Chapter 27
Lottie
“This is absolutely gorgeous,” Evie says, leaning over the railing of the Lucky Lemon, our fifty-four-foot cruiser yacht that Everett bought two years ago and named after me, which still makes my heart do a little flip every time I think about it.
“It really is,” I agree, taking in the view of Honey Lake spread out before us with its shimmering water, towering pines, and enough charm to make you forget murder is practically a local pastime.
We’re out on the water on what has to be one of the most beautiful summer days Vermont has ever managed to produce.
The sky is that perfect shade of blue that makes you feel like you’ve wandered into a painting, and the lake is so calm it could pass for glass.
Evergreens flank one side of the shore, their dark needles practically glowing in the sunlight.
On the other side sit the expensive lake houses, massive estates with private docks and manicured lawns that cost more to maintain than my entire bakery clears in a year.
If I squint hard enough, I can make out Main Street in the distance, winding down toward my sweet little bakery.
The Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery. My pride and joy.
Currently being run by Suze, Lily, and Effie while I’m out here pretending with my whole body that I’m not actively investigating a murder.
Mom has the boys. The second she heard we were headed to the lake, she practically hijacked them.
To hear her tell it, exposing the boys to direct sunlight ranks somewhere between reckless endangerment and a hate crime.
She’s convinced their delicate baby skin will spontaneously combust if it spends more than five minutes outdoors, so she’s keeping them tucked inside the B&B with the curtains drawn and the air conditioning blasting hard enough to hang meat.
But Lyla Nell, Evie, Ava, and Olivia have ventured out with Everett and me.
And, well, Carlotta has crashed the party too.
Come to think of it, that’s basically Carlotta’s full-time vocation.
Professional party crasher. It isn’t just what she does, it’s who she is at a cellular level.
If there’s a gathering, a celebration, or even just two people standing a touch too close together, Carlotta will materialize as if she’s been summoned by the sheer gravitational pull of social activity.
Everyone on the boat is sporting swimsuits as we do our level best to catch some rays.
It’s gloriously hot out, the sort of heat that makes you want to dive into the water and seriously consider staying down there.
Sunglasses and hats are mandatory, and coconut-scented sunscreen has been applied liberally.
I made sure of that myself, especially with Lyla Nell’s fair skin, because I refuse to give my mother the satisfaction of being right about the combustion thing.
Lyla Nell is currently sitting cross-legged on the deck, feeding Peanut actual peanuts. The cute, not-so-little elephant floats beside her, munching away in bliss, and Lyla Nell has graciously invited Ava and Olivia to help.
“Here, Peanuts!” Lyla Nell says, holding one out to Ava. “You feed her!”
Ava extends the peanut, and it vanishes into thin air. Her eyes go wide. “Did you see that?”
Olivia leans in. “How does she do that?”
“Magic!” Lyla Nell declares.
Evie catches my eye, and I shrug. What am I supposed to say? Oh, it’s not magic, sweetie—it’s just a deceased elephant with a snack habit and a flair for supernatural disappearances. That’s not a conversation I’m prepared to have with two thirteen-year-olds before lunch.
And since Ava and Olivia are with us, Pancake and Waffles are inevitably with us too.
But instead of being crammed into those bubble backpacks, which I’m fairly certain violate some kind of feline legal rights, I sprang for a cat pack-and-play with a zippered net ceiling.
The cats look more comfortable than they’ve been all week.
Pancake is napping in a patch of sunlight, and Waffles is grooming himself with the serenity of a creature who has never once paid a bill. How I long to be that relaxed.
Carlotta sprawls across one of the lounge chairs in a leopard-print bikini that should be illegal in at least three states and a federal territory.
“This is the life, Lot Lot. We should do this every day.”
“We’d never get anything done,” I point out.
“Exactly.”
Everett is at the helm, steering us toward a quieter stretch of the lake, and he looks relaxed in a way I haven’t seen from him all week.
His dark hair is mussed from the breeze, his sunglasses are perched low, and he’s wearing swim trunks and a white T-shirt that has no business looking that good on a man who spends his days in a robe banging a gavel.
Naturally, I brought desserts from the bakery.
Vegan brownies, lemon bars, and those coconut macaroons Ava and Olivia can’t seem to leave alone.
We picked up lunch from the deli too. Sandwiches, pasta salad, fruit, and enough chips to keep Carlotta occupied for at least fifteen minutes.
Most of it vegan, in keeping with the week’s theme.
Without warning, Ava and Olivia launch into that secret language of theirs and I swear it sounds like they’re gargling a fistful of marbles.
“Ermergerd, ders serch a gerd derg!” Ava says.
“I nerr, rerght?” Olivia replies.
Everett leans toward me. Thankfully, we’re far enough away that the twins can’t hear us. “What’s going on?”
“This is what I’ve been telling you about,” I say. “They’ve been speaking this secret language all week.”
Everett frowns. “It sounds like gibberish.”
Carlotta sits up. “Maybe they should have their heads examined. That’s what happens to adults who start talking gibberish.”
I shoot her a look. “You’re well overdue to have your head examined. You’ve been speaking gibberish for as long as I’ve known you. And with Sexy here, no less.” I gesture to Everett.
Carlotta grins. “Sexy loves my gibberish. Don’t you, Sexy?”
Everett sighs. “I plead the Fifth.”
Evie comes over with a laugh caught in her throat. “I could totally hear you guys.”
“Hear what?” I ask.
“You’re talking about Ava and Olivia,” Evie says. “Mom, they’re speaking Ermergerd!”
I blink. “They’re speaking what?”
“Ermergerd! It’s born from a meme. I totally know it!” Evie looks delighted. “It’s basically the Ermergerd meme speak. You know, overcaffeinated, super excited pronunciation. ‘Oh my god’ becomes ‘Ermergerd.’ ‘I love books’ becomes ‘I lerv berks.’ It’s practically its own language now.”
I take a moment to stare at her. “You’re telling me they’ve been speaking some meme language?”
“Exactly.”
Everett looks twice as baffled. “That’s a real thing?”
“It’s the internet, Dad,” Evie says. “Everything is a real thing.”
Evie calls the twins and Lyla Nell over. “Hey, girls! Come here for a sec!”
The twins exchange a glance and wander over, looking curious.
“So,” Evie says, grinning. “I know what you’ve been speaking.”
Ava’s eyes widen. “You do?”
“Yep. Ermergerd, right?”
The twins look absolutely thrilled that someone has finally cracked their code.
“You speak Ermergerd?” Ava asks with her eyes wide.
“Fluently,” Evie says.
And then they’re off, chattering away in this ridiculous overcaffeinated language that sounds like someone swallowed a dictionary and is attempting to return it one mangled syllable at a time.
“Ermergerd, Ervie, yer ser cerl!” Olivia says.
“I nerr, rerght? Ders serch a gerd bert!” Evie replies.
Lyla Nell, because of course she does, picks it up on the spot. “Ermergerd!” she shrieks. “Pernerts!”
Carlotta watches the whole production with the focus of a woman scouting new material. “I want in on this. Teach me.”
Within ten minutes, Carlotta and Lyla Nell are both fluent, which tells you everything you need to know about the intellectual bar for entry.
Carlotta leans my way. “Lert Lert, yer ser prerdy terday!”
I have no idea what she just said, but I’m fairly certain it was inappropriate. With Carlotta, that’s less a guess than a working assumption.
Everett looks at me, then at the girls, then back at me. “We’re officially outnumbered.”
“We’ve been outnumbered since the twins arrived,” I mutter.
I glance at Ava and Olivia, who’ve drifted to the other side of the deck to ogle the lake houses. Once they’re safely out of earshot, I lean toward Everett. “Tomorrow is the last day of the circus,” I say quietly.
Carlotta snorts. “Which circus? The one with the tent, or the one you’ve been living through all week with the Trickster Twins?”
I make a face. “Both, honestly. But the one without the tent ends on Sunday.” I glance at Everett. “Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I happen to be in complete agreement.”
I sigh. “Time is running out to catch a killer before they get away with murder.”
And with Suze still parked at the top of the suspect list, I have until Saturday night to clear my sort-of-mother-in-law of murder, which feels like a generous amount of time right up until I remember I’ll be doing it around two thirteen-year-olds, a toddler, and Carlotta.
Suddenly the murder feels like the easy part.