then stops cold as she spots something over my shoulder.
“Let’s get seated, shall we?” she says, pulling my mother in close. “I’m half-starved and I’m the birthday princess, for Pete’s sake.”
Mom leads them off to the nearest empty table, while Carlotta rocks back on her heels with pride.
“Hear that, Lot? I’ve been invited to dine with a few real-deal mystery authors. I bet they can help me whip my new mystery book into shape in no time. It’s called the Lottie Lemon Mystery Series.”
