Chapter 27 Lottie
LOTTIE
Relief settles over the festival like sunshine after a storm, the kind that makes everything feel possible again.
The air carries sugar-coated victory and chocolate-covered chaos, with just enough Vermont spring warmth to suggest that maybe, just maybe, the worst is behind us.
The lake sparkles under the afternoon sun while children’s laughter mingles with the distant sound of a brass band that’s somehow managed to improve their rendition of “Here Comes Peter Cottontail”—though that’s not saying much.
Pastel streamers flutter overhead like confetti, celebrating the fact that nobody else got murdered today, which is honestly becoming a rare achievement at Honey Hollow festivals.
The air thrums with the kind of joyful chaos that only comes when you combine Easter candy, small children, and the lingering adrenaline of a recently solved homicide.
I’m walking back toward the festival proper with my arms full of one very squirmy baby Ozzy, who’s decided that post-murder investigations are the perfect time to practice his lung capacity.
Everett has Corbin tucked against his chest, and Noah is carrying Lyla Nell, who’s chattering away about chocolate bunnies and “bad people” with the kind of matter-of-fact acceptance that suggests she’s getting way too comfortable with Honey Hollow’s crime rate.
“Mommy make bad people go bye-bye?” Lyla Nell asks, patting Noah’s cheek with sticky fingers that smell like cotton candy and possibly justice.
“Yes, sweetheart,” I tell her. “The bad people are going to have a very long time-out.”
“Like when I draw on the wall?” she asks with the kind of innocent logic that makes you wonder if toddlers might actually understand the criminal justice system better than most adults.
“Exactly like that,” Everett says, pressing a kiss to Corbin’s head. “Except their time-out involves orange jumpsuits and bars.”
“And probably terrible food,” Noah adds. “Prison cafeteria makes hospital food look gourmet.”
The festival spreads out before us in all its Easter glory—giant inflatable bunnies standing guard over vendor booths, children running around with faces painted like various woodland creatures, and enough chocolate being consumed to guarantee a sugar crash of epic proportions for the entire state of Vermont.
It’s the kind of scene that would be perfect for a greeting card if you ignored the fact that we just solved a brutal murder involving money laundering and lethal family betrayal.
“Lottie!” Lenny’s voice calls out, and I look around to see him materializing in a shower of bright blue stars to my right. “I wanted to say goodbye to my sweet princess before I left.”
He trots over with a regal stride despite the fact that he’s translucent and glowing a pale shade of blue.
“I’m afraid it’s time for me to head to the pride in the sky,” Lenny growls it out softly while giving Lyla Nell a gentle lick on the side of her face. She dissolves into giggles and starts clapping with the kind of pure joy that makes you remember why the world is worth saving.
“Lenny, my lion!” she shouts with delight. “Mine! All mine! Get in my Easter basket!”
We all burst into laughter, because honestly, we needed a touch of levity today.
“I would love to get in your Easter basket, little princess,” Lenny says, his voice warm with affection. “But I have somewhere else I need to go now.”
Just like that, he starts to float into the sky, his form becoming more translucent as he rises. “Goodbye, everyone. Happy Easter to all! He is Risen!”
“He is Risen indeed!” I shout back, and there’s something about the moment that makes my chest tight with emotion. Even Ozzy stops fussing long enough to wave a chubby hand at our departing lion, and I give a little gasp.
Oh no. I glance up at Everett, and he shoots me a horrified look.
“It was probably nothing,” I say. “He’s too little to wave.”
Everett nods a little too quickly. “He’s probably trying to reach for one of the balloons.”
Or he’s inherited my ability to see the dead. And if that’s true, at least Lyla Nell will have someone to talk to about the matter.
Lenny gives one final roar that sounds suspiciously like laughter before disappearing in a shower of blue stars that sparkle and fade like the world’s most beautiful fireworks display.
“Well,” I say, wiping the tears from my eyes. “That was definitely the most memorable Easter Sunday on record.”
“Lottie!” Mom’s voice calls out across the festival grounds, and I turn to see her approaching with Wiley in tow.
Wiley is decked out in full Easter regalia—bunny ears that are slightly crooked, a pink bow tie that clashes magnificently with his usual far-too-cool-for-school demeanor, and what appears to be a cotton tail pinned to his behind.
And right about now, he looks as if he’s questioning every life choice that led him to this moment.
“Glam Glam!” Lyla Nell shouts, holding up her fist toward Wiley for their traditional greeting.
He bumps her tiny knuckles with his own, and she dissolves into giggles again. “Wiley bunny! Funny bunny!”
“Yes, sweetheart,” he says with the long-suffering tone that comes from realizing patience is optional when dealing with chocolate-hungry children. “Wiley is a very funny bunny.”
“More like a very desperate bunny,” Carlotta says, appearing beside us with chocolate smeared across her chin and what appears to be Easter grass in her hair.
“Though I have to admit, the ears are working for you, Foxy Senior. Very distinguished. Very retired bartender who’s having a midlife crisis. ”
“I am not having a midlife crisis,” he protests, but his voice lacks conviction.
“Says the man wearing a cotton tail,” Everett points out with amusement.
Before anyone can respond, Mayor Nash waddles up wearing his official mayoral sash and looking like he’s been sampling the festival food with far too much fervor and leaving far too many stains on his dress shirt to prove it.
“Lottie!” he announces, slightly out of breath. “Congratulations on another job well done! The people of Honey Hollow sleep safer knowing you’re out there fighting crime and solving mysteries.”
“Thanks, Mayor Nash,” I reply. “Though I have to point out that the people of Honey Hollow might sleep even safer if we could go more than three months without a homicide.”
“Details.” He waves dismissively. “The important thing is that justice has been served. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go officiate the Easter egg hunt. My mayoral duties await.”
He starts to waddle away, then turns back with an afterthought. “Oh, and Lottie? Next time you’re about to confront armed killers, maybe give us a heads-up first? The sheriff’s department prefers to be involved in these things from the beginning.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I call after him, though we both know that’s probably not going to happen.
“Everett!” a breathless voice calls out, and we all turn to see Jolene Johnson running toward us with the kind of determination usually reserved for people chasing the last helicopter out of a disaster zone.
She’s wearing a skimpy pink bathing suit that seems to have been designed by someone who believes fabric is optional, and she’s beaming with a toothy grin.
“Your baby girl is covered from head to toe!” she announces triumphantly, gesturing toward the shoreline.
We all turn to look, and sure enough, Evie is huddled under a towel that’s large enough to form a tent around her entire body.
She looks like she’s been wrapped by someone who’s very familiar with the concept of total coverage—and oddly, I doubt that was Evie herself.
It’s more or less a foreign concept to her.
“How did you do that?” Everett asks, his voice filled with the kind of awe usually reserved for natural phenomena.
“I have my ways,” Jolene replies with a wink that suggests those ways might involve blackmail, bribery, or possibly witchcraft.
“In fact, I always get my way, too.” She leans closer to Everett and waves Noah closer with a flick of her finger—close enough to initiate a lioness-worthy growl from me.
“It turns out, Muffin Whitmore heard me lamenting about not being able to afford the fertility treatments I needed, and let’s just say she cut me a check so big I may never have to work another day in my life. ”
My mouth falls open. “She what?”
“She said she has no problem getting rid of some of her ex-husband’s dirty money,” Jolene says with a cheeky wink.
“Nothing like a murder investigation to make people generous with their checkbooks.” She looks between Noah and Everett with renewed interest. “Now, which one of you is going to lend me a hand, or another body part that will help me out in the baby department?”
“NO,” Noah and Everett say in perfect unison, and if I didn’t know better, there’s a slight panic in their eyes, the kind usually reserved for people who’ve just spotted a charging rhinoceros—who happens to be clad in hot pink.
“Now, boys,” Jolene says with a laugh. “Let’s not be hasty. I’m talking about a very lucrative business arrangement here.”
“We’re very flattered,” Noah says with a mournful smile, “but we’re going to have to respectfully decline.”
“Respectfully but firmly,” Everett adds, tightening his grip on Corbin as if Jolene might try to snatch him for genetic material.
Jolene sniffs the air as if she’s been personally insulted. “Your loss. I would have made beautiful babies with either of you.”
Her attention suddenly shifts to Wiley, who’s been watching this exchange with the kind of horrified fascination usually reserved for car wrecks.
“How about it, you handsome bunny, you?” she purrs, sidling up to him with predatory grace upon spotting fresh prey.
I gasp, because this is exactly the kind of move you’d expect from someone who’s graduated from the Carlotta Sawyer School of How to Pick Up Men. Heck, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn Carlotta once mentored Jolene in that department.