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“Mmmmore,” Carlotta moans the loudest as we sit at the counter.
“Here you go,” I say, sliding over a plate brimming with the gooey goodies.
Mom let me know that she and her writing group, what’s left of it, would be coming in today, so I initially prepared a platter full of the doughy deliciousness just for them, but they’re a bit late, so I’ll make them a fresh plate once they show up.
“Ain’t this the good life, Lot?” Carlotta wistfully ticks her head at the thought. “We’ve got a dead dog who can eat all he wants and we don’t have to pick up after him. We ain’t got no job tying us down anymore, and there’s nothing but sweet summer days on the horizon. I don’t know about you, but I plan on floating in Honey Lake until the leaves fall off the trees.”
“Carlotta.” I frown at the woman who bore me while both Suze and Lily tend to the endless stream of customers. “We don’t have a dead dog. We have a friendly ghost who has come back to help us solve a murder investigation. And I not only have one job, I have two—one of which I share with you. I hate to burst your bubble, but Rizzo’s isn’t going away—not yet anyhow. Noah texted this morning and let me know that we’re all clear to reopen our doors, and unfortunately that’s exactly what we’re going to have to do.”
“No,” Carlotta protests so loudly the bakery grows silent for a second.
“No,” Lyla Nell mimics, and a smattering of soft laughter circles the room.
“No?” Teeny Weenie sounds perplexed by this objection. “Why in heavens not? Personally, I’ve been craving another slice of Cha Cha’s lasagna.”
So have I, but I’d forgo just about every craving I have if only I didn’t have to set foot in that place again. Save for Everett, of course. Let’s not get silly.
“Yes, Carlotta,” I tell her, and Lyla Nell gasps as if I just told the woman off. “I’m sorry, but we need that place operational and turning a profit if we’re going to sell it. In fact, in a few weeks, after we can repair some of the damage the sting operation did to the place, I’m marching right into Hook Redwood’s realty office and listing the place.”
“A couple of weeks?” she balks. “Are you trying to kill my summer fun? I’m family, Lot Lot. Aim your poison arrow at someone else like you usually do. I don’t want to go back to Rizzo’s.” She slumps in her seat and that gray-haired menace that sits on her head covers her eyes.
“For Pete’s sake, if you hate Rizzo’s so much, why in the world are you still parading around with that haunted hair stuck to your head like the cursed crown it is?”
She lifts the braid just enough to peek from under it.
“Don’t tell anyone, Lot, but I’m twice as afraid of Ninetta Rizzo now that she’s given up the ghost than I was when she was alive. It’s as if nothing but bad luck has been following me around ever since she bit the big one.”
“You mean ever since you won that wreath of gray grief at her funeral. You never should have entered that raffle,” I say. “No one should have entered that raffle. If you really want to point the finger at all the bad luck, I’d point it at that wreath of mourning. I’d tell you to toss it in the nearest trashcan, but I don’t want to jinx the bakery. I’d suggest we burn it at midnight near Honey Lake, but I’m afraid we’d start a wildfire that could take out half of Vermont.”
She nods. “Ninetta was a powerful witch.”
Even though I don’t like speaking ill of the dead, I won’t contest it.
A blonde hurricane appears outside of my bakery window and I sigh at the sight.
“Speaking of powerful witches,” I say just as Cormack Featherby waddles her way in through the door and straight for the counter. Her hair looks freshly blown out and shines like gold, she’s wearing a skintight pink dress that stretches painfully over her burgeoning baby bump, and she’s paired it with matching pink heels—four-inch heels no less.
Everything about her accouterments takes suffering for fashion to a whole new level.
By the time I was ready to pop with Lyla Nell, I’m not even sure if I wore shoes. I couldn’t see my feet anyway.
“Lay Lay,” she says, panting as she takes a seat. “I need to double the dessert menu for my baby shower coming up next Saturday. The entire country club will be in attendance, as will the auxiliary guild, my father’s firm, the law firm that kindly kept him out of prison, not to mention all of my old sorority sisters. This is the biggest party of the century and a few paltry cookies just won’t do.” She snaps up a cinnamon roll and shoves it in her face with such marked aggression it looked like a punishment. “And make the cake twice the original size as well. And make it pink. Lots and lots of pink,” she garbles through a mouthful.
“Pink pineapple upside-down cake. Got it.”
“Don’t worry, Cormack.” Suze strides over with a notepad in hand. “I just wrote it all down. I’ll make sure everything goes off without a hitch myself. Anything for my sweet daughter-in-law. After all, you are blessing Noah with a precious little girl in just a few short weeks.”
This is usually the part where Suze takes a dig at Lyla Nell, but for some reason, she’s opted not to do it. Color me impressed.
“It is his first child and yours,” Suze points out, proving unstoppable in the put-down arena.
Color me enraged.
“Lyla Nell would be Noah’s first daughter,” I point out and feel a bit petty for doing so even though it is the truth.
“So you keep saying.” Suze snags a red velvet cookie off the platter. “And I know, I know—you had the big to-do regarding the paternity test, but those things could be rigged.”
I roll my eyes because we all know Cormack did her best to rig it in Everett’s favor at the time.
