The sound of clattering dishes and morning conversation drifts through the connecting door, along with the occasional burst of laughter that suggests Charlie’s telling stories about yesterday’s festival excitement. Charlie is my only biological sister, not that biology matters to me much. But we do look like twins, and she did have the misfortune of being raised by Carlotta, so she holds a special place in my heart.
I finish wiping down a few tables and adjusting the bunny décor before heading behind the counter.
“Well, well, look who’s added another body to her macabre collection,” Suze is quick to chime from behind the espresso machine, her voice carrying that particular brand of faux cheer that makes me want to hide under my apron.
Suze is Noah’s mother, Lyla Nell’s grandmother. She’s tall, stocky, has short graying blonde hair that swoops into her eyes and gives off that boybands of yesteryear vibe, and she is traditionally a grump through and through. I can tell she’s been saving this conversationuntil the morning crowd did a disappearing act. And right about now, I wish Suze would disappear right along with them.
“Should we start numbering them?” she teases. “You know, for organizational purposes?”
Lily laughs from her post at the pastry case while restocking the lemon hand pies. “I’m thinking we need a frequentfindercard. Ten corpses and the eleventh discovery is free,” she chimes in without missing a beat. Lily is a dark-haired beauty who used to torment me in high school but now tolerates me enough to fill her bank account with money.
“Oh, come on. Give her a break,” Effie says with a laugh. Effie is a newer addition, with her long dark hair and pretty coffee-colored eyes. She’s quick-witted, and sweet, and she knows how to make sure every last dessert sells out before we close. Suffice it to say, I’m keeping her. And she’s got the kind of energy that suggests she knows where bodies are buried—metaphorically speaking, of course. “Speaking of giving you a break,” she says while counting out the receipts in her hand. “At this rate, the coroner should give you a loyalty discount. Maybe your own parking spot at the morgue.”
“You’re all hilarious,” I mutter as I swat Effie with the towel in my hand. “It’s not like I go looking for dead bodies. They just happen to be wherever I am.”
“I heard you screamed so loud yesterday, they heard you in Canada,” Suze continues, pulling espresso shots with the efficiency of someone who’s had years of practice dealing with my drama.
“Poor Duncan,” Lily adds while arranging sugar cookies fashioned to look like Easter eggs in the display case. “I bet he never thought the town’s bunny hop would be his last supper.”
“At least he went out with good taste,” Effie muses as she toasts me with one of my coconut cupcakes with the cute little bunny ears spiked into it. “Your coconut cake was the last thing he ate. I could think of worse ways to go.”
I wrinkle my nose at the thought. “I just wish people would choose to go without dragging my desserts into the afterlife with them.” And making me look like a suspect, but I leave that part out.
Another group of customers takes off, and the bakery seems to breathe a sigh of relief. I take a moment to survey my domain—the cute little bake shop that’s become both my livelihood and evidently my unofficial murder headquarters.
A weak smile comes to me as I land on Noah and Everett at a nearby table.
Noah is sharing donuts with Lyla Nell, who’s systematically picking off all the sprinkles and leaving the actual donut untouched. Everett is stationed next to the twins’ stroller, where both Ozzy and Corbin are sleeping like tiny angels instead of the sleep-depriving tiny tyrants they become at three A.M.
Suze sidles up next to me and nods. “Essex really has the touch with those boys,” she grunts with a sigh. “Look how calm they are. It’s almost supernatural.”
“Don’t jinx it,” I warn her. “They never sleep. I’m running on fumes, desperation, and whatever sugar hasn’t been absorbed by my breast milk. Everything hurts, including body parts I forgot I had.”
“Maybe you should stop nursing Everett and Noah and focus on Ozzy and Corbin,” Lily quips without missing a beat.
I shoot her a look that could burn toast while Suze, Lily, and Effie dissolve into cackles that sound suspiciously like witches around a cauldron. It’s not far from the truth.
“You’re all fired,” I say, although I’m only half-teasing. We all know I need them more than they need me. “I’m hiring new staff who don’t make inappropriate comments about my love life—maybe some nice, quiet robots who only speak in recipe measurements.”
“Good luck with that,” Effie snorts. “Nobody else would put up with your body-finding habits—or your addiction to handsome men.”
I’m about to head over to the table where Noah and Everett are seated and collapse into a chair when the bakery door chimes and Muffin Whitmore walks in. She looks like she’s been through an emotional blender—red-faced, puffy eyes, and the general appearance of someone who’s spent the night crying. Whether it’s tears of mourning or anger is anybody’s guess, though given what we witnessed yesterday, I’m betting on both.
The entire bakery goes silent, which in a place that usually sounds like a combination coffee shop and comedy club is downright eerie. Even Lyla Nell stops destroying her donut to stare at the poor woman.
Muffin makes her way over to their table with a determined stride that means business.
“Noah,” she says, her voice hoarse but steady. “I’m ready to cooperate with whatever you need for the investigation.”
“Oh, Muffin,” I start as I quickly make my way over. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” I say, because even if Duncan was a world-class jerk, losing your husband is still losing your husband.
She holds up a hand, cutting me off gently. “Thank you, but let’s be honest about what kind of loss this is. You all witnessed some of what I put up with yesterday, and that was just the public version.” Her voice wavers slightly. “I didn’t kill him, but I’d be lying if I said I’m devastated.”
Noah rises slightly from his chair, the shift in his posture saying he’s already in detective mode. “We’ll need to talk, but are you sure you’re ready for this so soon?”
“I’m sure,” Muffin says firmly. “And I want you to know that I’m still moving forward with my work with the women’s shelter. That includes the Hunks of Honey Hollow calendar.”
The bakery door chimes again, and Carlotta sweeps in wearing what appears to be her Sunday best—a purple dress that clashes magnificently with her Easter garden hat from yesterday, which is currently planted over her noggin like an ode to gardens everywhere, and that would be gardens of bad taste just to be clear.
