Chapter 22
Lottie
I’m fuming as I drive Ava and Olivia back to the house, but I’m trying to hold it together.
Deep breaths. Count to ten. Remember they’re just children. Children who catfished a detective and nearly gave everyone in the bakery a heart attack with their red raspberry jelly stunt, but children nonetheless.
Carlotta rides shotgun because I can’t seem to shake her any more than a bad habit or a tax audit, and the girls are in the back seat, still covered in sticky red raspberry jelly because I refused to let them clean up at the bakery. Let them marinate in their choices for a while.
The second we step inside, Pancake and Waffles make it abundantly clear that the ride home exhausted every ounce of their goodwill.
They’re hissing with their backs arched and their tails puffed out like bottle brushes, glaring at Ava and Olivia as though they’re personally responsible for the downfall of civilization.
“What’s wrong with them?” Olivia asks, looking genuinely confused.
“They think you’re covered in blood,” I say, setting my purse down with more force than necessary.
“But we’re not,” Ava says.
“I know that. You know that. The cats do not know that, and frankly, the cats have better instincts than I’ve shown all week.”
Ava scoffs. “You’re still mad about that whole Noah dating site thing, aren’t you?”
“You bet your vegan heinie I am.”
Olivia throws her hands up. “We don’t know why you’re acting like this. It’s not like you’re married to him.”
I turn slowly. “Excuse me?”
“Noah,” Ava says. “You’re not married to Noah. So why do you even care about the dating profiles?”
“Because he’s Lyla Nell’s father,” I say, my voice tight around an entire river of words that can’t quite make their way out of my throat. “And he’s my friend. And the local homicide detective. But enough about me. You committed identity theft, which is a crime.”
“Geez, we were just having fun,” Olivia mutters, flopping onto the couch.
Carlotta snorts. “Fun? You two nearly gave Foxy a stroke. He had women sending him pictures that would make a sailor blush. Although I did get a few ideas about new poses. I’ve been wanting to switch up my repertoire for a while now.”
Ava grins. “Did he like them?”
“No!” I snap. At least I hope he didn’t. I refuse to investigate that particular question, because some things a woman is better off not knowing.
Carlotta leans against the counter, eyeing the girls warily. “You know what? I’m starting to think you two are genuinely terrifying. You’re like the Mischief Makers. The Chaos Cherubs. The Twin Terrors.”
Ava and Olivia exchange a look, then turn to Carlotta with matching expressions of betrayal.
“Cray Cray,” Ava says, her voice dripping with hurt. “We thought you were on our side.”
Carlotta shakes her head. “Oh no. No, no, no. I’m fun. I’m irresponsible. But you two? You’re something else entirely. You’re like if chaos had a baby with scheming, and then that baby grew up and got an MBA in revenge.”
“We’re not supervillains,” Olivia says.
“Yet,” Carlotta mutters. “Give it a week.”
Evie trots down the stairs, takes one look at Ava and Olivia covered in jelly and stops dead. “What happened?”
I rub my temples. “Long story.”
Evie crosses her arms. “Try me.”
I pull her aside and give her the abbreviated version, the shopping scam, the dating profiles, the red jelly stunt, and by the end of it, Evie is trying very hard not to laugh and losing the battle by a wide margin.
“Mom,” she says. “I can tell you need a break. Why don’t you run out for a bit? I’ll watch Ava and Olivia. You’ve been cooped up with way too many kids all week.”
I hesitate. “Are you sure?” A spike of adrenaline surges through me, and I’m conflicted, because I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be feeling this much elation at the prospect of escaping my own family.
“Positive. Go. Clear your head. Do something for yourself.”
A thought hits me. The circus. Poppy. I still need to talk to her, and honestly, getting out of this house sounds like a gift hand-delivered by the universe with a bow on top.
“You know what?” My voice hikes a notch. “I think I’ll take you up on that. I’ll stop by the circus to check on my booth, and on the way home I’ll pick up the kids from Glam Glam’s.”
Evie nods. “Perfect. We’ve got this.”
I turn to Ava and Olivia, who are now sitting on the couch looking entirely too innocent. “I’m stepping out for a while, and just so you know, Evie and Carlotta are in charge.”
Both girls slowly turn their heads in perfect unison and fix Carlotta with a stare that could freeze hell itself. Their expressions are blank. Dead. Like they’re looking through her instead of at her.
Carlotta yelps, an actual shriek of pure terror, and stumbles backward, nearly tripping over the coffee table.
“Why are you looking at me like that? Stop it! STOP LOOKING AT ME!” She grabs a throw pillow and holds it up like a shield before ducking behind the couch.
“I mean it! Whatever you’re planning, I’m not part of it! I have an alibi!”
I’m half convinced their heads are about to start spinning clean around.
Evie glances at the shopping bags piled near the door and freezes. “Wait. Are those from Serenity Luxe?”
“Yes,” I say wearily.
“Mom.” Evie’s mouth falls open. “Don’t tell me—”
“Ava and Olivia said they needed them for school.”
The girls skewer me with a look for ratting them out, and now I’m tempted to hide behind the couch right alongside Carlotta.
“How much did you spend?” Evie continues, prodding at the fact that I was clearly manipulated by two people who can’t legally drive.
“Three thousand dollars.”
Ava and Olivia grunt and growl my way, clearly not appreciating the fact that I’m detailing just one of the creative ways they chose to dismantle my finances this week.
Evie’s jaw drops. “Three thousand? Mom! They go to Evergreen Hall Prep! They wear uniforms!”
Ava and Olivia begin to giggle like mad, clearly proud of themselves.
Evie looks at them, incredulous. “I can’t believe you guys actually pulled that off. Let’s see the loot.” She darts over with glee as the girls jump into action, snatching up the myriad of bags I inadvertently dumped Lyla Nell’s college tuition into.
“Evie!” I protest.
But the girls are already pulling items out of the bags like they’re unwrapping Christmas presents—leggings in sunset ombre, midnight blue, and something called cosmic rose, sports bras with strappy backs and inspirational words stitched into the bands, matching jackets with thumbholes and hidden pockets, and enough athleisure to stock a small boutique.
They show off their haul one piece at a time, like they just won a shopping spree, and Evie is laughing and gasping and downright admiring all of the ridiculousness while Carlotta mutters something about the Twin Tornadoes and criminal masterminds in training.
She’s not wrong.
But I give up.
I grab the box of cookies I brought from the bakery and set it on the counter, a peace offering, or maybe just a bribe to keep them from burning the house down before I get back, then snatch my purse and head for the door.
“I’m going out,” I announce. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours. And I want you girls to behave. Absolutely no shenanigans while I’m away. Evie and Carlotta are in charge.”
I don’t wait for a response. I just walk out, close the door behind me, and breathe a sigh of relief so deep it feels like my lungs have been holding a grudge for days.
I get in the van, grip the steering wheel, and sit there for a moment.
I’ve dealt with killers. Con artists. Blackmailers. People who’ve committed actual murder.
But two thirteen-year-old girls might be the death of me yet.
At least catching a killer comes with a finish line and the occasional thank-you. This week offers neither.