Yule Log Eulogy

by Addison Moore

  “Why yes, I did.”

  He tips his head back until I’m forced to look at his nostrils filled with thick gray hair.

  “You know the safe word.”

  Oh! Ew! YUCK!

  No wonder that inebriated poltergeist decided it was best he make an appearance. He thought the masses were chanting his name.

  Dear God up in heaven, if my mother is up here chiming out a safe word, I’m going to start strangling people with garland myself.

  Okay, that was crass. But I couldn’t help it. As a daughter who fiercely loves her nutty as a holiday fruitcake mother, I’d do anything to protect her—even if it means resorting to mur—

  Lying!

  Ding, ding, ding!

  “Yup.” I rock on my matching velvet heels. “The safe word is Rudolph all day long.”

  He lifts his sunglasses a notch to get a better look at me, exposing a set of squinted brown eyes.

  “You look a little young.”

  A thought comes to me. “Mr. Bentley likes ’em young.”

  He rolls his eyes before dropping his sunglasses into place.

  “He likes ’em wild, too.” He hitches his head to the red foggy room behind him. “Beware, he’s got a live one right now that thinks she’s going to read him a bedtime story.”

  I suck in a quick breath. That sounds an awful lot like my mother, the budding author. Her chosen pen name is Mirandy Lemonade. And I happened to have had the displeasure to hear her read her work aloud last month. Let’s just say there are some things a child should never hear coming out of her mother’s mouth, and I happened to hear them all.

  I fight my way into the red room of shame, quickly elbowing my way to the two signs out front of a pitch in the proverbial road. The word voyeurs sits to the right with an arrow pointed in that direction and the word virgins points to the left.

  I don’t need a raunchy road map to know which direction my mother has decided to mislead Mr. Bentley in. I head to the left, only to be met up with a maze full of cubicles. I waste no time in poking my head in and out of each one, wishing to God I could poke my eyes out with the things I’m being subjected to.

  I spot a woman with long blonde hair in the fourth cubicle down and I quickly spin her around by the elbow, only to reveal a rather haggard looking woman who could easily be Mirandy Lemonade’s mother—and apparently, a co-writer in those racy books of hers.

  “Sorry!” I call out as the silver fox she’s with pulls her back to him.

  “Voyeurs are to the right!” she screams back and sounds decidedly like one of my cats after I’ve accidentally stepped on their tails.

  Geez, it’s like some people never leave high school. Come to think of it, this sexual mosh pit of octogenarians is far worse than any of the parties I ever went to in high school. But, then again, I spent most of my high school years at home on a Saturday night pining over Bear while he was out cheating on me.

  I pop my head into the next coital cubicle and find a blonde in a Santa hat seated on the lap of a man with a matching festive festooned cap and gasp as soon I recognize the naughty Mrs. Claus.

  “Mother!” I grab ahold of her wrist and yank her my way. “Rudolph!” I roar into the face of the shocked man who is clearly no saint.

  And I speed all the way back downstairs with the woman who once taught me to tie my shoe.

  One thing is for sure, Royce Bentley had better watch his back. This place is crawling with garland, and I’m not afraid to use it.

  And if that supernatural spook is any indication—there’s a suspect or two on the loose as well.

  Chapter 10

  “Would you stop?” My mother breaks loose just as the man with the red hat trots right down behind us adjusting his shirt and his buckle.

  Great. There are some things a person can never unsee and nonsense like that is one of them.

  “Royce Bentley.” He thrusts his meaty mitt my way just as Rudolph glides down the stairs and right through the man with the toothy grin pointed my way. He’s got a shock of gray hair—fake, I’m betting, and he seems to have every last one of his teeth still right where they’re supposed to be—also fake, I’m betting, and pricey, too.

  “Lottie Le—” Before I can finish, yet another woman joins our circle and takes up his hand and shakes it.

  “Carlotta Sawyer.” A guttural laugh emits from her for no good reason at all. “I birthed the lemon tart and let Mirandy here raise her.”

  His brows rise, unsure of what to make of the intro.

  He takes a quick breath. “Can I entice you three beautiful ladies to step over to the fortunetelling booth to our left? I’d love to see what the future holds for such lovely ladies as yourselves.”

  Fortunetelling? I glance in the direction he’s holding out his hand, and sure enough that crazy woman with the purple clown wig is stationed at a marble table dotted with that giant crystal ball that looks as if it’s filled with static electricity. And to her left is the same woman who was reading tarot cards the night of Larson’s murder. I think her name was Kitty.

  What is it with the wealthy and their flirtatious foray into the occult? And at Christmas of all times of year?

  Carlotta is the first to scoff. “Lottie won’t venture that way. She’s a good Christian girl who believes she’d go to heck in a hand basket if she were caught talking to the dead.” She elbows me in the ribs. “Keyword is caught.”

  I can’t help but roll my eyes.

  And before I can decline the offer myself, we’re joined with two of the most handsome men in the room and a couple of tinsel riddled tramps.

  Cressida flies at Raunchy Royce with open arms.

  “Daddy!” she calls out. “What a wonderful party. Judge Baxter and I are a pair once again. Isn’t that lovely?”

  Everett’s chest expands as if he were girding himself. “Hello, Royce.” He nods his way. “I’m actually a taken man. But Cressida’s fondness of me is quite flattering.”

  I make a face at the declaration.

  Cormack hugs Noah tight. “And this is my man, Mr. Bentley. We’ve reconnected ourselves after many a year.”

  A choking sound gets locked in my throat. “And I’m his wife,” I say finally, shaking his hand. “And this woman you were in the throes of passion with in the name of literary genius is my mother.”

  His lips part as he looks from me to my mother. “My dear Miranda. You are far too young to have a daughter this age.”

  Funny. He both managed to compliment my mother and throw a little shade my way. It doesn’t sound as if he caught onto Carlotta’s adoption option intro.

  Mom chortles. “Oh, Roycie, you are far too kind to me. But I have three girls, and they’re all getting up there in age.” She quickly adheres herself to his side.

  “Gee, thanks, Mother.” I sigh over at the loon who my mother has latched herself onto.

  Rudolph moseys over with one of my gingerbread men tucked into his mouth, and it must look as if it’s floating in the air to the masses.

  I gasp as I snatch it from him and take a quick bite. “Mmm, so good. Have you tried the cookies?”

  Rudolph twitches. “There’s a suspect in our midst, Lottie.”

  Mom waves me off. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ve already let him know what a brilliant baker you are. He’s already promised to ink you in on his catering roster. Ink!” She practically mouths the last word with enthusiasm.

  I wonder what favors she needed doled out in order to secure such indelible placement? On second thought, I’d rather not find out.

  “My husband, Noah here, is a homicide detective.” I nod to Royce, and yet he doesn’t flinch.

  Carlotta offers me a knowing nod before she looks his way—eyeing the man’s Rolex as if it would soon be decorating her own wrist. “There was a homicide in Honey Hollow just last week. A gal by the name of Carson Rosenbloom, I think.”

  Mr. Bentley bows his head a moment. “Larson Rosenberg. Her father and I are good friends.”

&
nbsp; Cressida wrinkles her nose. “Were. Daddy has a beef with him over a business venture gone wrong.” She straightens like a pin at the sight of something behind me. “Daddy, please tell me you booked the medium? I’m dying to know what Larson has to say.”

  “I’m sorry, love.” He’s quick to pat her hand. “But I’ll have to side with these lovely ladies, as they just mentioned it’s not for us to speak to the dead.”

  “Suit yourself”—Cressida dislodges from him—“but I’m going to make it a point to call the other side before the night is through. I just have to know if there’s a Barney’s where she is. Death won’t be worth the trip if there’s no decent shopping to be had.” She takes off, and Cormack lifts a hand.

  “Wait for me! If there’s a golden paved Rodeo Drive, I need to know about it asap!”

  I look to Royce and his pasty looking skin. He’s not so much wrinkled as he is doughy. The skin on his forehead looks as if it’s got a mirrored shine, most likely because he’s had it professionally ironed out with Botox.

  “So, Roycie,” I start, “any idea who killed that poor girl? I’m sure her father is pulling out all the stops to find her killer.”

  He shrugs. “I’m not sure if that’s true. Rumor has it, he’s flown to the Caymans to gather his thoughts. He did the same when his Isabelle passed away.”

  I nudge my elbow into Noah’s ribs and he straightens.

  “The Caymans?” Noah tips his chin. “I’m assuming he’ll be back for the services?”

  He shakes his head. “Not this time. I’m afraid it was all too much for him when his wife passed. He’s left it all up to my princess to take care of. Cressie and her friends have it all handled.”

  Rudolph neighs and shakes his antlers as if he were growing agitated. “Ask about Isabelle.”

  My mother’s hand rises to her chest. “What happened to Isabelle?”

  I crimp a tiny smile because it’s as if she heard. And I glance down for good measure just to make sure we’re not holding hands and GAH! She’s clutching my arm with her free hand.

  Royce gives a wistful shake of the head. “She was struck with a fire poker right in her own library—the exact spot where Larson was killed.”

  The entire lot of us gasps.

  Okay, so Everett and Noah might have flinched a little, but still.

  My mother quickly latches back onto Richie Rich. “Two murders in the exact same location?” Her lips move in all sorts of sultry directions. “Did they ever catch the killer?” Her shoulders do that shimmy thing they’re prone to do when she’s charged up and raring to go.

  “I’m afraid not.” He offers a forlorn look to Noah. “But rest assured, the Ashford Sheriff’s Department is still working on it.”

  I can’t help but note the mocking tone in his voice. And according to the way Noah’s chest just inflated twice its size, it’s clear he heard it, too.

  “Essex?” the shrill cry of a woman comes from behind, and soon we’re treated to a dark-haired version of the handsome man she was referencing.

  “Mother.” He pulls her into a warm embrace, his eyes slightly bewildered even though he was fully aware of her presence here.

  Eliza Baxter is a socialite of the highest order, and one that I happen to have an affinity for.

  “You’ll never guess who I found here.” She pulls another body from the crowd, and now it’s Noah who has the reindeer in the headlights look on his face.

  “Mother.” He nods her way.

  “Suze,” I say with a little more enthusiasm. Suze Fox is a steely looking blonde with short hair that swoops to the side, and an expression on her face that looks as if she’s been sucking on something far too tart to exist. “I’d love for you to meet my mother, Miranda Lemon, and my biological mother, Carlotta Sawyer,” I say, pointing over at them respectively.

  Eliza lifts her chin. “Suze, this is Lottie, Essex’s fiancée.”

  Every muscle in my body tenses.

  Suze smacks her lips. “I had a feeling the two of you were a little too chummy while my poor son was dying in the infirmary.”

  Noah shakes his head. “Mom, I can assure you, Lottie and I are still together.” He gives my hand a pat.

  Everett lifts a brow. “And”—he steps forward and picks up my other hand—“I can assure you, Mother, that Lemon and I are still a little too chummy when this one is away at the office.”

  Eliza chuckles as if she secretly approved.

  Mr. Bentley lifts a finger. “So, the three of you are together? Quite progressive.”

  Carlotta rumbles with a laugh. “That’s right. They fit right in with this kinky crowd. Speaking of kinky, I’d better find Harry.” She starts to take off while looking down at her phone. “Psst.” She hitches her head to the side, and I follow her over a few feet. “I just got a text from Connie. She says to tell you that her brother walks or your boyfriend gets it in the jingle bells.” She makes a face. “I’d keep the detective around if you want to have kids.”

  “Carlotta!” I hiss. “That’s a terrible thing to say. I look back at Everett. He’s so painfully handsome, and I’d like to keep it that way. “I’ll talk to him.” I head back just in time to find Noah and Suze immersed in a heavy conversation amongst themselves. Everett and Eliza are off a few feet away speaking with Royce.

  My mother wrinkles her nose at me, the look of utter delight written on her face.

  “How do you like him, Lottie?”

  “Why? Did you trade in Topper?”

  She makes a face. “I’m keeping him on the back burner just in case. We’re still very much together. He’s in charge of running the sip ’n see venue upstairs or he’d be right here by my side.”

  By sip ’n see, I’m guessing it’s the voyeur venue.

  I can’t help but groan. I turn my head in time to see Cressida rapt at attention as she stands in front of the fortune-teller—Esmerelda. She’s the exact same woman who told both Cressida and Everett that they had no future.

  A thought rides through me as sharp as a jolt of electricity.

  My God! What if Everett has no future because the Canellis are about to snatch it away? Who cares about the vapid heiress? I need to stop Everett from passing down that judgment, and fast.

  “I’ll talk to you later, Mother. Promise me you won’t venture upstairs once again.”

  “Oh, heavens no. Roycie and I will take the elevator next time. That incline is a real killer on my back.”

  I’m about to be a real killer myself, and I’ve got Roycie in my sights.

  I take off for Everett, but Noah reels me in and I land right in front of his peach of a mother.

  “Suze.” It comes out lackluster this time.

  “Carlotta.” Her eyes ride up and down my body and—dear God, she knows. “I understand you’re having Noah’s child.” She says Noah in air quotes. “I suppose an heir to the Baxter fortune is exactly what you wanted all along, though.”

  “Mother.” Noah winces.

  “No, it’s okay.” I glance over to Everett and Eliza who seem to have wisely parted ways with Royce and my mother. “Suze, I can appreciate your concern for your son, but I can assure you my love for him is true.”

  That’s about the only truth I’m living these days.

  “Says the tramp while ogling another man. Noah, do have a little pride—and if you’re wise, you’ll select another bride. I’m still open to Tacky Mackie.” She stalks off into the crowd, and I struggle to catch my breath.

  “Not only did she insult me, but she approved of Cormack? The woman really does hate me.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He pulls me in, and soon enough we’re slow dancing without the privilege of having the music obey our wishes. “Because I love you.”

  “Oh, Noah. I love you so much. If only you knew the lengths I’m going through to protect you.”

  His head inches back. “What lengths?”

  Shoot.

  “Against Cormack. She’s been awful all night. It’s real
ly starting to upset me.” It’s not starting to upset me. It has always managed to upset me.

  “I’m sorry, Lottie.” His gaze sears my flesh, and I feel so bad that I have to tell him a single half-truth. He does a double take to his left, and I look over to see the blonde hurricane headed this way with a couple of glasses full of eggnog.

  “Noah, come quick!” Cormack traipses up on her sky-high heels, sloshing her eggnog with every other step. “Something is happening at the dessert table. Yule logs are disappearing all on their own and cookies are flying. I think someone spiked the eggnog with a hallucinogenic. People are acting strange and unpredictable. Here, have some.” She shoves a glass his way.

  Figures. Cormack would love for Noah to act as unpredictable as can be around her—preferably with a bed in sight.

  Noah takes a deep breath as he looks that way, and sure enough a crowd has amassed and the entire scene looks a little too animated. I’m betting there’s a dead reindeer at the helm of the madness.

  “I’d better take a look, Lot. I’ll be right back.”

  “Sure thing. Remember, the safe word is Rudolph.” I give a hard wink, and Cormack looks as if she’s about to vomit and backhand me, all at the same time.

  As soon as Cormack makes Noah disappear, I hightail it to Everett. I’m sure as heck fire not warning Noah about Everett’s impending doom—because God forbid he have a setback, but I don’t mind one bit riling up the ornery judge. It’s clearly up to me to save Everett’s jingle bells.

  “Everett, I need to speak with you.”

  Eliza steps in with her glittering gold gown, her equally glittery brooch of a Christmas tree, that I’m certain is worth more than my Honda.

  “And I need to speak with you.” She shoots daggers at both Everett and me. “I will not have my son waiting in line. There is a lot riding on this. I assume you’ll do the right thing.” She stalks off into the crowd.

  “Everett, what was that about?”

  His expression grows somber, and yet his gaze is torn away.

  “I’m sorry, Lemon.” He nods past me. “But I think I need to see what that is about.”