Eggnog Trifle Trouble

by Addison Moore

  He’s right, but I won’t admit to it.

  Noah places his hand over my blooming belly.

  “Feel any kicks today?” His cheek flickers with disappointment as the little sugar cookie baking in there decides to lay low.

  “Sorry. But as soon as I feel something else, I’ll let you know. I’ve only felt it twice, once I was tossed in the back of that sheriff’s cruiser and right after I fired that gun. And I only did that to send you running. Hey? I just thought of something. Did you hear the first gunshot?”

  His eyes widen a notch as he shakes his head. “Do you think they had a silencer on it?”

  “I would think so. But that gun found at the scene didn’t have one.”

  He blinks back. “I’ll let you know what forensics says about the weapon. It would be strange for the killer to leave a decoy behind. Unless they were trying to pin it on someone else. We’re checking the registration on the gun as well.”

  “Oh no.” I moan as a horrible thought comes to me. “You would have been able to tell if that gun was recently fired had I not shot off into the night. Please tell me I didn’t ruin your case.”

  “My case?” Noah’s dimples dig in as if he was amused. “No, Lot, I promise, you didn’t ruin the case. You may have entertained the killer, but the case is still going strong. And for the record, I’ll let you work on the case, too—with me at home. That way I’ll know you’re both safe.” He gives my stomach a pat. “I’ll see you back at the house.” He glances to the conservatory. “And I’m assuming you’re here to question my mother. Go easy on her.” He dots my cheek with a kiss before taking off.

  In a lot of ways it very much feels as if I’m still with Noah. Odd, considering my husband just beat him up. Come to think of it, that might be why.

  I’m about to head to the conservatory when Thirteen traipses this way with a supernatural looking mouse in his mouth. Thirteen is one of four ghosts that lives in—or rather haunts the inn.

  Thirteen is a black cat with sparkling silver whiskers and glowing green eyes. Then there are Greer Giles, a girl about my age who was shot about a year ago, her boyfriend Winslow Decker, a two-hundred-year-old pig farmer who also happens to be a bit of a hottie, and their adopted daughter Azalea—Lea.

  Little Lea is a haunted sight to behold, with her stringy, long, dark hair combed over her face, her dirty pinafore, and her scuffed up Mary Jane slippers. She’s permanently about six and carries a machete wherever she goes in hopes to avenge the blood of her family, which was slain over this very land.

  Thirteen drops the little cute critter right at my feet. “I believe this belongs to you.”

  A sprinkling of red and green stars ignites the area around the adorable mouse as he wiggles his round little ears.

  “Is this Lottie?” He twitches his nose my way. “I’ve been meaning to thank you for the delicious buffet.”

  It wasn’t always that I could communicate with the dead, but as my powers grew so did their abilities. At first, I could hear them, then they were able to move things in the material world, and not too long after that they garnered the most supreme ability of them all—they can eat. Don’t ask me where it goes or why it happens, but not a single ghost has complained about that culinary feat.

  “You’re welcome, I think? So you’re Gloria’s pet mouse, Kringle, huh?” I ask as he jumps up my leg and lands on my forearm.

  “I was her brother’s best friend. Gloria had a hopeless crush on me.”

  A laugh bumps from me. “From what I hear, a brother’s best friend is always a hot commodity around a sister. So are you ready to nail the killer so we can get on with our holidays?”

  His thin pink tail whips back and forth and it gives me the heebie-jeebies.

  “Oh yes.” His whiskers twitch and tiny red stars emits from around them. “But I’m in no hurry to get back to paradise. I spent all night eating my way out of an eggnog trifle.”

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll put a few trifles in my office for you so long as you leave the rest of my inventory alone.”

  “Sounds good, but do bring one back to the house. I rather enjoyed tormenting the kitties. Did you know they’re both down a few lives already?”

  “That’s terrible.”

  He squeaks out a laugh. “And by the time I’m through with them, they’ll be down a few more. I specialize in cat conniptions.”

  “That’s even worse. I’d prefer to keep my kitties, so if you want your trifle you’ll have to spare their souls.”

  “Done deal.”

  The three of us head into the conservatory, and both Kringle and Thirteen make a run for the dessert table.

  “Trifle!” Kringle shouts as he floats through the air and nosedives right into one of my eggnog delights. Thirteen heads for the gingerbread men and yanks one right off the platter. Lucky for me, most people blame odd occurrences like that on gravity.

  The tables in the conservatory are conjoined and set up lengthways as two-dozen women all unwrap a gift at once.

  I head over to Carlotta and my mother just as Carlotta leans my way.

  “You just missed a meeting of the cheapskate minds, Lot Lot.”

  Mom waves her off. “This is Suze’s living on a shoestring budget club. They meet once a week right here in the conservatory, and I provide the free cookies and coffee.”

  I shoot a look to the cluster of conservative looking older women each in either a red or green sweater.

  “Free cookies and coffee?” I muse. “Sounds as if they really know what they’re doing,” I say.

  Mom leans in. “This is the exciting part. They’re having their annual regifting exchange. Each year they save a gift that someone gave them from the previous Christmas and they give it away to someone else.”

  I spot a woman at the end of the table holding up a pair of bright red knit socks with snowflakes embroidered over them.

  “Hey?” I strain to get a better look. “I think I gave those to Suze last Christmas. She regifted my gift!”

  “Don’t worry, Lot.” Carlotta chuckles. “They’ve already made a pact to give all this junk away to some unlucky sucker for Christmas. You literally gave her the gift that will keep on giving—and maybe even regifting. If you live long enough, those socks just might come back to warm your feet.”

  “Wait a minute.” Mom’s eyes bulge with wily intent. “Do you think these women would like a copy of my latest book? I bet once they’re through with it, they’d pass it on, too.”

  “Not if they have to pay for it,” I whisper.

  “Huh.” Mom taps her chin with her finger. “I’ve got a few dozen copies lying around. I don’t see why I couldn’t gift a few away as a marketing ploy. Once they get addicted, they’ll all be clamoring to buy my next book and Wiley will have to take me on as a client again.”

  She takes off, and I shake my head after her. “Wiley is a nutcase. Can’t you do something to spook that man into leaving town or something?”

  Carlotta’s chest expands as she considers this. “I could, but it involves a cargo ship, a casket, and some duct tape.”

  “It doesn’t sound legal, but I like where you’re headed.”

  “Oh come on, Lot. Feed him some of your poison pie and be done with it. And you can pin the whole thing on Suze and not even Foxy would be the wiser.”

  My hands glide over my belly. “I’d run with it, but if this baby belongs to Noah, I’d hate to be responsible for pruning an entire branch off its family tree.”

  Someone mentions Gloria’s name and my ears pique with interest.

  “No fancy funeral for her.” Elodie shakes her head. “Gloria was frugal till the end. A cremation is on order I hear.”

  Suze gives an approving nod. “I’m going that route myself. Why light money on fire when I could do it to myself? Besides, I can’t miss out on my one shot to have a smokin’ body.”

  The room erupts with laughter, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at Carlotta.

  The women quic
kly circulate around the room before swooping over to the dessert table. Suze stands up front speaking with a couple of women before she cups her hands around her mouth.

  “To recap, do not—and I stress—do not spend any money this holiday season. The department stores are nothing short of thieves looking to pry open your wallet. The most cost effective way to spend this holiday season is spending time with your family.”

  The room breaks out into cheers at the sentimental thought.

  “That’s funny,” I whisper to Carlotta. “I’d spend good money not to spend time with Suze.”

  “And yet here you are.”

  “Touché, Carlotta. Touché.”

  Mom pops back into the room and quickly begins distributing copies of her latest raunchy read, Reckless Mattresses, and soon all of the women are abuzz and asking her to sign their copy. Mom really does look as if she’s in her literary element.

  I’m about to head over to Suze when a whole new batch of women pours into the conservatory. But these women aren’t wearing cheery red and green holiday sweaters. They’re all dressed in black from head to toe with long sparkling silver necklaces hanging from their necks. And at the base of each of those necklaces is a triangular amulet. I’m not sure why, but I’m getting a bad vibe from these people.

  Carlotta taps her shoulder to mine. “Check out who just walked through the door.”

  I glance over and freeze solid, but it’s not because I see the ornery elf from yesterday who had her face slapped silly by the deceased. It’s because I see a wicked witch from yesteryear who once upon a time put her own curse on me—Serena Digby.

  Early last spring, Cormack and Cressida teamed up to try to make me disappear out of Noah and Everett’s lives. They hired this charlatan, Serena, to put some wannabe hex on me, but suffice it to say, I’m still standing firmly in both Noah and Everett’s hearts.

  “Whoa ho ho!” Carlotta holds her belly and makes it jiggle. “If it isn’t the wicked witch of the East Coast. That’s that Digby dirtbag, isn’t it, Lot? The one who put a pox on you?”

  “Yup.” My lids hood low as the woman moves around the room to greet the others all dressed as though they just finished up with a funeral. Serena’s hair is dark as pitch, her eyes glow a pale green, and she has porcelain skin that gives her that half past dead look.

  “How did that curse go again, Lot? Oh wait—I think I got it. You will rue the day you trampled on the hearts of Cormack and Cressida. Everything you love, everything you desire, everything you hope for and dream of will turn to ashes and soot. May nothing go your way. May the shadow replace the sun. May the winds of fortune hide their face from you. May darkness descend on you this hour, and may it never leave until you surrender all that you stole from my sisters—my being hers.”

  “How in the heck did you memorize all that?” I marvel. “I only told you that once.”

  “I’ve added it to my list of prayers each night. I can’t help it, Lot. You have a special way of frustrating me.”

  Suze swoops over with a mean looking scowl on her face, and I instinctually recoil.

  “What are you doing here?” she snaps.

  “I was just paying my mother a visit and thought I’d furnish your club with a little dessert. Free of charge, of course.”

  “Oh.” Her shoulders loosen at the thought. “Thank you,” she grouses.

  A few of the women leaving the room wave her way and Suze waves back.

  “Remember”—she cups her hands around her lips once again—“debt is normal. Be weird!”

  “Be weird!” the women call out in unison before taking off.

  Suze is weird, all right. And this meeting of the cheapskate minds just confirms it. Not that I have anything against living on a budget.

  She nods toward Carlotta. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, my next club is meeting in five minutes. You’re welcome to stay if you like.” She takes off into the crowd and begins to mingle.

  I watch as Elodie, the brunette from last night, makes her rounds through the crowd of women all clad in black.

  My mother skips back with a spring in her step. “I just gave away thirty-two autographed copies!” She crosses her fingers in the air. “Let’s hope this multiplies sales by the new year.”

  “I’m sure it’ll help.” I’m crossing my own fingers because I think I may have let a white lie slip. I’m pretty sure those women have made a pact never to spend a shiny dime. “Mom, is this the Christmas Angels club, meeting up next?”

  “Try Christmas demons.” Mom shudders as she looks to the crowd of women. “It’s the Magic Mavens of Honey Hollow. They get together and talk about their latest enchantments and whatnot. That woman over there”—she points a red glittery fingernail right at my very first suspect—“that’s Elodie Frost. She tried to put the moves on Wiley last month, and when I told her to back away from my man, she laughed and said I’d lose him soon enough. She looked right into my eyes, and I felt something, Lottie. It was as if I could see the writing on the wall. Wiley and I are just about finished. It’s almost as if she put a hex on me. Anyway, I think I’ll bring in a fresh pot of coffee. All they talk about is beguiling this beguiling that.” She takes off in a sprint.

  “Beguiling?” I squint over at Carlotta. “Where have I heard that before?”

  “I don’t know, Lot, but I think Suze belongs to a bona fide coven. I can’t say I’m all that surprised. Hey? I bet these witches would be willing to part with a little of their hard conjured-up cash. I think I’ll get some of my kinky candles out of my trunk. Try not to kill anyone while I’m gone.”

  She zips off just as a spray of stars appears in her place, and soon I’m staring right at the ghost of Greer Giles.

  Greer has long dark hair, the face of a supermodel, and she’s still wearing the white ruched gown she had on the night she lost her life.

  Before I can say hello, Kringle appears on her shoulder and she gives him a pat.

  “Lottie Lemon, this one is a keeper,” she says. “He and Thirteen get along so well.”

  Kringle’s nose twitches. “And Lea has yet to chop off my tail.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’d grow back if she did.” I know this as a fact. Lea makes it a point to chop off as many ghostly body parts as she can. Her true aspirations lie in chopping off body parts of the living, and I’m half-afraid she’s getting closer to meeting her goal.

  Kringle stands on his hind legs and gasps. “Here she comes.” He starts zipping around the room and little Lea gives him chase, swinging that machete in her hand as if it were her job, and I’m afraid it sort of is.

  Greer leans in. “I was wondering when you were going to show up to one of these.” She shudders and a sprinkling of miniature stars falls right out of her hair. “It’s just such an odd thing to hold these kinds of meetings out in the open. You’d think they’d want to hide something like this. Sort of the way you do.”

  “Hide what sort of thing?”

  “You know”—she wiggles her fingers my way—“that whole beguiler thing.”

  I suck in a never-ending breath.

  “Beguiler!” I suddenly remember with crystal clarity why that word felt so familiar. “Oh my word, Greer, you don’t think these are real beguilers, do you?” Back in October, my grandma Nell came back to tell me about the creepy Hearst curse and why the woman who set the curse on that family gave it to them. It turns out, she was also transmundane and her powers fell under the category of a beguiler, a person who has the ability to charm—as in the ability to charm a whirlwind to come forth, objects to move at will, people to bend to your will, earthquakes, fires, and I’m sure an entire slew of things I’m not that familiar with.

  “Lottie, I thought you knew?” Greer begins to float over to the refreshment table and Kringle leaps from her shoulder to mine. “Sit back and enjoy the show,” she says. “They always put on a good one.”

  Wait a minute...

  “Oh, Kringle.” I bring my fingers to my lips. “I thin
k Noah’s mother might really be a nefarious being.”

  The lights flicker on and off as the women all gather around the table. I don’t miss a beat as I head that way and Serena Digby’s eyes widen as she looks at me with a twinge of malice.

  “Well, well, ladies”—Serena nods my way—“it looks as if we have a guest in our midst. Lottie Lemon, will you be joining us this afternoon?”

  Suze ticks her head toward the door while giving me the stink eye.

  “Yes,” I say in defiance to her rudeness. “I think I will be joining you.”

  Kringle whips my shoulder with his tail. “Why do I get the feeling some of these women don’t really care for you?”

  I give a quick nod, letting him know he’s not wrong.

  Suze sighs my way. “Carlotta here is with child. She won’t stay long. I’m sure she needs a nap or a cookie.”

  Suze knows I hate it when people call me by my formal moniker. Just as much as I know that she hates it when people call her by hers.

  “I sure am with child, Suzanna.” I take a moment to soak in the abject horror on her face. Her name is no big deal. It’s cute. I have no idea why she would have a hang-up about that. Mine is sort of cute, too, but Carlotta herself is my hang-up about my formal name. Besides, Lottie suits me better. “In fact, this just might be your own grandchild,” I say, patting my belly.

  The group of women oohs and ahhs, but mostly they gasp at the salacious detail I just let slip.

  Serena wastes no time in scoffing. “You mean, you don’t know who the father is?”

  “Well”—I shrink back a bit—“not necessarily.”

  Kringle chortles as he skips across to my other shoulder. “This is getting fun.”

  Elodie, the tall woman with the dark bangs fringing her eyes, leans in. “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

  “I don’t know that either. In fact—”

  “Lie down on the table,” she instructs before I can finish, and then an entire group of women is helping me lie down over the bistro tables they’ve strung together and I’m looking up at the glass ceiling covered in snow, wondering what in the heck I’ve just gotten myself and my poor unborn child into.