Yule Log Eulogy

by Addison Moore

  Keelie and Bear bounce in right behind them, and thankfully Naomi is too distracted to find Lily to kill her—just yet.

  Noah groans, “Let me see what I can do.” He lands a kiss to my lips. “I’ll be right back.”

  He takes off, and Lily makes a beeline for the dessert table and starts shoving gingerbread men into her mouth. It’s been her go-to response all month whenever she brings up the two of them. And next to her stands Rudolph noshing away at one of my Yule logs. I can’t help but cringe at the sight.

  Gathered around, watching in envy are Greer and Winslow. Little Lea is actually on Rudolph’s back while holding Thirteen, and the whole lot of them looks as if they’re cheering the seemingly starved spectral on.

  Everett leans in. “Any word on the Canelli girls?”

  I shake my head. “I’m sure Carlotta is keeping them safe at Nell’s. Thanks for giving me the number to your plumber. I planned on paying him myself, but he refused to bill me.”

  “That’s because I asked him to bill Carlotta.”

  “It’s the same difference at this point.” Even though Carlotta has a steady job down at the Enchanted Flower Shop, she never seems to have two nickels to rub together. I hear she’s locked up most of the money she got from Nell’s will in stocks and bonds, but somehow a part of me finds it more believable that she’s somehow let that small fortune slip right through her fingers.

  Everett opens his mouth to offer a rebuttal, but something at the entry distracts him. “Did you say Carlotta was keeping them safe at Nell’s house?”

  “That’s right. I called and threatened Carlotta within an inch of her crooked life if she so much as allowed them to see the snow, let alone step out into it.” I follow his gaze, and a breath gets locked in my throat. “Dear God up in heaven. The woman clearly does not know how to follow orders.”

  Carlotta waves over at us, but it’s not her or that slightly familiar looking gold gown she’s wearing that catches my eye. It’s the two dark-haired women slinking in beside her wearing Santa hats and sunglasses, looking every bit the crass Canellis they are. Okay, so the sunglasses aren’t what’s making them crass. It’s those red and green glittering dresses that are so short it looks as if they forgot to put their pants on.

  Everett groans.

  “Don’t worry,” I whisper. “This can work for us. I bet someone here will recognize Connie, and they’ll call the sheriff. Like, say Noah?” I gulp hard at the thought of Noah incurring any Canelli-based wrath. Hasn’t the poor guy been through enough?

  A couple of blondes waltz in, Cressida and Cormack, and on their heels are a couple of suspects I’ve been meaning to verbally accost—Buffy, Muffy, and Tuffy. All right, so those aren’t their names, but I’m doggone close.

  Both Cressida and Cormack have donned drop-dead gorgeous emerald green gowns, and I can’t help but frown since I’ve opted for jeans, my boots, and a sweater. Granted, my sweater has a Christmas tree sewn onto the front that’s steadily been blinking on and off. But as fate and my sister’s penchant for all things glam would have it, this is more of a formal affair rather than an ugly sweater hoe down.

  The blondes split ways, with Cormack heading off in Noah’s direction and Cressida making a beeline for the notoriously sexy judge.

  She slaps her entire body around him at once. “Oh, Everett, I can’t thank you enough for inviting me. My only respite in staying here was knowing you’re stuck in this speck of a town yourself. When are we going back to Fallbrook?” Her lower lip protrudes as she bats her lashes at him.

  Everett gives a wistful shake of the head. “I’m afraid Honey Hollow has stolen my heart.”

  She beats her tiny fist on his rock-hard chest. “Say it isn’t so!”

  He glances my way. “It’s so.”

  The crowd grows thicker, the music gets louder, and soon the entire room looks as if it’s filled with the denizens of female wrestling. It’s a riot of lamé in every color of the rainbow. The hair is wild, the makeup gives off an overall Halloween vibe, and there’s a general ambiance of revelry in the air.

  My mother hops my way with Topper Blakely in tow, and I can’t help but frown at him. Mom looks impeccable in a crimson floor-length gown, and a string of pearls around her neck that looks supernaturally illuminated from the inside.

  “Lottie—Everett! What do you think of all this madness?” She glances down disapprovingly at my sweater. “Oh, Lottie, an ugly sweater? Really? This is supposed to be a glam rock theme. Didn’t you get the memo?”

  “No, in fact, I didn’t.”

  She waves me off. “Topper here is a one-fifth owner of a female wrestling franchise in Japan.” Her eyes widen as if it were a true selling point.

  “Nice.” I make a face at the eager-to-wrestle-my-mother pervert.

  Topper leans in, his white teeth gleaming unnaturally the same stark shade as the fallen snow outside. “Don’t you worry. The only one I’m wrestling these days is this girl right here.”

  Knew it.

  He gives my mother a brisk swat on the bottom, and she shrieks with laughter as she pulls him away by the tie.

  I shift my gaze to Everett. “Can I please kill him?” I note Cressida’s hand wandering south over his chest. “Or her?”

  Everett carefully removes her from his person just as their friends wander over.

  “Buffy, Ella.” Everett nods their way. “This is my fiancée, Lemon.”

  “Lemon,” they chime in unison, no smile as if someone were forcing them to be here—probably Cressida because she wants to further cover her homicidal tracks. It’s obvious she slaughtered her best friend.

  Oh, how I hope it turns out to be Cressida who did it.

  I shoot a disparaging look her way.

  Cressida clicks her tongue. “Ella, please ply Buffy with liquor. If I have to look at that moping look on her face for another second, I’m going to find the nearest garland and strangle myself.”

  My eyes widen with her tasteless remark. I don’t know why I let anything she says surprise me anymore. It’s clear she’s a terrible person.

  Ella shakes her head. She’s beautiful, with a dark head of hair and bright blue eyes. And with that constant scowl she wears, she sort of reminds me of Meg. But I’m afraid the real reason she’s brooding all the time has something to do with the psychiatric detainment she’s gone through.

  She glances my way. “Leave it to Cressie to make light of murder.”

  “Who do you think did it?” I don’t mind at all asking. In fact, Buffy and Ella were next up on my list.

  Buffy shakes out her vibrant red hair. It’s such a stark shade of crimson, it surprises me to see it on a socialite such as herself. Usually they’re so demure, as plain and unassuming as can be, but Buffy here looks as if she’s breaking out of the stereotypical mold. And I say good for her.

  “You know what they say”—Buffy bats her long lashes at Ella—“murder me once, shame on you. Murder me twice, shame on me.”

  Ella waves her off. “Nobody says that.” She looks my way. “My friends love two things: themselves and making others feel inferior. If you’ll excuse me.” She bustles past us as she makes her way to the dessert table.

  “Don’t mind her.” Buffy shudders as she looks into the crowd. “On to my problems—Kippy is here, and he’s hitting on one of those wrestler girls. The nerve of the guy. On second thought, save some garland for me, Cressie. I’ve got a neck I’d love to wring.”

  Everett shakes his head. “Now, now. You realize you’re both spouting off threats in my presence. I can have you both hauled off in handcuffs if I like.”

  The two of them break out into giggles like a couple of schoolgirls. At first, I’m incensed by his brazen flirtatious undertone, but then I quickly realize he’s just priming them for the kill.

  “Do either of you know something?” he asks in his sternest, judgiest voice possible, and they explode in a fit of titters because obliviously it revved their engines. Okay, fine. It revved my
engine, too.

  Cressida bites down on her lower lip. “I wanted to kill her. Does that count?”

  Buffy swats her arm. “Cressie, be serious. You did not want Larson dead. None of us did.”

  “Fine.” The blonde gets right back to pouting. “But she was riding everyone so hard that night. It’s not a wonder one of us snapped.”

  “One of you?” I ask, amused. “Do you think you know the killer?”

  “Oh, I’m sure I know the killer.” Cressida lifts her shoulder my way as if dismissing me. “But I don’t want to entertain anyone here with my theories.”

  “Entertain me,” I say it in the same stern tone Everett used just a moment ago.

  He gives her a brief nod as she continues to use him like a stripper pole with her knee riding high over his stomach.

  “Fine.” She sighs hard. “Let’s see. Buffy, you hated Larson with every fiber of your being for stealing that louse you leashed yourself to.” She makes a face at Everett. “Sorry. I know Kippy is your friend.” She turns back to the redhead. “But let’s face it. Kippy can’t be faithful to anyone. Larson was really doing you a favor. People never understood the way her heart worked. Take Tilly for example. Sure, Larson sabotaged her and made sure she ended up at a subpar publishing house, but Larson knew she wouldn’t have been happy anywhere else. Anyone who knows Tilly realizes she’s practically glowing being forced to read all those raunchy romances for a living. Larson knew Tilly would never land a man, so Larcy was practically doing her a favor.”

  That sounds perfectly despicable to me. I blink up at Everett, and he gives a covert nod as if agreeing.

  “And?” I decide to spur the interrogation along.

  Cressida wrinkles her nose. “Ella, of course. Larson is the reason she ended up in that nuthouse to begin with.”

  “Larson was?” I’m practically breathless at the revelation.

  “In a roundabout way.” Cressida runs a svelte finger along Everett’s jawline. “It was actually her mother.”

  An audible gasp escapes me. “Her mother?”

  “That’s right,” Buffy continues for her. “I guess Ella saw something the night she was murdered. It messed with her brain.”

  Winner, winner—homicidal dinner! I’ll have to make sure Noah and I double-team Ms. Ella before the night is through.

  “Here you are!” a female voice shrills, and we turn to find Tilly slinking over in a red metallic dress that looks perfectly adorable on her.

  Buffy leans my way. “She lost complete touch with fashion once she started at the smut rag.”

  “My mother writes smut,” I’m quick to defend the racy genre, but mostly I just wanted to topple Buffy off her high horse.

  Tilly and the girls engage in air kisses and screams of delight.

  I catch Everett’s eye and point over at the dessert bar before doing a disappearing act.

  Rudolph staggers in front of me, and I don’t mind at all walking right through him. His fur is shimmering with a thousand pinholes of light, and his antlers glow a pale shade of blue.

  “Oh dear, Lottie. I’m afraid there are suspects in the midst, but I’m feeling a bit too squeamish to do anything about it.”

  “Lay low and stay close. You might pick up on something I miss.”

  I head on over and practically stand shoulder to shoulder with Ella. “Have you tried the Yule log?”

  GAH! Why did I offer that dessert of all the desserts in the world? Of course, she doesn’t want any Yule log. Her friend was killed while noshing on a piece of the chocolate confection.

  “Sure.” She reaches over and takes a plate with a slice already on it. “Mmm,” she moans her way through her first bite. “It’s kind of creepy knowing this is the last thing Larson ate that night. I mean, it’s good and all, but it’s not to die for.” She gives a little wink.

  Ella has a fairy-like quality about her. I’m not sure if it’s her petite frame, her delicate features, or a general fragility about her, but she looks as if she’s made of blown glass.

  “I agree. It’s grim to know this was the last bite she ever had. But at least we weren’t subjected to witnessing the murder. And how very sad for it to have happened right in front of that enormous family painting. I bet her last thoughts were of her mother.”

  “Maybe. But Larson didn’t care at all that her mother was dead. For a while, there was a rumor that she actually put a hit out on her.”

  “What?” I inch back, disgusted at the idea. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope.” She shakes her head and takes another bite. “It’s true. But that’s not what happened.”

  I swallow hard in anticipation of what might come from her mouth next.

  “What happened?”

  She shakes her head again. “Contrary to popular opinion, I didn’t actually see the murder take place. You don’t have to pretend like you don’t know. At this point, I just assume everyone does.” She casts a glance to the floor. “Anyway, Mrs. Denizen saw it. She was the maid at the Rosenberg estate. Weird thing is, Isabelle was killed in that very room in that very spot where her daughter was all those years later. It’s almost as if the Ghost of Christmas Past came back to haunt her, don’t you think?” She lifts her fork as if toasting me. “Great cake, Lemon.”

  She speeds off as a couple of girls get into a hair-pulling match just shy of the velvet-roped ring.

  Several of the wrestlers swarm the scene, and before we know it, Lily and Naomi are thrown into the oversized square and are going at it as if they were seasoned pros.

  “Oh God,” I trill as I make my way to Noah and Alex who happen to be facing the other direction while talking to Hook about stock options. “Do something, quick!” I point to the melee, and Alex’s green eyes expand the size of eggs as he dives in after them. Soon enough, he’s carrying them both out, one in each arm as they struggle to claw at one another in the process.

  “I hope he has this handled,” I say, warming my body next to Noah.

  “He had better. I’m not liking this dual relationship he’s got going on.”

  “More like dueling.” I wrap my arms around him.

  Noah presses a warm kiss over the top of my head. “I’m glad we’re settled, Lottie.” He winces as if he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. “I mean, with the baby coming—”

  I press a finger over his lips and nod. “I feel the same.” My heart breaks as tears come to my eyes, because once Noah discovers the truth I doubt he’ll want anything to do with me. I quickly relay to him the information that Ella shared with me. “It sounds like we need to talk to Mrs. Denizen asap.”

  “I’m already on it. I’ve already tracked her down to Fallbrook. I put in a call to Eliza, and she’s asking around. I’m hoping she’ll have the info to me soon.”

  “It looks as if you’re about to crack a cold case wide open, detective.”

  “We are going to crack it open.” His cheek flickers. “As much as I don’t like you putting yourself in danger, I understand your desire to acquire information. Let’s cap it at that.”

  “I agree.” I land a hand protectively on my belly. “The baby comes first.” And sadly a part of me is wishing there were a baby in there. Noah is so drippingly sweet, I just want to yank him down the nearest matrimonial aisle and marry him all over again.

  “How about Larson’s case? Any new developments?”

  “Just more horror stories related to her bad behavior. I’m not entirely surprised she was killed. But do you know what does surprise me? Where she was killed. Noah, she was killed in the exact same spot that her mother died all those years ago.”

  He gives a sober nod. “That’s no coincidence.”

  “I didn’t think so either. Does that mean the two cases are somehow linked?”

  “I suppose at this point anything is possible.”

  Meg jumps into the ring, along with three other equally as colorful women, and much to the delight of the rollicking crowd, they toss chairs a
nd they toss each other around the four corners of that roped-in cage, and soon enough Meg is seated over the backs of all three of them, claiming victory. And just when things couldn’t get any weirder, Rudolph flies over and joins in on the fun as he tries to ride my sister’s shoulders.

  His antlers swerve left then right before he emits a long egregious belch and upchucks what looks to be a river of whiskey and Yule logs all over the ring.

  Noah leans in. “Why does it suddenly reek of liquor?”

  I shrug up at him. “I suppose it’s better than reeking of murder.”

  Unlike the Rosenberg estate. For some reason, it has reeked of murder for six long years, and Noah and I are on the cusp of finding out why.

  My gaze shifts to Cressida, who still very much has a solid hold on Everett.

  Oh, Cressie. How I hope you did it so I can have the pleasure of sending you up the river without a golden paddle for a very long time.

  A cackle of laughter erupts from the corner, and I spot Cat and Connie whooping it up with Carlotta and Greer.

  Dear Lord.

  Why does it feel as if we’re barreling right toward a Canelli catastrophe?

  This cannot end well.

  It rarely does with a Canelli involved.

  Chapter 14

  On Monday, after a baking spree that spanned hours and a throng of customers alike, I box up a bevy of goodies and hightail it to the Honey Hollow Public Library in an effort to brighten the faces of those who toil away in the stacks as they host their annual Christmas party.

  Tonight is also the annual Honey Hollow tree lighting ceremony, and judging by the cheery atmosphere in town this afternoon, it feels as if Christmas day is already upon us. Everywhere you go people are jolly beyond measure, abounding with nonstop smiles, wishing one another a merry Christmas as if it were the greatest blessing and it is.