Chapter 23
LOTTIE
Bunny Whitmore’s crunchy granola booth is booming as women flock to it like it’s offering the secret to eternal youth instead of overpriced tea that tastes like lawn clippings.
The scent of lavender blends with a honey-soaked heaven, with undertones of essential oils that are either therapeutic miracles or very expensive air fresheners, depending on who you ask.
The air carries the gentle sounds of festivalgoers discussing the healing properties of various herbs while children’s laughter echoes from nearby game booths, occasionally punctuated by someone winning a stuffed animal and shrieking with joy.
Bunny’s booth is a masterpiece of wellness marketing—beautifully arranged displays of raw honey still on the comb, essential oil bottles that catch the afternoon sunlight like tiny jewels, and enough herbal tinctures to stock a medieval apothecary.
And prominently displayed at the front of it all is that massive bouquet of gorgeous lavender foxgloves, sitting there with the innocent beauty of flowers that could kill you while looking absolutely stunning in the process.
A spray of blue stars materializes beside me, and Lenny appears, looking like he just got released from spectral prison.
“Well, that was entertaining,” he announces with dry amusement as if he just witnessed something memorable. “I’ve seen wildebeest stampedes with more order than that Easter photo session. Though I have to admit, watching small humans declare war on a giant rabbit was oddly satisfying.”
“How did you escape the chaos?” I ask, genuinely curious about his supernatural navigation skills.
“Carefully,” he replies with a little rumble. “I must confess, I’ve been trying to steer clear of Carlotta ever since last night when she offered to teach me about ‘interspecies tantric energy healing.’ I’m dead, not desperate.”
My mouth falls open. Sometimes, Carlotta just goes too far. On second thought, that’s all the time.
“I can see why you’d try to avoid her,” I tell him. “Most men do—across species.”
“Exactly. Even in the afterlife, some experiences are too terrifying to contemplate.”
I approach Bunny’s booth with genuine appreciation for the care she’s put into her display.
Whatever else she might be guilty of, the woman knows how to present wellness products with style—all flowing fabrics, strategically placed crystals, and lighting that makes everything look vaguely mystical.
It’s less health food store and more upscale spa that charges $200 for a facial.
“She’s good at presentation, I’ll give her that,” Lenny murmurs, circling the booth with the critical eye of someone evaluating prey. “Though the energy here feels... manufactured. Like she’s trying too hard to appear peaceful.”
I nod his way because I happen to agree.
“Bunny!” I call out with friendly enthusiasm, genuinely impressed by what I’m seeing. Although not so much by the deadly floral display. “This is absolutely beautiful! I had no idea you had so many amazing things.”
She looks up from explaining the benefits of some kind of herbal tincture to a customer, and her face lights up with pride. It’s clear she’s passionate about her work.
“Lottie! How wonderful to see you!” she beams, finishing with her customer before turning her full attention to me. “Thank you so much. I’ve been working on this collection for years. Everything here is either grown on my own property or sourced from sustainable organic farms.”
“This raw honey looks incredible,” I say, examining the golden combs with genuine interest. “I can think of ten different desserts I can make with this, and market them all with a tiny chunk of honeycomb on top to go with them. My customers would just eat that up, literally. Is this from local hives?”
“She’s warming up to you,” Lenny observes, watching Bunny’s body language shift from guarded to genuinely enthusiastic. “Good. Keep her talking about her products. People love discussing their passions. It makes them careless with their secrets.”
“You bet it is,” Bunny beams. “I work with three different beekeepers in the area,” she explains with a laugh. “Raw honey has so many healing properties—antimicrobial, anti-inflammatory, excellent for seasonal allergies. And the taste is just incomparable to anything you’d buy in a store.”
She offers me a small sample on a wooden stick, and as soon as it hits my lips, I can’t help but gasp.
“Wow,” I moan as it melts on my tongue. I have to admit, it’s the most delicious honey I’ve ever tasted—floral and complex with layers of flavor that make store-bought honey taste like sugar water.
And honestly, it’s as creamy as butter. “Oh my word, that’s amazing,” I tell her, giving credit where credit is due.
“No wonder people are willing to pay premium prices for the real thing.”
“Quality makes all the difference,” Bunny agrees as she hikes her brows. “Whether it’s honey, essential oils, or herbal remedies—when you use pure, natural ingredients, the results speak for themselves.”
“Speaking of beautiful natural ingredients,” I say, gesturing toward the stunning flower display, “those foxgloves are absolutely gorgeous. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such perfect specimens.”
Bunny takes one look at them, and her face glows with pride. “Thank you! I happen to grow flowers just like these in a special section of my garden dedicated to medicinal plants. Foxgloves have such a fascinating history in traditional medicine.”
“Really?” I ask, sort of stunned to hear it, although my heart is starting to beat a little faster. Ironic since those very flowers have the ability to stop it cold. “I’ve always thought they were just decorative flowers.”
“Oh no, they’re much more than that,” Bunny is quick to share her expertise. “Digitalis purpurea—that’s the scientific name—has been used for centuries to treat heart conditions. In fact, the modern heart medication digitalis is derived directly from foxglove plants.”
“How interesting,” I reply, keeping my voice casual despite the fact that my investigative instincts are now screaming at maximum volume. “I had no idea such a beautiful flower could be medicinal.” I’m well aware of how lethal they can be. But I leave that little tidbit out of this for now.
“The wrong dose makes the poison,” Bunny continues with a serious passion for the subject. “In tiny, carefully measured amounts, digitalis can help regulate heart rhythm and strengthen cardiac function. But in larger doses...” She trails off as she shoots a dark look into the crowd.
“In larger doses?” I prompt gently even though I know full well what the consequences can be, and she certainly does, too.
“Well, let’s just say foxglove isn’t a plant you want to experiment with casually,” she says with a slight chuckle. “The line between therapeutic and toxic is very narrow. That’s why traditional herbalists spent years learning proper dosages and applications.”
Lenny trots closer to me, his expression growing serious. “She knows exactly what she’s talking about, Lottie. That’s not casual knowledge—that’s the kind of expertise that comes from extensive study. The kind of knowledge that could prove deadly under the right circumstances.”
Or the wrong ones, as it were.
“You certainly seem to know a lot about it,” I tell her, watching for her reaction.
She waves a hand around at her herbal kingdom.
“I’ve made it my business to understand the plants I grow,” she says.
“Though these were actually gifted to me. Too many people think natural means harmless, but some of nature’s most beautiful creations are also the most dangerous.
Foxglove, oleander, castor beans—gorgeous plants that demand respect and knowledge. ”
I nod her way because I happen to know that all of them are just as lethal as the next.
“Have you ever used foxglove medicinally?” I ask, genuinely curious but secretly hoping for a confession.
“Oh goodness, no,” Bunny says quickly. “I leave that to trained professionals. I grow them primarily for their beauty, though I do dry the leaves for educational purposes. I teach workshops about identifying medicinal plants and understanding their properties.”
“Educational purposes,” I repeat slowly. “So you’d know how to extract the active compounds?”
Bunny’s expression shifts slightly, and I can see wariness creeping into her eyes. “I suppose I would, theoretically. But why are you asking?”
“Just curious about the process,” I say with what I hope sounds like innocent interest. The last thing I want is for a killer to think I’m onto them. “I had no idea there was so much science involved in herbal medicine.”
“There’s quite a lot, actually,” she agrees, though she’s definitely more guarded now. Her eyes narrow on me. “Which is why I always emphasize safety and proper education in my workshops.”
“Is that why you chose to use digitalis to poison your brother?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady despite my racing heart.
Bunny’s eyes widen a notch. “Why would I do that?”
Lenny belts out a roar, soft but menacing enough.
“A little birdie told me that you’ve been systematically trying to destroy Whitmore Chocolates,” I continue, stepping closer.
“Your wellness consultations specifically tell clients to avoid all Whitmore products. You wrote a book called Death in a Designer Wrapper, and their sales dropped thirty percent after it was published.”
“A little birdie named Gina, I suppose.” Bunny’s face pales, but I press on.
“That’s right. And she also told me that you’ve been spreading rumors about unethical labor practices, trying to convince their suppliers to drop them.
You even contacted their Madagascar vanilla supplier and lied about Duncan planning to switch to artificial flavoring just to cut costs.
That sounds like a nasty rumor in play.”
“That’s not—” Bunny starts, but I cut her off.