I mean, we could’ve been stuck with something really inconvenient, like the ability to predict lottery numbers but only after the drawing, or seeing the future but only the boring parts involving dental appointments and grocery shopping.
“What’s your name?” I ask the lion, keeping my voice low enough that nearby customers won’t think I’ve finally snapped under the pressure of running a bakery that doubles as a murder investigation headquarters.
Carlotta leans toward the furry beast with the predatory smile of a woman who’s spotted fresh prey. And judging by that insane gleam in her eyes, she’s done exactly that. A man is a man in her eyes. She’s notone to discriminate between species. “Let me guess, a handsome stud like you?” she goes on. “I bet your name is Leo.”
The lion gives her a look that manages to be both amused and slightly alarmed. “Close,” he says with a low purr that would make any self-respecting cat jealous. And how I can’t wait to tell my cats Pancake and Waffles all about this amazing beast once I get home. “It’s Lenny.”
He gives the side of Lyla Nell’s head a quick lick with such gentle patience, it lets me know he’s dealt with enthusiastic children before—or eaten them. But Lyla Nell simply squeals and squeezes his tail tighter. Mistaking supernatural wildlife for her personal stuffed animal is something that’s happened to her before. And coincidentally, all of the aforementioned wildlife had happened to be well past its living, breathing prime.
I supposelifeis a relative term at this point.
“Lenny, huh?” Carlotta’s eyes light up with the kind of interest that spells trouble for any male within a fifty-mile radius, living or dead. “I like a man who’s confident enough to own an unconventional name. Unconventional name equals unconventional skills where it counts—that’s my theory, Lucky Lenny.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes. “Please ignore her,” I tell Lenny, shooting Carlotta a look that could freeze coffee mid-brew. “Lenny, how did you know the deceased?”
Whoever comes back to help solve the case is always someone the deceased loved the best. It’s like a supernatural law of crime-solving or something.
The Man Upstairs doesn’t send random spirits to help with murder investigations. He sends family, friends, beloved pets, or in this case, exotic animals with serious emotional attachments.
Lenny’s expression shifts to something that manages to be both fond and melancholy. “Duncan’s father, Richard Whitmore, was into gifting his children and wife whatever they wished for. That gift-giving extended to himself. He always wanted an exotic pet, so he procured me via the black market. I lived in a deluxe pride built exclusively for me, just behind the Whitmore compound.”
“I bet that was lonely, big guy,” Carlotta coos, while batting her lashes at our dearly departed friend with fangs. “You know, without any female big cats around to give you the doe eyes—or lion eyes, as it were.”
Lenny gives her a light growl that sounds more amused than threatening. “It was lonely. And I did have a hunger to mingle with my kind. I managed to outlive Richard,” he continues, “so I was gifted to the Hollow Brook Zoo.”
“Ooh!” I jump in my seat with excitement. “I bet I saw you there! My mother took me to the zoo every chance she got.” I shoot a pointed look at Carlotta. “Not this mother. Carlotta pretty much qualifies as a wild animal herself.”
Carlotta’s chest puffs with pride. “That’s right, Fuzzy! In fact, I like to think of myself as a zookeeper—or a lion tamer when it comes to men.”
“If only you could be tamed,” I mutter.
“Taming is overrated.” Carlotta winks at Lenny. “The best ones are always a little wild around the edges.”
Lenny tries to extract himself from Lyla Nell’s death grip, probably hoping to conduct this interview somewhere that doesn’t involve being used as a toddler’s personal jungle gym, but my daughter has other plans.
“MINE!” she screams with the volume of someone announcing the end of the world. The sound echoes through the bakery with enough force to rattle the Easter decorations and cause several customers to look around in alarm.
I gasp and hold my breath, praying to whatever cosmic force oversees naptime miracles. The twins stir slightly in their stroller, and for one terrifying moment, I think Lyla Nell’s supernatural enthusiasm is about to wake the sleeping angels.
Thankfully, they settle back into their peaceful slumber, but my chest begins to tingle with the warning signs of impending dairy production. I’m grateful I stuffed my bra with full-on diapers just to help manage what I can only describe as flood gates. And I do mean flood gates.
“So, who killed Duncan?” Lenny asks, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl that suggests he takes this murder personally.
“Aww,” I can’t help but coo. “I’m sorry, but I think it’s adorable the way you hold Duncan so close to your heart that you sound ready to murder his killer. I have a couple of white fluffy Himalayan cats, a couple of brothers named Pancake and Waffles, and I’d like to think that if I met my demise by a killer’s hand that they’d be pretty peeved and ready to claw the killer’s eyes out, too.”
“I’ll do one better,” he growls it out low and slow. “I’ll bite theirheadoff!” he finishes with a mighty roar and Lyla Nell all but shrieks with delight.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I sigh. “It’s exactly supernatural episodes like these that are going to turn her onto bad boys for life.”
Carlotta lifts her chin. “What’s wrong with bad boys? Bad boys built this country, Lot. And half my dating history.”
I nod. “If it weren’t for bad boys, you’d have no dating history at all.” I turn and shake my head at Lenny. “I have no clue who killed the poor man,” I admit, which feels like failing a test I didn’t know I was taking.
“But don’t worry, Lion King.” Carlotta jumps in with the confidence of a floozy who never met a problem she couldn’t charm into her bed. “My Lot Lot here is on the case. She’ll have the killer bagged and tagged before you can say pride and prejudice.”
“So what are we waiting for?” Lenny growls impatiently, and I get the distinct impression that deceased exotic animals are not known for their patience when it comes to solving crimes.
Carlotta elbows me with the subtlety of a freight train. “You heard the king of the jungle! Time to get moving before the killer gets grooving south of the border. Who’s up first on the hit parade?”
