Chapter 34
Lottie
Ivy waves us off with a knowing look. “Go ahead. Enjoy the show. I’ve got this covered.”
And just like that, Noah, Everett, and I slip back into the audience as the lights dim for the grand finale.
We make our way to our seats, squeezing past the families and kids still working through popcorn and cotton candy left over from intermission. Everett slides in first, then me, then Noah, and we settle in just as the spotlight hits center ring.
The music swells, dramatic and sweeping, and Mayor Nash steps into the light wearing a ringmaster’s coat with tails and a top hat at least two sizes too big for him. He looks like a kindergartner who raided his father’s closet, and he could not possibly be more thrilled about it.
And right beside him, in a leopard-print sequined gown that obnoxiously catches every light in the tent, is Carlotta.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls!” Mayor Nash booms into the microphone. “Welcome to the grand finale of the Local Legends Circus Benefit!”
The crowd erupts in applause.
Carlotta plucks the microphone right out of his hand. “Folks, tonight has had everything! Juggling! Magic! A suspicious amount of spandex! And a murder solved backstage! Frankly, every other circus needs to step up its game.”
The crowd gasps, then gives a nervous laugh before breaking out into hushed whispers.
Mayor Nash retrieves the microphone. “She’s joking. Mostly.”
Carlotta winks at the audience. “But seriously, give it up for Honey Hollow’s very own Lottie Lemon, who just caught not one but two killers while wearing nothing more than a G-string and a couple of pasties.”
I’m still poured into the purple sequined jumpsuit my mother squeezed me into earlier, but Carlotta has never let a detail slow down a good story.
The spotlight swings toward me, and I duck my head as everyone around me claps and cheers. Noah grins. Everett just shakes his head.
“All right, all right,” Mayor Nash says, fighting to regain control. “Let’s get back to the show!”
And what a show it is.
A few more Honey Hollow legends take the stage. The Honey Hollow High marching band plays a rousing rendition of “Stars and Stripes Forever” while attempting a coordinated routine that involves significantly more tuba spins than any reasonable music teacher would sign off on.
A local dance troupe performs a contemporary piece that brings the audience to its feet.
Then Wiley attempts a magic trick that goes gloriously sideways when the rabbit he’s meant to pull from his hat stages a daring escape and bolts straight through the crowd, triggering absolute pandemonium.
And then the circus performers take over.
Poppy soars through the air on the trapeze, her red curls streaming behind her like flames, her body twisting in ways that make my stomach drop from the safety of my seat.
She’s graceful, fearless, and completely mesmerizing.
The crowd is on their feet, cheering every flip, every catch, every death-defying instant.
Lethal Lavinia steps into the ring next, her knives glinting under the spotlight.
She throws them with surgical precision, thunk, thunk, thunk, each one landing exactly where she aimed.
The crowd gasps with every release, and when she finishes, they explode into applause.
I can’t help noting she would have made a truly excellent murderer, and an obvious one at that which is probably why she didn’t do the deed.
And then come the animals.
The elephants lumber into the ring, their massive bodies moving with a grace that seems borrowed from creatures half their size. They rise onto their hind legs, balance on platforms, and play off the trainers in ways that pull a chorus of oohs and aahs out of the whole tent.
Peanut materializes beside me, watching the elephants with naked pride. “Now that’s how it’s done,” she says. “Look at them. Majestic. Professional. Not a single one of them would so much as step on a baker, I’ll have you know.”
“A fact I’m more than thankful for,” I whisper.
The tigers come out next, sleek and powerful, prowling the ring like they hold the deed to it. The lions follow, their manes glowing gold under the lights, their roars rolling through the tent and making every child in the audience squeal with delight.
And then the poodles.
Tiny, pink, fluffy, impeccably groomed poodles doing backflips and leaping through hoops while wearing tutus.
It’s absurd. It’s delightful. It’s everything a circus is supposed to be.
The clowns come tumbling in on unicycles, juggling flaming torches and squirting each other with water, and the crowd laughs hard enough to leave tears streaking down half the faces in the tent.
The grand finale ends with every performer in the ring at once, acrobats, animals, clowns, magicians, and the music climbs to a crescendo as confetti rains down from somewhere up in the dark.
Mayor Nash steps back into the spotlight. “Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes the final night of the Sterling and Sons Circus! Let’s hear it for the owner, Graham Sterling, and every last performer for bringing the magic to Honey Hollow and making this a week we won’t forget!”
The crowd rises, applauding and cheering, and the lights come up. And just like that, the circus has come to an end.
I’m dabbing tears from my eyes, partly from laughing, partly from something far more sober that I’m not prepared to name in a tent full of people, when Mom appears beside us with Wiley.
She’s got Ozzy, Wiley is holding Corbin, and Lyla Nell is perched on Wiley’s shoulders, waving a giant foam finger that reads CIRCUS LEGEND.
“Lottie Lemon!” Mom says, her eyes wide. “Did you really go and—”
“Yes,” I cut in. “I caught the killers. Milo and Celeste. They confessed to everything. It was chaotic, honestly. There was a chokehold, a metal pole, a fair amount of wrestling—”
My sisters materialize. Lainey and Meg trade a look, and then Charlie steps forward, her expression grave.
“That’s not the rumor we heard,” Charlie says.
I blink. “What?”
Everett clears his throat. “I caught wind of the rumor myself. I squashed it on sight. But I dearly hope it isn’t the one making the rounds.”
“What rumor?” I ask, my stomach already bracing for impact.
Mom leans in. “Someone out there is telling people your bakery uses boxed cake mixes.”
I suck in a breath so sharp I’m surprised I don’t inhale an elephant of the living, breathing variety.
“WHAT?” I shriek.
Lainey nods. “We heard it too. More than one person brought it up tonight.”
I look around wildly, hunting for the origin point of a slander this vile.
And then I see them.
Ava and Olivia.
Looking guilty as a pair of cats beside an empty fishbowl.
Everett walks over to the twins, his expression stern but level. “How are you going to make this right?”
Ava bites her lip. “I guess first, we’ll start with an apology.”
Everett nods. “That’s a good start.”
Olivia looks at me. “We’re really sorry, Lottie. We didn’t think it would spread this fast.”
I take a deep breath. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. After I’ve had some sleep. And possibly some cheesecake. The from-scratch kind, thank you very much.”
Everyone trades goodnights, and we drift toward the exits, the circus tent glowing pink and gold behind us as families pour out into the cool night air.
I glance back one more time at the big top, at the lights and the music and the lingering magic, and I think about how just a few weeks ago I had no clue a circus was even headed our way.
And now, one week after they sank the first tent pole into Honey Hollow soil, I’ve solved a murder, survived a chokehold, watched my stepdaughters perform under the big top, and somehow walked away with a rumor about boxed cake mixes circling my bakery like a buzzard.
But that’s Honey Hollow for you.
The circus may be leaving town. The chaos, on the other hand, has no plans to go anywhere.