Chapter 28 Lottie
LOTTIE
Istep out of the shadow of the lattice archway and back into the sunshine, and for a moment, I just breathe in the afternoon.
Spring has fully arrived in Honey Hollow.
Tulips and daffodils everywhere, the smell of fresh cut grass mixing with something sweet—lilac, maybe, or the honeysuckle climbing the fountain trellis.
Birds are going wild in the maple trees overhead, the sun is warm, and women’s laughter floats across the lawn, mixing with clinking glasses and soft jazz from hidden speakers.
It’s perfect and beautiful.
And I’m about to ruin it by accusing someone of murder.
Percy lands on my shoulder, his spectral form shimmering in the sunlight. “So what’s the plan, Lottie Lemon? Dramatic accusation? Citizen’s arrest? A strongly worded letter? A strongly worded Jell-O salad?”
“I need to call Noah and Everett,” I mutter, pulling out my phone. “I need to get them here before—”
“Lottie Lemon!”
I freeze solid.
Midge Thornbury walks toward me with her butter yellow dress swishing around her knees, her dimpled smile firmly in place. She’s carrying a tray of her day-glow banana pudding cups and looks ready and willing to shove one down my throat. Not that I would mind, but I would never tell her that.
I can’t help but frown at those orange-hued wonders.
“Midge! Hi.” I slip my phone back into my pocket and smile. “The party is gorgeous. You must be so proud of how everything came together.”
“Oh, it’s been wonderful.” Midge shifts the tray slightly. “And the weather cooperated perfectly. Your mother is a saint for hosting.”
“She’ll be thrilled to hear that.” I take a breath.
“Um, I keep forgetting to tell you that I have your husband at my home.” I wince.
“I mean, his remains, the rocks? My mother told me what they were. I found the blue velvet box after you left the community center after the casserole and Jell-O competition, and I keep forgetting to give them to you.”
Midge’s smile falters. She looks away, and her expression tightens into a frown.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “That’s kind of you to hold on to him.
He always did love a pretty woman.” She’s silent for a moment, then seems to shake it off before her dimpled smile returns.
“I just had to tell you,” she says, stopping in front of me, “I tried your banana pudding. The one Suze brought in?”
“Oh?” I force a smile. “What did you think?”
“Well.” She tilts her head, her smile sharpening just slightly.
“It’s very, very rustic. You know, homemade in that I tried my best kind of way.
” She laughs, a tinkling sound that makes my teeth clench.
“Oh, don’t you worry. Not everyone can achieve perfection, dear. Some of us are just naturally gifted.”
Heat floods my chest, and my hands curl into fists. I’m not one to choose violence, but everything in me is screaming choose violence.
Greer belts out a laugh as she floats in close. “Control yourself, Lottie. If you play your cards right, you’ll be the one laughing once you’ve caught the killer.”
I offer a mournful smile her way. Not once have I relished the fact that I helped send someone up the river. Although Midge here is changing my stance on that, too.
“Hurry, Lottie!” Percy bops up and down with his tail in full plumage, and it’s a regal sight. “The fruit salad needs its whipped cream! You can’t have ambrosia with pickles.”
I frown at him even though he’s totally correct.
Midge and I stand near the back of the garden, closer to the woods than the party. Most of the guests are clustered near the fountain and the dessert table. It’s relatively private here. And honestly, I couldn’t think of a better place to do what I’m about to.
“Midge, can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Of course, dear.” She sets her tray on a nearby bench. “What’s on your mind?”
I step closer and lower my voice. “Midge, I know what you did.”
Her smile doesn’t waver, but something flickers in her eyes. “What did I do?” She gives a few forced blinks. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, Lottie. I do quite a lot.” She gives a congratulatory chortle when she says it.
“Midge.” I wince a little. “You killed Vivienne Pemberton-Clarke.”
The smile freezes on her face. For just a second, and maybe less, her happy-go-lucky, rather obnoxious mask slips, and I see something dark and desperate underneath.
Then just like that, it’s back in full force. The dimples. The warmth. The perfect homemaker persona. Midge Thornbury really is a trifecta of deception.
“Lottie Lemon, that’s a terrible thing to say.” She laughs, and her voice is still syrupy sweet. “Especially on Mother’s Day.”
Percy ruffles his feathers. “She’s good. I’ll give her that. Now go in for the banana pudding.”
“I saw the financial records,” I tell her without breaking my gaze. “The embezzlement. The monthly withdrawals. The doctored invoices with your signature as secondary approver?”
“Those were Bernard’s doing,” Midge says quickly, her lashes batting twice as hard—so hard I can feel a breeze. “My husband handled all the finances. If there were discrepancies, he would have known about them, not me. And as we both know, he’s not here to answer for himself.”
“He doesn’t have to. It was Vivienne who was embezzling,” I counter. “And she was framing you for it. Making it look like you approved every withdrawal. Every fake receipt. Every doctored invoice.” I watch as Midge’s mouth rounds out.
“She was blackmailing you, too, wasn’t she?” I ask softly. “She stole from the club to frame you, and she stole from you as well. A thousand dollars a month. For six months. While you watched your savings disappear.”
Midge turns her cheek as if I struck her.
“She was sleeping with your husband, Midge. For over a year. Meeting at her estate when he was supposed to be reviewing the books. Taking weekend trips when you thought he was at accounting conferences.”
Midge’s jaw tightens. The color drains from her face. And that’s when I know I’m right.
“You confronted her privately, didn’t you?” I ask softly. “When you found out.”
“Yes!” Midge’s voice cracks. “And she laughed at me. She told me Bernard was leaving me. Told me that if I made any trouble, if I told anyone about the affair, she’d ‘discover’ the embezzlement and turn me in.
All those doctored invoices with my forged signature?
All that evidence she’d been planting? She said she’d make sure I went to prison for stealing from the charity fund!
” Her eyes swell with tears. “So, I had to pay her. A thousand dollars a month. To keep her quiet about Bernard, to keep her from framing me for theft. While I watched my savings evaporate and had to smile and pretend everything was fine.”
“And at that day at the garden party,” I continue, “she told you she was done playing nice. That she was going to announce her relationship with Bernard at her upcoming retrospective. That she was going to frame you for the embezzlement and walk away with your husband and the money. And there was nothing you could do about it.”
“You don’t know anything,” Midge whispers.
“I know Dolly mentioned you were with her in the kitchen before the murder,” I say.
“Helping prepare refreshments. Chopping walnuts. That’s how the butcher knife ended up in the sunroom, isn’t it?
You brought it with you.” I pause. “But then you saw the cast-iron skillet. The commemorative 1952 Griswold from the vintage kitchen display, Big Bertha. The one you helped set up. And you realized you could use that instead.”
Midge’s breath comes faster. Her hands tremble.
“She laughed at you then, too, didn’t she?” I ask gently. “When you confronted her one last time.”
Something breaks in Midge’s face, and in a moment her perfect mask shatters.
“Yes,” she hisses. “I killed her. I killed Vivienne. And you know what else?” Her voice rises. “I killed Bernard, too!”
The world seems to tilt.
“What?”
“That’s right.” Midge gives a bitter laugh. “Heart attack? That’s what everyone thinks. But it wasn’t his heart. It was the pills I ground into his coffee every morning for three weeks. I made sure it was slow and painful. And I relished watching him suffer the way he made me suffer.”
“Well,” Percy chirps. “This is rather like discovering your angel food cake is actually devil’s food. We’ve crossed into much darker territory, haven’t we?”
Funny. I’ve never thought of Midge Thornbury as an angel myself.
“You killed your own husband?” I can hardly get the words out.
“He betrayed me!” Midge’s voice cracks. “Thirty-two years of marriage. I gave him everything. And he threw it away for that witch. So yes. I killed him. And then I killed her. And you know what? I don’t regret either one.”
She snatches that tray of banana pudding off the bench.
“You self-righteous little busybody,” she snarls. “You and your pathetic bakery and your multiple husbands and your perfect little life! You have no idea what it’s like to build something for decades and watch it crumble.”
Before I know it, the tray is hurled my way, and both Greer and Percy press down on my shoulders, causing me to inadvertently duck—and just in the nick of time.
Banana pudding cups explode against the lattice behind me in angry, orange splats.
A cry of frustration bursts from Midge’s throat before she makes a break for it.
Straight for the woods.
“Oh no, you don’t!” I shout, taking off after her.
Percy swoops ahead. “Don’t worry, Lottie Lemon. I’ve got her! Her Jell-O won’t be jiggling for long!”
Greer appears beside me for half a second. “I’m getting Carlotta to call for help!” Then she vanishes in a fit of hot pink stars.
But I keep running. And much to my chagrin, Midge is fast, surprisingly fast for someone in kitten heels and a vintage dress. But I’ve got rage and justice on my side, plus it doesn’t hurt that I’m wearing sensible shoes.
We crash into the tree line as branches whip at my face. The ground is uneven and covered in last year’s leaves along with new spring growth. I can hear Midge ahead of me, her footsteps faltering, her breathing growing ragged.
“Give up, Midge!” I shout. “There’s nowhere to run!” Okay, so there are plenty of places to run, but I’m not going to be the one to tell her that.
“Leave me alone, Lottie!” She takes a moment to turn my way and bleed a wicked smile. “Believe me, you don’t want to get on my bad side.”
I push harder, closing the distance.
And then I do something I learned from watching Lyla Nell take on other toddlers.
I dive for the woman as clean and neat as if I were jumping into a swimming pool.
Midge dodges my efforts, but as luck would have it, I manage to catch her by the ankle. She goes down hard as dirt and leaves scatter in every direction.
“Get away from me.” She does her best to wriggle free, but I’ve got a death grip on her.
Within seconds, she’s on top of me, and the struggle for control is on.
She’s stronger than she looks. All those years of kneading dough and lifting cast-iron skillets have given her arms like steel cables.
But then again, I’ve been doing the very same thing.
She pushes me down to the ground, and her hands wrap around my throat.
“You ruined everything!” she screams.
I try to buck her off, but she’s got leverage. Her fingers dig into my neck, and my vision starts to blur. I do my best to pluck her hands off me, but she’s not budging.
Can’t breathe.
Percy appears above us, his spectral form blazing. “GET OFF HER! Pecan pie STAT!”
The feathered cutie lands on Midge’s head and his talons do their best to rake at her eyes.
And somehow—impossibly—it looks as if she feels it.
“My eyes! My eyes!” Midge screams so loud that at least a dozen birds just flew out from the branch above her. She begins to howl and screech as her hands fly to her face, and I take a gasping breath because of it.
I don’t question it. I use the moment to flip her, slamming her face-first into the dirt. Percy lands on her back and pins her down.
“I’ve got her!” I gasp, shoving my knee into Midge’s spine as I grab ahold of both of her wrists.
Footsteps pound through the woods behind us.
“EVERYONE FREEZE!”
Noah bursts through the trees, weapon drawn, his breathing erratic.
Everett is right behind him, suit jacket abandoned somewhere, his tie loosened, looking like a judge who’s about to hand down the harshest sentence of his career.
“She did it! She admitted to killing Vivienne and her own husband,” I pant.
“Lemon?” Everett thunders as he reaches down to help me up, but I shake my head.
“Not yet,” I say.
I get close to Midge’s ear, my voice dropping to a whisper only she can hear.
“What’s the secret ingredient to your banana pudding?” I all but demand.
Midge goes still.
Then she lets out a sound that’s half laugh, half sob.
“Fine,” she says, her voice muffled by dirt and leaves. “I’m probably going away for a long time. Someone may as well enjoy it.”
I lean closer, and she whispers the magic words I’ve longed to hear, and once I hear them, I give a little gasp, and my eyes go wide.
“So that’s it!”
Everett scoops me up like I weigh nothing, turns me around, and kisses me hard enough to make my head spin in the best possible way.
Behind us, Noah hauls Midge to her feet, reading her rights in that calm, authoritative voice that makes criminals everywhere realize they’re absolutely toast.
“Midge Thornbury, you’re under arrest for the murders of Vivienne Pemberton-Clarke and Bernard Thornbury...”
“Splendid!” Percy lands on my shoulder, feathers glowing brilliant teal. “Absolutely riveting. Like watching custard curdle in real time—you know it’s coming, but it’s still magnificent when it happens. Let’s do it again.”
“Absolutely not,” I mutter against Everett’s lips.
He grins. “Happy Mother’s Day, Lemon.”
“It’s the best one ever,” I say.
And somewhere in the garden behind us, the Daughters of Honey Hollow are about to have the most dramatic Mother’s Day in the organization’s history.
But right now, in this moment, with spring blooming all around us and a killer finally caught?
Everything is perfect.