Chapter 30 Lottie
LOTTIE
Peace at last!
It’s just a few hours later—Mother’s Day is winding down in that soft, golden way where the sun has finally set, and the sky is doing that deep twilight thing that makes everything look lavender and pink and most of all peaceful—even when it’s not.
I’m curled up on the couch in our living room, surrounded by the kind of domestic chaos that somehow feels like home.
The twins are upstairs asleep—finally, mercifully, blessedly asleep after a day of being passed around like adorable footballs at the garden party.
Lyla Nell is down here with Evie, and I can hear them giggling in the playroom, probably making some craft project that will involve glitter I’ll be finding in my hair for the next three weeks.
Here’s hoping human remains aren’t inadvertently involved this time.
The house smells like the leftover pizza we ordered for dinner, pepperoni and extra cheese, because after the day I’ve had, I deserve all the carbs, and there’s a faint hint of the garlic sauce from the ten boxes of Wicked Wok Everett picked up for us as well.
I stretch out as Pancake and Waffles curl up on either side of me, and they feel like white cotton candy clouds of heaven.
“Come here, my cute, fluffy boys,” I say, scooping them both up and landing a kiss on their tiny pink noses.
“Hear that?” Carlotta quips. “She’s calling you, Foxy and Sexy. Lot Lot is ready to dole out the smooches with her favorite pooches.”
I shoot her a look.
“And if you whine enough, she’ll whip out a boob for each of you just to keep you quiet. I’ve seen her do it all week.”
Noah and Everett are on the other side of the room, heads together, whispering like they’re planning a heist or possibly just trying to decide who has to change the next diaper. And if my boobs have lost their superpowers to entice them, then something is most certainly going on.
I narrow my eyes. “What’s happening over there?”
They both look up with identical expressions of manufactured innocence that immediately make me suspicious.
“Nothing,” Noah says.
“Absolutely nothing,” Everett agrees.
“You are both terrible liars.”
Noah sighs. “We want to take a walk down to the Pickens’ block. Ask a few more neighbors if we can look at their security cameras. See if we can get anything else on that limp.”
“The tall kid with the distinctive gait,” Everett adds. “If we can get more footage, we can make a stronger case.”
I look at them—my two so-called husbands, still dressed in their Sunday best, determined to solve the Case of the Teenage Vandals even though we literally just solved a double homicide this afternoon.
Truly, justice waits for no one.
“I think it’s a perfect night for a walk,” I say.
They both offer amicable smiles my way—even Everett, which makes me twice as suspicious.
“Evie!” I call. “Can you watch Lyla Nell and the boys for a bit? We’re going for a quick walk.”
“Sure!” Evie’s voice floats from the playroom. “We’re making friendship bracelets anyway. Lyla Nell’s supervising my bracelet-making technique. She says I’m doing it wrong. Take your time!”
Noah, Everett, Carlotta, and I head out into the night, where the air is cool and sweet with the scent of spring—fresh grass, blooming flowers, that earthy smell that comes after the rain we had earlier.
The streetlights are just starting to flicker on, casting pools of amber light across the sidewalks.
Somewhere a dog barks. Somewhere else, wind chimes tinkle in the breeze.
It’s peaceful and oh so lovely. It’s exactly the type of evening that makes you forget you live in a town where murders happen with alarming regularity.
We turn onto the Pickens’ block, and just like that, the peaceful illusion shatters.
The street has been taken over by what can only be described as a mob of teenage boys playing some chaotic form of football.
There are at least fifteen of them, maybe twenty, running, shouting, tackling each other with a reckless abandon that suggests no one has ever explained the concept of broken bones to them.
And right in the middle of it all?
Daryl Pickens.
He’s running a route, football tucked under his arm, laughing like he’s one of the boys instead of a grown man who should know better about a lot of things.
And when he runs, he limps.
“Do you see that?” I gasp.
Sure enough, he’s favoring his left leg. The same distinctive hitch we saw in the security footage Noah and Everett told me about.
“I sure do see it, Lot.” Carlotta leans in and squints. “That man is hot-to-trot and looking for a good time. Why don’t I go and distract him.”
“Don’t you dare,” I tell her.
Noah and Everett exchange a look.
“We’ve got him,” Noah says quietly.
Everett nods. “Let’s do this.”
We walk toward the chaos, and Daryl spots us immediately. His expression shifts from joy to something dark and defensive.
“Can we speak to you?” Everett calls over the noise.
The boys scatter like pigeons, laughing and screaming and making obscene gestures as they disappear into the shadows. One of them flips us the bird and howls at the moon while doing so. And Carlotta does it right back. With both hands.
Tammy appears from the porch with her arms crossed and looking darn right exhausted. “What’s this about?” she calls out, but judging by the look on her face, she knows all too well.
Noah steps forward, looking every bit the grim detective on the case. “We know it was Daryl instigating the vandalism. The eggs, the fish, the glitter bomb, the deflated tires, the spray paint on Lottie’s van.”
Daryl’s jaw tightens. “You can’t prove anything.”
“Actually, we can,” Everett says. “We have security footage from multiple neighbors showing a tall figure with a distinctive limp. The same limp you’re currently displaying.” He gestures to Daryl’s leg. “You were leading those boys. Directing them. Encouraging them.”
Tammy gasps. Her hand flies to her mouth. Then she swats Daryl’s arm—hard. “Don’t you know any better? You’re supposed to be setting an example for these kids!”
“I am!” Daryl snaps back, his voice rising.
“I’m teaching Tyler and his friends how to be men.
These two idiots,” he jabs a finger at Noah and Everett, “came to our house and had the nerve to knock on our door and embarrass our kid in front of his friends. And I needed to make sure they knew what a grave mistake that was.”
He practically growls the last part, his face red, his body tense like he’s ready to fight.
Carlotta sucks in a breath. “No one calls Foxy and Sexy an idiot and lives to see the light of day outside a prison cell. How about one last sticky quickie behind the shed before you hit the big house, bad boy?”
“Carlotta.” I shake my head and cringe. Not to mention his wife is standing right here.
“I can’t help it,” she grunts. “You know I’ve got a soft spot for bad boys.”
Do I ever. In fact, that soft spot is the exact reason I exist.
Noah doesn’t flinch. “Setting an example means teaching your kids to take responsibility for their actions. To understand that choices have consequences. We came to your door because your son threw a rock through Lottie’s windshield. A rock that could have seriously injured Lottie or the kids.”
Carlotta scoffs. “What about me, Foxy? Am I chopped liver?”
I shoot her a look that says, not now, maybe not ever.
“But it didn’t,” Daryl growls. “Nobody died.”
“But things could have gone differently,” Everett counters, his voice dropping to that dangerous tone that makes me want to pull him behind the shed and have a sticky quickie with him.
And really? Eww. I shoot Carlotta a dirty look for even putting the thought into my mind.
“And that’s the point,” Everett continues.
“We’re sorry if you felt embarrassed. But there have to be consequences.
Had that rock injured or killed someone in my family, the outcome would have been dire for all parties involved.
Those kids needed to understand that one wrong decision could cost them, and someone else, everything.
” He pauses with his gaze still steady on Daryl.
“But what you taught them is that when someone calls you out for doing something wrong, you double down. You escalate. You retaliate. You teach them that might makes right and that intimidation is an acceptable response to accountability.” His voice is calm but cutting.
“You didn’t teach them to be men, Daryl. You taught them to be bullies.”
The silence that follows is heavy.
Noah steps forward. “You have until tomorrow morning to turn yourself in at the station. Voluntary surrender. Otherwise, I’ll have a warrant out for your arrest. And I promise you, I don’t want your kids to watch their father get arrested.
Not on Mother’s Day. Not on any day. But if you make me come get you, that’s what’s going to happen. ”
Daryl’s face goes through about seventeen different emotions—rage, defiance, fear, and finally something that might be shame.
He stalks off without a word, cursing under his breath, growling as he makes his way toward the house and slams the door hard enough to rattle every window on the block.
Tammy stands there in the driveway, looking smaller somehow. Older. Like the weight of everything just settled on her shoulders all at once.
“I’m genuinely sorry,” she says lower than a whisper. She looks at me, then at Noah and Everett. “I’ve been thinking a lot ever since we first spoke.” She takes a shaky breath. “I’ve decided to leave Daryl. I’m moving to Arizona to be with my mother.”
She wipes at her eyes. “I’m hoping a new start with new friends and a new school will put my family on the right track. I love my kids. And I’ll never give up on them. But they need better than this. Better than him.”
My heart breaks a little.
“You’re a good mother,” I tell her, and I genuinely mean it.
Tammy’s face crumples. She steps forward and hugs me, tight and desperate, and just a touch grateful, too. And I hug her back because sometimes that’s all you can do.
When we pull apart, tears are streaming down her cheeks, but she’s smiling a little, too.
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“If you need anything at all,” I tell her. “Please reach out.”
The four of us walk back home under the streetlights, processing everything that just transpired.
“Do you think he’ll turn himself in?” I ask.
“He will,” Noah says. “He’s a coward, but he’s not stupid. He knows we’ve got him.”
“And Tammy?” I look back over my shoulder at the Pickens house. “Do you think she’ll really leave?”
“I hope so,” Everett says. “For her sake. And for those kids.”
We turn onto our street, and I can see our house up ahead—lights glowing in the windows, warm and welcoming and safe.
“There it is, home sweet home,” I say, linking arms with Noah and Everett as we walk. “You know what’s probably happening at our house right now?”
“What’s that?” Noah asks.
“Evie and Lyla Nell are covered in glitter and glue. A total craft catastrophe.”
Everett chuckles. “Without question.”
“And the twins are sleeping peacefully,” I say. “I hope.”
“They’re sleeping,” Noah assures me. “I hope.”
A deep sigh expels from me. “Tomorrow, Daryl Pickens will hopefully turn himself in and face the consequences of his actions. Midge Thornbury is in a cell, finally caught for her crimes.” I look up at both of them.
“And I’m walking home with two of my most favorite men in the world—and Carlotta—after one of the most chaotic Mother’s Days in Honey Hollow history. ”
Carlotta balks and gags. “Excuse me, Lottie Dottie, but I should have been mentioned first in that lineup. I’m the most entertaining person here.”
“You’re also the most likely to get us kicked out of places,” I point out.
“Exactly. Now that’s entertainment.”
“Speaking of entertainment…” I say. “In two weeks, the circus is coming to town, and we’re taking our kids to see it like normal people.”
“Excuse me,” Carlotta interjects. “Since when are we normal people?”
“You got me there.”
Everett pulls me closer. “Only in Honey Hollow would Mother’s Day involve a double murder confession and tackling someone in the woods.”
Noah laughs. “Best Mother’s Day ever?”
I think about it. The murder. The confession. The forest tackle. The painted memorial stones. The Golden Whisk drama. Evie coming home. My family all together.
“Best one yet,” I say.
And I mean it.
The circus is coming to town.
And I have a feeling it’s going to be murder.
Thank you so much for reading! Head back to Honey Hollow with Circus Animal Cookie Catastrophe (Murder in the Mix 57)