Page 43 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes

I sit back, breathing heavily with a mouth coated in whiskey. Carlotta looks blissfully tipsy despite the alcohol being baked out. I’ll be the last to explain science to her.

Noah appears slightly green around the gills. And Everett, somehow, has managed to keep his dignity intact, with hardly a crumb on his shirt or a hint of whipped cream in his five o’clock shadow.

The judges move down the line, hemming and hawing, and tabulating.

I’m so full that a part of me wants to say I’ll never eat cake again, but I think the twins and I know that’s not true.

Finally, Lucky Larry approaches the microphone, holding a golden trophy in the shape of a fork that looks tackier than most of Carlotta’s holiday outfits—and that’s saying a lot since most of those are mine.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner! By a margin of just two whole whiskey cakes, our champion is... LOTTIE LEMON!”

“What?” I sit up a notch with a start.

“Oh, knock it off, Lot Lot,” Carlotta snarls. “Don’t act so surprised. Anyone with a free-loading pair of tenants taking up residence in their midsection has an unfair advantage. You weren’t eating for one—you were eating for a small Irish village.If they gave medals for competitive breeding while competitive eating, you’d win that, too.”

Noah glances over at Everett. “And I guess we’d get an honorable mention.”

The crowd erupts on my behalf, and I’m ushered to the front to receive my trophy and a certificate for a year’s supply of whiskey that I happily claim despite the fact I’m nine months pregnant.

Sure, there are gasps and even a few boos, but little do the naysayers know that I’ll be taking those bottles straight to my bakery.

“Congratulations,” Eliza says with genuine surprise as she hands me the golden fork. “I had no idea you had such—capacity.”

Everett wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I’d like to think I helped in a roundabout way.”

A laugh bubbles from me. “Well, the twins were hungry,” I say, patting my belly. I turn back to the unfortunate suspect at hand. “Eliza, do you have a minute to grab a bite?”

“Are you still hungry?” She rakes her eyes up and down my body as if I’m about to commit a crime.

“No, but I’m thirsty,” I tell her and Noah shoots me a look that saysnice save. Okay, so it was a total cover-up. I can totally go for some corned beef brisket right about now. “Besides, Everett and I would love to spend a little time with you.”

“I’d love to, dear, but I promised the festival committee I’d finish cleaning up. There’s an Irish dance competition in this venue next. In fact, it starts in five minutes.”

Before I can protest, she slips into the crowd, leaving me standing with a golden fork, cake all over my face, and the distinct feeling that Eliza Baxter is much better at evasive maneuvers than anyone gives her credit for.

And it makes me wonder if she’s just as good at evading a homicide.

But one way or another, I’m getting answers from Eliza Baxter—even if I have to eat my way through every contest in this festival to corner her.

NOAH

Idive into the crowd right after Eliza and catch her by the elbow before she can leave the venue.

The tent reeks of whiskey and sugar as a mob dressed in far too much green meanders around us, and with far too much green beer in their hands, too.

Someone is playing fiddle music that feels a little too darn loud and a little too darn cheerful for what’s about to go down.

“Not so fast,” I say, steering her behind a tent pole for a little privacy. From here, I can still see Everett and Lottie across the way. He’s helping to wipe the cake off her face while Carlotta says something that has Lottie laughing and Everett frowning. Lottie is cradling that golden fork trophy she just won, and by the look on her face, she’s proud of the fact, too. I can’t blame her. I’m proud of Lottie, no matter what she does.

Eliza’s expensive perfume cuts through the scent of the whiskey cake, and it reminds me of brewed tea steeped far too long. Her face is calm, but her eyes certainly aren’t. They’re calculating. Worried. And from what I can tell, glancing for the nearest exit.

“Eliza”—I soften as I step in close—“don’t you want to let Everett and Lottie in on that little secret you spilled in myoffice?” I offer a pleading look because deep down she must know it would be best for everyone involved if they knew the truth as well.

“No.” Her jaw tightens and I can see Everett hovering in her features like a ghost. “I’m not ready.” She glances at Everett and Lottie. “Not here. Especially not with the twins on the way. Not to mention Lottie and Lyla Nell are due to have a birthday in a couple of days. Let them have their fun. I’m certainly not signing up to ruin it for them.”

A gust of cold air pushes into the tent and briefly clears the sugary scent that’s starting to kick my appetite back into gear. That whiskey cake was amazing, and despite the fact I knocked back my fair share, I wouldn’t mind another bite.

“Why does this have to be all about me, anyway?” she scoffs with her voice on edge now. “It was years ago. Decades. Noah, we’re talking ancient history.”

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