Page 38 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes

I know darn well that Carlotta wasn’t born with a filter of any kind. And because of it, I’m standing here today. I guess I have Carlotta’s misfortune to thank for my life, Lyla Nell’s, and that of my twins. It really is a sick and twisted world.

Glinda’s eyes and mouth both round out. “Well, that’s... um, creative. Although our sourdough names tend to be more pun-based. We’ve got members with starters named Doughleen, Marilyn Mondough, Becky with the Good Bubbles, Sir Lawrence of Doughrabia, Edgar Allen Dough, Vincent van Dough, Stinky Bubbles, Bread Pitt, and my personal favorite, Clint Yeastwood.” She cringes in Carlotta’s direction as she says that last part, fully expecting a dicey comeback.

Let’s face it, I expect one, too.

“Welp”—Carlotta holds up a finger—“if we’re naming things that rise unexpectedly and need constant attention, I’ve got a whole black book full of suggestions that would make your sourdough club clutch their pearls so hard they’d leave marks.”

And, of course, Carlotta does not disappoint.

“Sebby,” I growl so loud half the women in the bustling booth turn this way. And in no time the supernatural specter is front and center and at attention WITH A HALF-EATEN LOAF CLUTCHED IN HIS PAWS!

“Gah,” I shout as I grab it and shove it in Carlotta’s piehole as fast as I can.

Perfect.

Sebby floats above the scene, examining the jars of starter dough with fascination. “In my day, bread was just bread. Now it has more names than European royalty. Though I must say, there’s a rather fetching red-furred vixen by the cider stand. Ifyou’ll excuse me...” He dissolves into a shower of stars, off to pursue his supernatural love interest.

Oh my word. Much like Carlotta, Sebby is proving to be useless and perhaps more trouble than he’s worth.

“I’ve named my sourdough starter, too,” I chime in. “Mine is called Little Dough Peep. I keep it right next to my coffee maker.”

Carlotta snorts. “Is that what that goop is? I thought it was the result of Sexy trying to cook something without adult supervision. It looked like it was plotting revenge.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. When has Everett ever touched an oven?” Good grief, did I really say that out loud? “So Glinda”—I manage to redirect my attention back on the poor woman—“I just love your name. It’s so unique.”

“Eh.” Carlotta shrugs. “It’s ripped right out of Oz.”

Glinda laughs. “That’s exactly where I got it. Oh, I just lovedThe Wizard of Ozwhen I was a little girl.”

“Me, too,” I tell her. “I was obsessed and watched it on repeat.”

Carlotta grunts, “Sounds like I showed up right on time.”

I take a moment to frown at the woman. Carlotta didn’t show up in my life until a few years ago.

I shake my head at the woman before us. “Glinda, how do you know Eliza again? Are you in the same social circles?”

“We play bridge together once a week,” she’s quick to remind me.

“Oh, that’s right. She did mention that the other night.” I wince. “I swear, these babies have gobbled up every last one of my brain cells.”

Glinda and Carlotta share a boisterous laugh, but I don’t really see anything funny about it.

Glinda’s perfectly manicured fingers tap against the counter. “Oh, well, as far as Eliza goes, we also worked together througha few community service projects. You know how it is in small towns—everyone ends up volunteering together eventually.”

Carlotta hitches her head to the side. “Fallbrook may be the town where everyone volunteers together, but in Honey Hollow, wehomicidetogether. Ain’t that right, Lot?” She slaps me hard over the back. “You might even say Lot Lot here is the leader of the homicidal pack.”

Glinda’s eyes widen once again. “Lottie, weren’t you the one who found Sebastian?” She shakes her head. “I mean, obviously it was Eliza who found him first, but then you showed up on the scene.”

I nod. “That’s exactly what happened.” There’s no point denying it. “And speaking of Sebastian Gallagher? Did you know him, too?” I keep my voice casual, as if I were asking about the weather.

The briefest shadow passes over Glinda’s face. “Not well. Our paths crossed occasionally at charity events. The whiskey business and all that. He was always donating bottles for auctions. He seems quite generous. Those bottles don’t run cheap.”

“Ah, whiskey.” Carlotta perks up. “Now we’re talking my love language.”

“Oh?” Glinda turns to Carlotta. “Do you have an interest in distillation?”

“Just in the consumption,” Carlotta assures her. “But I’ve been known to mix a mean cocktail. My Bloody Mary once made a man propose on the spot.”

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