Yule Log Eulogy

by Addison Moore

  I turn to find Cressida crawling across the table and wrapping her hands around the poor charlatan’s neck.

  Everett and I speed over to the fortunetelling table just in time for him to pull the strangulating socialite off the girl with the bad wig.

  “Geez.” Esmeralda wheezes as she struggles for her next breath. “I want her arrested. She’s a killer. And I have proof she killed Larson Rosenberg.”

  Cressida freezes in Everett’s arms, but I don’t give the blonde a chance to tap-dance out of this one. Instead, I pull the purple-headed phony to the side.

  “What makes you so sure?”

  She looks from Cressida to me, and I quickly block her view of the two of them in an effort to stop Cressida from intimidating her.

  Esmerelda yanks her arms free. “I heard them fighting. Larson said she’d had enough. And Cressie told Larson she wouldn’t leave the party alive.”

  “That’s just hearsay,” I whisper mostly to myself.

  “Oh yeah? How about if I told you I saw Cressida and her friends head in that direction just before you found her body?”

  Cressida and her friends?

  I turn to look at the girl just as Rudolph staggers up, belching and groaning something that sounds a lot like my name.

  “Looooottie,” he says as he retches and heaves. He canters forward a few feet before his entire body seizes and bucks as the contents of his supernatural stomach spill out right in front of Cressida’s feet.

  The waifish blonde lets out a shrill scream that can rival any fire alarm, and I can’t help but note she’s far more animated, far more horrified than she was the night of her best friend’s murder.

  Maybe, just maybe, Cressida is responsible for the Christmas carnage, after all?

  And maybe all of her little friends are in on it, too.

  Chapter 11

  Gingerbread houses, sugar cookies, and Yule logs, oh my.

  It’s been that kind of a day in the bakery. Busy from sun up to well—to be fair, there is no sun, but from snowy morning to snowy afternoon.

  My mother sent over two busloads of tourists that she bilked of eighty dollars a pop for her haunted B&B tour, and sure as Greer Giles’ ghost, she sent them my way for their fill of sliced Yule logs. Several of the women picked up entire logs to take home to their families. I let them know that they can freeze them and they would be perfect on Christmas Eve.

  Lily scuttles up with the requisite Santa hat planted square over her head.

  “Alex and I will be attending Mistletoe Mania at your mother’s Saturday night. Apparently, he’s big into female wrestling.” She makes a face, and I follow suit.

  “Wait a minute. I thought this was Naomi’s month to romance the stone cold Fox? What gives? Don’t tell me there’s a hitch in the giddy up already.”

  “Please.” She rolls her eyes. “I guess Naomi has to work an event at the Evergreen and she’s willing to barter me one evening in January.”

  Lily and Naomi are switching up seeing Alex month to month.

  And seeing that this new dating experiment is still in its infancy, it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if they were ready to throw this foray into dysfunctional dating out the window. Heck, I’m shocked they haven’t thrown Alex out of a window by now.

  “Well, great. I’m glad you’re coming. I’m in charge of all the desserts. You can help me haul them over.”

  “Will do, boss. If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a Yule log home with me.”

  “Aw, sure. Anytime. Are you getting together with your family?”

  “Nope. I thought I’d smear myself with the chocolaty wonder and let Alex figure out how to get it off me.”

  The bell to the door chimes before I can get the visual out of my mind and in strides another wily Fox—the one that happens to belong to me.

  Noah heads over with the cane hardly touching the ground. He’s healing so well, so fast, I’m thrilled to have him back one hundred percent.

  “Hey, handsome.” I make my way around the counter and plant a fat juicy kiss on his lips. I pull back and take in his thick corduroys, his powder blue dress shirt, and black wool coat. “You look dressed for success. Are you taking me someplace?”

  “In fact, I am.” He flashes a quick grin at the counter. “Lily, would you watch the shop? Lottie and I have our very first doctor’s appointment for the baby.”

  My heart seizes to a stop.

  Lily giggles like a schoolgirl—and I bet she finds this hysterical.

  “Wow, you really are taking me someplace.” The very real urge to faint hits me. Only I don’t think I’d be getting off quite as easily as Keelie. “Dr. Barnette?”

  “That’s right.” Noah beams with pride. “Only the best for our little muffin.” His hand warms my belly, and I feel about an inch tall.

  And muffin? Is there anything more adorable than that? I’ve always known Noah would make a fabulous father, and here’s he’s already begun.

  “Have fun, Lottie!” Lily shouts. “I’ll close up for you tonight.”

  “Great.” My voice pitches as I take off my apron. “Let me just grab my purse.”

  Lily has it at the ready by the time I hit the counter, and I openly frown at her.

  “You’re wicked,” I whisper.

  “And you are lying to a sweet man. I guess that makes you evil.”

  “Touché.” I hightail it over to Noah, and we head out into the frozen air with my supposedly frozen heart.

  I’m no fool. I know my days are numbered. I just hope when Noah finds out the truth, he realizes that I did it all out of my love for him.

  I pull him in close before we get to his truck and wrap my arms around him.

  “I love you, Noah Corbin Fox.” My chest hiccups as I say it.

  “I love you, too, Lottie Kenzie Lemon.” His searing gaze sweeps over my face, and I feel as if he can see the lies ready to bubble to the surface. “You’re perfect, Lottie, you know that? My perfect wife.” He dots my forehead with a kiss. “Let’s get you to the doctor.”

  Something tells me Noah is about to find out the hard way that I’m not so perfect after all.

  I’m not even his wife.

  Dr. Barnette’s office is on the second floor of a cloistered building at the edge of town, just down the street from the hospital.

  All the way over, Noah talked on and on about how the maternity ward offers free labor and delivery tours, how we’ll have to go to Lamaze classes, and that he’s already ordered a ton of books on all things baby. His enthusiasm reminds me a lot of Everett’s enthusiasm just last month when he thought this imaginary baby was actually going to happen. Everett was just as thrilled as if it were his own.

  I can’t believe I’ve bamboozled two men in the span of two months. I’m the worst of the worst—even if I didn’t realize that I wasn’t with child last month, it still doesn’t settle well with me. And this month? The holiest month of the year? I’m the lowest of the low. I don’t even deserve to find coal in my stocking this year. I’m not worth the trouble.

  Noah and I take the elevator up, and it feels as if the walls are closing in on me. He opens the door to a packed waiting room full of expectant mothers in every shape and size. Most of them are accompanied by men, a few by women old enough to be their mothers, and there is even a smattering of infants and toddlers here.

  My God, if you could get pregnant by osmosis or by the sheer fact you’re near so many excepting women, then my odds are good to turn this baby train around. Not that Noah hasn’t provided me with ample opportunities.

  And making love with a condom? Noah is going to roll his eyes when he finds out the truth. I’m just thankful he’s fallen for my little prophylactic solution. But, something tells me that will be his first question out of the gate for the good doctor.

  Hey? I wonder if I can work something out with Dr. Barnette? I can explain the situation to her and in exchange for a few wink-wink yes, your baby is doing fine sentiments, I’ll provide her wit
h baked goods for life. Who in their right mind can turn down freshly made cinnamon rolls delivered straight to their office each morning for the next fifty years? I think I might actually have a deal on my hands.

  Noah signs us in, and we take a seat next to a large aquarium filled with tropical fish illuminated under a black light.

  “Guess what?” I try to take my mind off my impending doom. “That fortune-teller last night told me she heard Cressida threaten to kill Larson the night of the murder.”

  Noah frowns. “I know that, Lottie. You told Everett and me as we were leaving.” His dimples dig in deep, and an entire herd of women sigh at the sight.

  I do a quick visual sweep of the vicinity and spot three different women—at various stages of belly distention all ogling my foxy husband. One of the girls is biting down on her lower lip so hard I swear blood is about to spurt all over the place. God forbid I bring both Noah and Everett to this place. It would bring a whole new meaning to the phrase baby boom. Lord knows this place is rampant with hormones.

  “Lottie”—Noah whispers sweetly—“I know you’re nervous. I can sense it. Don’t worry. We’re in this together. If I could do this for you, believe me, I would.”

  “You would be a sight in labor,” I tease.

  “Well, you won’t be. You’ll be just fine, and I’ll be right there making sure you have whatever you need.”

  “Thank you.” I blow out a hard breath. “Any leads on Isabelle’s killer?”

  “Funny you should ask. I just got the carpet filaments’ report back from forensics. I had it sent out to a specialist lab back in Ohio that I used to work with.”

  “What did you find out?” My adrenaline spikes for a far better reason than the fact I’m about to get caught in the lie of a lifetime.

  “You were right. There were two different blood types identified. One of them belonged to Isabelle, the other—I’m assuming it belongs to the killer.”

  “Noah, how could the crime lab have missed that the first time?”

  “Isabelle Rosenberg was worth a lot of money. I’m betting whoever did this might have run in the same social circles. They could have paid the right people off.”

  “Oh my goodness. This is incredible. What now?”

  “I’ll try to see if I can trace the DNA.”

  A nurse pokes her head out of the door next to the reception counter.

  “Lottie Lemon?” She looks around at the crowd.

  “Oh God.” I try my best to sink in my seat, but Noah is quick to eject me out of it.

  “Come on. I’ll go in with you.”

  That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

  The nurse, a shorter woman with a full round face and a tiny tear-shaped dimple in the cleft of her chin, asks us to follow her back. She weighs me on a scale, and I cringe when I see the number.

  “Holy Yule logs!” I cry out. “I’ve gained ten pounds!”

  The nurse laughs, as does Noah.

  She shakes her head. “It’s the holidays. Plus, you’re probably hungrier than usual.”

  Noah nods. “You are eating for two.”

  “More like I’m stress eating.”

  It’s true. As soon as I step into the bakery in the morning, I’m popping fresh baked croissants into my mouth, donuts and cronuts and candy cane brownies by the dozens.

  It’s been a caloric Rumspringa ever since this farce began. God knows what will happen to me if I ever am with child one day. I will be. My grandma Nell came back from the dead and told me so herself just last summer.

  Hey? I wonder if this fake baby business is what she meant? In that case, my future as a mother is entirely up in the air.

  The nurse plucks a clear plastic cup from the counter and writes Lemon across the top.

  “Go ahead and leave a sample.” She motions to the closed door behind me. “Just leave the cup in the window next to the sink. I’ll have your husband waiting for you in room two.”

  “A sample of what?” Hair? Blood? Eyeballs? My every nerve is set on edge at what might be asked of me next.

  She chortles as if it were hilarious, and that dimple on her chin looks as if it’s laughing, too.

  “Urine, sweetheart. Just a bit will do. Come, come.” She beckons Noah along, and soon they’ve disappeared down the elongated hall.

  Urine?

  Holy mother of God! I don’t have pregnant urine to give these people! I’m going to be called out on the mat before the doctor ever comes into the room.

  A rather bloated brunette comes out of the waiting room, cinching her purse over her shoulder. Her stomach is protruding straight ahead as if she tucked a watermelon under her shirt, and for some reason, I’ve got it in my head that she’s the answer to all my rather infertile problems.

  “Excuse me?” I tiptoe over, holding out my cup like a beggar about to ask for gold coins. “Would you mind sparing a few ounces of bodily fluids? I bet that baby is sitting right over your bladder. I can tell by the look on your face that you’ve got to go. And me? The well is sort of dry at the moment, so if you do me this one tiny favor I will be forever indebted to you.”

  “No way.” She frowns down at the cup in my hand. “That’s not exactly ethical.”

  She tries to leave, and I’m quick to block her.

  “What does ethics have to do with any of this?” I quickly examine her tiny delicate features as they begin to harden with what looks to be rage. “Look, I own the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery down on Main Street. I bet you’ve got quite a few cakes in your future. I’ll bake them all for free. They can be as elaborate as you want. I’m even looking into ceiling installations. My bakery is very avant-garde.”

  “No.” She tries to zig just as I zag. “Hey—I don’t know what street junk you’re on, but it’s not my fault you’re about fail a drug test. That’s on you.” She takes off in a huff.

  “A drug test? They’re testing for drugs, too?” This is horrible. Although that’s one test I’d totally ace.

  A couple emerges from one of the rooms, and I recognize that caramel-haired woman laughing it up with her husband who just so happens to be wearing his khakis from the firehouse.

  “Lainey!” I spit my sister’s name out. “This is a miracle. You’re coming with me.”

  “Lottie?” Both Lainey and Forest look frightened for me. As they should.

  “Oh my God.” Lainey swats me on the arm. “What are you doing here?”

  Forest shakes his head. “You’re taking this way too far, Lottie.”

  “Oh, don’t you judge me. If Lainey were on the cusp of falling back into a coma, you’d fake a pregnancy, too.” I drag my sister into the bathroom and demand she pee in that cup.

  Lainey begrudgingly obliges, but only after I promise to supply her with a fresh box of treats each morning, delivered special to the library. A small price to pay to maintain my lying dignity until my next untimely appointment.

  Lainey all but gives me the finger as she hauls Forest out of there, and I meet up with Noah in room two.

  The doctor finally makes her dreaded appearance.

  Dr. Barnette is a shockingly beautiful brunette with a toothy smile and bright blue eyes.

  We do a brief getting to know you conversation, and she’s more than delighted to find out that Noah is a homicide detective and I’m the town baker.

  “My sister just picked up a cake from your bakery last week.” She tells me with a knowing smile. “It was for our mother’s eightieth birthday, and it was amazing. I’ll have to stop by and load up on goodies for the holidays.”

  “You should do so quickly. We sell out of just about everything this time of year.” Including our sanity.

  She bucks with a laugh as she reviews the computer monitor before her. “It looks like your urine sample is great. The numbers are right where they need to be. Let’s have you undress and we’ll do a quick look around. It’ll just take a second.”

  “What?” I hop backward as if my feet had suddenly morphed into pogo sticks
. “I’m very shy. I’m af-f-fraid I won’t be able to do that,” I stammer out the words without meaning to, but in truth, it adds to the effect.

  “I can leave the room,” Noah offers.

  Dr. Barnette nods my way as if to say the ball is in my court.

  “No, don’t leave. I mean, I think I should leave the room.” A nervous bout of laughter bubbles from me. “I think I’m going to be sick.” In the mother of all ironies, it happens to be true.

  Dr. Barnette’s phone pings, and she frown down at it.

  “Don’t worry about it, Lottie. I’ve got a woman in labor across the street I need to tend to so I won’t have time to finish the exam. But like I said, your numbers look great, and judging by the fact you’re nauseous, I think you’re doing just fine. I’ll see you both in exactly a month. We’ll do the exam then. I might even throw in an ultrasound for you and let you listen to the baby’s heartbeat. If you want to come in sooner, I can work that in as well. Have a merry Christmas,” she calls out as she leaves the room, and both Noah and I echo the sentiment.

  Noah wraps his arms around me. “Hey? You’re shivering. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “It was ten times worse.” I bury my face in his chest and lose it. I sob like there’s no tomorrow, and there shouldn’t be for a liar like me.

  Noah drives us back to Country Cottage Road, and I spot the lights on in my home. I bet Everett is there feeding the cats. He’s been doing that for me more often than not. It’s a perfect time for me to tell him to back off the Canelli kid he’s about to send up the river.

  Noah, Everett, and I all happen to live on the same street. Noah lived here first, then last year I moved in across the street, and Everett moved in next door to me. It’s an arrangement that’s been quite nice right up until I became a world-class liar. I’m sure once Noah figures out the truth, his cute little cabin will be vacated before I can say I’m sorry.

  I tell Noah that I want to change and take a quick bath, and he walks me to the door before taking off across the street to let Toby out.

  Everett will have to listen to me. It’s for his own safety.