Yule Log Eulogy

by Addison Moore

  The Jolly Holly Tree Lot is ten times more festive than it has been all month. It’s the night of the big holiday charity event, and every tree under the big tent has been decorated to the hilt in some delightful theme—under the sea, baking, angels. There’s even a tree decorated with those single serving cereal boxes, and Noah has already put a bid on that one. There are beautiful women dressed as elves, and Santa and Mrs. Claus are here getting their pictures taken with everyone. There’s even a herd of very much alive reindeer in the back where the kids can ride them and have their pictures taken with them.

  A large banner spans the length of the tent that reads Welcome to the annual Honey Hollow Christmas Party and Tree Auction! Every penny earned from the auction goes directly to the children’s hospital. Bid generously and win a beautifully decorated tree!

  Keelie and I head over to the dessert table with our arms laden down with platters in an effort to refresh it one more time.

  “So Everett is really all right?” Keelie looks almost afraid to ask.

  “Apparently. Noah and I took him straight to the hospital. He said he fainted”—I say fainted in air quotes—“but he had a nice goose egg on the back of his head. Someone hit him with a club or something.”

  “The Canellis?” she whispers, shooting a terrified glance to the burgeoning crowd. I spot Detective Ivy Fairbanks. My half-sisters are in the mix, too, but thankfully, there’s not a Canelli in sight.

  I give a quick nod. I didn’t tell Keelie the whole Canelli terrible truth, but I told her enough to let her know Everett was being pressured to go easy on Canelli in his courtroom.

  Keelie sets down the tray of gingerbread men and rubs her hands together. “Please tell your father that next year’s holiday charity event should be right back at the Evergreen Manor where it belongs. It’s freezing out here!”

  “I will.” I wrinkle my nose. “And is it weird that I’m actually not put off by the fact Mayor Nash is my dad?”

  “Oh, Lottie.” She pulls me in, and I’m quickly buried in her thick blonde curls. “Joseph Lemon will always be your daddy. I didn’t mean to even hint that he’s replaceable.”

  “I know, I know. If it wasn’t for that kind man, I would probably still be on the floor of the Honey Hollow Fire department, squirming and naked.”

  Keelie bucks with a laugh. “I think someone would have noticed by now—like Noah or Everett. Those men seem to have their internal compass set your way. You’re true north, Lottie, and don’t you forget it.” She grimaces and grabs ahold of her tummy.

  “Oh no! Are you feeling sick again?” All week Keelie has been feeling the aftereffects of a bad burrito. Leave it to Bear to take Keelie to one of those experimental Asian fusion places that serves a unique brand of Tex Mex. I tried telling them there was no such thing, but no one listens to me.

  “I’m fine. I just need some water. I’ll be right back.”

  She takes off just as Meg and Lainey head this way.

  Meg leans in, her ice blue eyes shining like stars against the dark backdrop of the sky. “My girls are here tonight. It’s their last night in town, and I’ve convinced them to bid on a tree. If they get lucky, they said they’d donate it to the ghosts at the B&B. They really have fallen in love. Who knew our mother would be lucky enough to live with the dead?”

  Lainey growls, “And who knew our sister would be unlucky enough to find them.” She juts her head my way. “What do you think, Lottie? Are you going to stumble upon another dead body tonight? It’s always one of these heavily populated social gatherings that the killers seem to favor.”

  Meg shakes her head. “That’s not how it works. Lot has to find the killer before she can move on to the next body. Isn’t that right?” She smacks me on the shoulder. “How’s the ruse going? Rumor has it, you’ve snowed Fox under better than that last storm we had. Hook said Noah was ear-to-ear smiles talking about that imaginary kid of yours.”

  A groan comes from me. “I just hate that everyone is in on the fact it’s all a lie—with the exception of Noah, of course.”

  Lainey offers a forlorn smile. “If it makes you feel better, I kind of like the idea of sharing my pregnancy with you, even if it is a sham.”

  “Very funny.” I spot Carlotta and her two dark-haired accomplices in flower shop crime. Okay, so I could easily be counted in that number, but that’s not the point. “I’ll be right back.” I head over to the back, near a tree decorated with gift cards.

  “Hello, girls,” I say it curt, and they startle before turning my way. “Don’t even think of swiping a thing off this tree. None of the gift cards have been activated yet.”

  “Aw, shoot.” Cat pulls a fistful out of her purse and tosses them back at the evergreen. “What’s the fun of stealing if there’s nothing of value here to steal?”

  Connie sets her eyes on something or someone behind me and looks as if she’s about to pounce. “Come to Mama, hot stuff.”

  I turn to see the hot stuff, which she speaks of, and am pleasantly surprised to see Noah.

  “It’s your future arresting officer,” I tease.

  “He was my past arresting officer, too. The redhead took me in. He booked me.”

  The redhead would be Detective Ivy Fairbanks. I’ve seen her slinking around the premises. But the crowd is so unreasonably thick now, it’s impossible to see more than five feet in front of you.

  “Sorry, ladies, that one is taken. In fact, he’s all mine.” I make my way over and wrap my arms around his steely chest. I pull back and look at him up and down. Something is missing. “Noah, where’s your cane?”

  “In the car. The physical therapist said I was strong enough to go without it. But—if I got tired, I was told to use it. Guess what?” He lands a heated kiss just shy of my ear. “I’m not in the least bit tired. In fact, I’ve got energy that could go on for hours and hours and hours.”

  “I’m guessing I’ll be at your place tonight. I’m there so often I think it’s time to hang up a stocking. I’d hate to have Santa miss me.” I bat my lashes up at him, trying my best to seduce him.

  His lips curl as his chest thunders with a dry laugh. Noah blinks back. “I almost forgot to tell you. There was a big break in the case of the cursed heiress.”

  “No kidding? What’s that?”

  “Remember me telling you I was inputting the carpet fiber with the blood on it into a DNA database? I got a one hundred percent match.”

  “What? Noah, that’s huge. Who is it?”

  Noah closes his eyes a moment. “It was Larson.” He shrugs.

  “Larson?” I take a step back, trying to grasp this information. “You think she killed her own mother? I mean, she was a bad egg, but that’s going a bit too far.”

  “I don’t know. But I might go as far as thinking maybe she was trying to stop whoever did it. I mean, everything is certainly a possibility.”

  “In other words, we’re no closer than we were before in solving this crime.”

  Cormack scuttles up, bundled from head to toe in what I’m hoping isn’t real fur. But it looks supple and soft and a little too realistic for me to infer otherwise.

  “Noah, you have to come quick,” Cormack pants it out in one quick breath. “Daddy has something he wants to show you.”

  I spot Esmerelda and Kitty sans their physic getups by a tree festooned in Halloween décor.

  “Go ahead.” I shake my head at Noah. “Just whatever you do, don’t get into a moving vehicle with her.”

  We part ways, and I head to the girls by the haunted looking tree.

  “Merry Christmas,” I say, trying to sound unassumingly chipper. “Or should I say boo?” I tease and they both warm up with a laugh.

  “Hello, Lottie.” Esmeralda buries her gloved hands into her long black parka. Both sisters’ yellow-green eyes give off an unearthly glow tonight. “See anything you like?”

  “I like everything, but unfortunately, I’d go broke bidding on it all so I’m opting out. I actually provided the
desserts for the evening. So I guess you could say I’m working. Speaking of which, you girls sure are in an interesting line of work. Will you be reading any cards for Mr. and Mrs. Claus? Or prophesying over what fabulous gifts your rich friends might find under the tree this year? Seeing the dead perhaps?”

  They share a laugh, and Kitty wipes a tear from her eye.

  “Come on, Lottie. You seem down-to-earth. You must know we can no more see the dead than you can.”

  I grimace without meaning to. Of course, I can see the dead, but I’m not the killer in this equation.

  Kitty shrugs. “We’re fakes and we admit it. Only our fabulously wealthy friends refuse to believe it.”

  Esmeralda nods. “It’s true. People like that only see and hear what they want. That’s how they control the narrative in their lives. And, believe me, they’re not our friends.”

  “Really? But you grew up together.” A thought comes to me. “I mean, your mother worked at the Rosenberg mansion. You must have spent some time there yourselves.”

  Kitty sticks her finger down her throat and pretends to gag. “Too much time.”

  “Hey? You weren’t there the night Larson’s mother was killed, were you?”

  The sisters exchange a brief look.

  Esmeralda nods. “It was late afternoon. Larson was having some all-day pool party. She felt obligated to invite us, and we hated every minute of it.”

  “Oh, wow. Did you see anything that was suspicious? I know it’s a cold case, but rumor has it, both Ella and Larson might have seen what happened.”

  Kitty gives a nervous glance around. “We don’t really like to talk about that day.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. I know all about it. I know that Isabelle was having an affair with Mr. Bentley—Cressida’s father.” Hey? Maybe it was Cressida’s mother who did her in? I blink back to life as that conversation I had with Charlie comes back to me. It wasn’t Isabelle sleeping with Mr. Bentley. It was Mr. Rosenberg sleeping with Mrs. Bentley. Honestly, who could keep this gossip train straight?

  Esmeralda shakes her head. “It wasn’t Mr. Bentley—the affair. She was sleeping with a man by the name of Bowen Bradshaw.”

  “Bowen Bradshaw?” I shake my head, confused. The name just seemed to jump out of left field, and the worst part is, it takes away Cressida’s clear-cut motive.

  I’m about to ask who he is when the sisters excuse themselves and take off to greet some of their friends—genuine friends, I’m assuming.

  I spot Tilly having a rather lively conversation with my mother and a full-blown panic grips me.

  Tilly is the acquisition editor of all things spicy—and my mother, the budding author, is probably hitting her up for a sale. I have to stop this raunchy runaway train.

  “Oh, Lottie, great news!” Mom squeezes me by the arms so tight it feels as if I’m about to be ejected out of my parka. “Matilda here has agreed to take a look at my latest manuscript. Isn’t that great? I’m going to be a published author! I have to tell your sisters. I have to tell Chrissy and Topper and Carlotta and Harry.” She takes off, mumbling to herself.

  “There she goes, living the dream.” I sigh so hard a plume of white fog expels from me. “You need to kill her dream, Tilly. I’ll give you free baked goods for a year if you do it, too.”

  She chortles a laugh. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be ethical. I plan on giving her a fair shake.”

  “Well, a word of warning. Her manuscript is filled with dark, kinky secrets.”

  “Please. With me and my friends? I bet they don’t hold a candle to them.”

  “Maybe so.” I bite down on my lip. “What’s the juiciest secret your friends have got? And I’ll let you know if it’s even remotely close.”

  She tips her head back, and her skin glows a deep tan despite the fact it’s winter.

  She leans in. “Two of my friends were sisters, and only one of them knew about it.”

  “What? That sounds like the riddle of the sphinx. Who are they?”

  “Larson and—” She shakes her head. “I can’t out her. She’s gone this long not telling anyone. I don’t think it’s my place.”

  “You mean Mr. Rosenberg had an affair, too?” I blurt out that last word without meaning to because, of course, I already know he did.

  Her chest bounces. “He’s pretty notorious that way. The weird thing is, both women were pregnant at the same time. My friend found out from her mother about six and a half years ago. It really set her off.”

  “That’s about the time Mrs. Rosenberg died.” I shake my head. “You don’t think that’s related, do you?”

  She turns her head slowly to the left, and I follow her gaze to where Cressida, Ella, Charlie, and Buffy are standing carrying on a conversation of their own.

  “It is. Let’s just say that Isabelle found out the same day that my friend did. And they both acted out in their own different ways—poor Mrs. Rosenberg paid the price, all right.”

  “It’s one of them,” I say to myself. “Could she be tied to the killing of Mrs. Rosenberg?” And then it hits me like a ton of cheating bricks, and I close my eyes for a moment. “Isabelle was cheating on her husband. Of course. Was she sleeping with the girl’s father? Some sort of act of revenge against both her husband and the girl’s mother?”

  She inches back. “You’re good. You should look into becoming a detective or something.”

  Buffy squeals once she spots Tilly and waves her over.

  “I’d better go. Forget those things I told you. Just silly gossip, you know?”

  “Right,” I say as I watch the girls in the crowd in front of me.

  A pair of warm hands glides around my waist from behind, but judging by the spiced cologne, they don’t belong to my supposed husband. They belong to a very sexy neighbor of mine.

  “Everett, can I ask you a question?”

  “Anything,” he whispers hot into my ear.

  “Do you know a man by the name of Bowen Bradshaw?”

  Everett tucks his lips to my ear once again and he tells me everything he knows about him.

  And just like that, I think I might know who the mystery sister is.

  I think it’s time to corner a certain socialite—and maybe shed a little light on a murder or two as well.

  Chapter 19

  “Cressida?” I call out as she heads toward the petting zoo filled with reindeer. And not too surprisingly, Rudolph is among the herd. “Can I speak with you for a moment?”

  She turns and offers me that bored slash angry look she seems to be perfecting around me.

  “Do you realize, you’re the reason Essex refuses to entertain me in his bed?” It comes out accusingly—and shockingly as if she were berating me for it. Boy, it takes a talent to speak to someone that way. I wonder if that’s something they teach them in boarding school? I suppose I can always ask my half-sisters. They have firsthand experience with that behavior themselves.

  “I’m not really.” I cringe. “I’m sort of married to someone else at the moment.”

  “What?” Her face lights up at the thought, and then just as quickly it melts to nothing. “But he just had a birthday last month. He’s the oldest he can possibly be to qualify. A few more weeks and it will be too late. The deadline is so close you could touch it.” She looks mildly thrilled and terrified. “But it’s not New Year’s yet. There’s still time.” She shakes her head, mumbling to herself about a wedding dress like a madwoman.

  “Don’t make me slap you. What are you talking about?”

  Cressida makes a face my way. “Oh, come on. Everyone knows the Baxter fortune rides on Essex getting married by the year’s end.”

  “What are you talking about? His mother is the wealthy one.”

  She shrugs. “Not really. His father descends straight from Andrew Carmichael himself.”

  “The great steel mill owner, Andrew Carmichael?”

  She nods with a blank look on her face. “If Essex doesn’t marry by the new year, he forfeits
the fortune and it will be given straight to the government.”

  “The what?” I’m suddenly not too sure Cressida here has her story straight. But nonetheless it’s scary.

  “It’s not important.” She cranes her neck past me. Her sudden urge to pet the reindeer looks as if it’s fleeting. “What’s important is, I still have a week to become the first Mrs. Essex Baxter.” She wrinkles her nose. “His father wanted to make sure Essex got out of his womanizing phase and finally settled down to become the family man his father thought he was destined to be. It’s very important to our people that we maintain pure family lines. I’ll have to bear him a son first.” She pats her flat stomach, and I roll my eyes.

  Please. There’s no way I’m letting her near his baby maker.

  “It all makes sense.” I shake my head. “So that’s why he had this long running fake fiancée. And that must be why his mother is frantic. God, I wish I could have been there for him through this. How stressful this all must be.”

  “Not anymore.” She plucks off her white gloves, one finger at a time, like the villainess in some Disney cartoon. “I’ll handle things from here. Cressida Bentley—or should I say, Cressida Baxter will save the day. Would you look at that? I don’t even have to change my initials.”

  I step in front of her and block her path. “I want to apologize for accusing you of sending those flowers. You know, the black roses. It turns out, it was another girl who shares your initials who sent them, wasn’t it?”

  I would have confronted the other girl first if I found her, but Cressida fits the bill for now.

  Her mouth falls open as she looks back into the crowd, only I don’t think she’s looking for Everett anymore.

  “You’re right,” she whispers. “It was her.”

  “But why?” I shake my head.

  Cressida rolls her eyes. “It’s not my story to tell. She was angry, all right? She hated the woman, and she hated Larson. They were both so cruel to her, forever telling her she couldn’t do anything right. She snapped when she found out Isabelle was sleeping with her dad. She tried to warn her to stop.” She shakes her head as if she were warning me, too. “She even went as far as poisoning her tea that afternoon. She didn’t want to kill her. And she didn’t. It was just enough to make her look like an addict. She knew her dad would have dumped Isabelle if he got wind of the fact she was using. His brother overdosed. He wouldn’t have tolerated that behavior in anyone he cared about. And it would have worked, too, if she didn’t have that fit.” She straightens and her affect brightens as she locks onto someone in the crowd. Oh, look—there’s Essex now! Tootles. Wish me luck,” she cries out as she takes off.