Page 41 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes

“I knew it,” Carlotta crows. “I just knew Lizzy Baxter was a killer at heart. They don’t make up playground chants for just any ol’ someone. Ask me how I know.”

“What playground chant?” Glinda looks pale with terror.

Carlotta leans her way. “Lizzy Baxter took an ax and gave her husband forty whacks. When she saw what she had done, she gave the next one forty-one.”

“That’s absolutely horrific.” Glinda’s hand flutters to her throat as if she might be next.

“Kids are brutal.” Carlotta shrugs. “But they’re rarely wrong about who’s got murder in their blood.”

Eliza closes in on us with her dark hair swept back into a bun with a white apron stamped with shamrocks tied over a lime green dress—a designer dress, no doubt.

“Everett?” she scoffs at her son as if she’s surprised to see him. “What are you doing out of bed?” Without waiting for an answer, her gaze lands on me. “And Lottie, what a surprise.” Maybe so, but her tone suggests finding a roach in her morning coffee would be less surprising. She winks over at Noah instead of offering up a reprimand, sarcastic or otherwise.

Noah Fox might be getting off easy, but there’s no way I’m letting Eliza off the hook for anything.

She knows something.

And heaven forbid she may havedonesomething.

Either way, I need to get to the bottom of this before a couple more of her grandchildren are born.

LOTTIE

Before anyone can trade another barb, a sudden surge of festival-goers pushes through the sourdough tent, nearly knocking over a display of artisanal bread baskets.

“Oh goodness,” Glinda exclaims, rushing to save the precious loaves of sourdough from being trampled. “You’ll have to excuse me. The one o’clock rush is always chaotic. People want something to soak up all that green beer.” She throws us an apologetic smile. “Lovely seeing you all. Eliza, don’t forget to take a few fresh loaves for the rest of the judges!”

Glinda takes off to appease the bread-seeking crowd while Eliza turns to us with all the enthusiasm of someone sitting down for a root canal.

She takes a moment to frown my way. “I should be going as well. I’m helping with the whiskey cake-eating competition at the main pavilion,” she says, checking her elegant silver watch that most likely cost as much as this entire shamrock-shaped shindig did to put on. “The Boozy Bite Bonanza starts in fifteen minutes, and I’m needed at the judges’ table.”

“A whiskey cake-eating competition?” Noah perks up at the mention of the sweet yet boozy treat. “What a coincidence. Everett and I were just about to sign up for that.”

Everett nods to his mother. “I suspect it might take my mind off the back pain.”

Carlotta chuckles at the thought. “Because nothing says spinal recovery like a little competitive eating. Nice try, Sexy.” She straightens with a jolt. “Wait just a whiskey pickin’ minute…Whiskey? Cake? Competition? Why, those are my three favorite words in the English language! I’m in.” She nudges me. “What better way to fatten up those twins than with booze-infused baked goods?”

“Ooh,” Sebby muses. “Multitasking at its finest. I’ll be on your team, Carlotta, since Lolita seems to have two extra helpers on hers.”

“Let’s show these leprechaun lovers how it’s done,” she tells him. “I’ve been a gold digger since before it was trendy.”

“I can vouch for that,” I say.

Eliza’s lips purse like she’s just bitten into a lemon. And since she’s looking right at me, I’m feeling like the Lemon in question.

“As a baker, Lottie, you should know that the alcohol bakes out of the batter,” she informs me while lifting her chin. “It’s perfectly safe. Care to show these three who’s boss? The cakes were provided by a competitor of yours out in Hollyhock.”

“Cupid’s Sweet Concoctions?” I ask and she affirms the fact with a nod. “Then I’m in, too.”

Venus Finnegan’s mother might be on the suspect list, but that won’t stop me from gobbling up all of the desserts I can get my hands on that her daughter bakes. Not to mention she charges over twenty bucks a slice for just about any cake in her shop. In that respect, this competition is a prudent financial decision.

Eliza’s cool smile widens a notch. “My money is on you, Lottie.”

The compliment, while completely unexpected and perhaps slightly backhanded, catches me off guard.

“Why, Eliza”—I say with a laugh—“if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to get on my good side.”

A ghost of a smile flickers across her face. “Consider it a peace offering. Now, shall we?”

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