“Duncan was also having some business troubles, wasn’t he?” I ask, steering the conversation back to potential motives before Carlotta blows up the ballroom.
Gina nods, her expression growing more serious. “The company’s been hemorrhaging money for the past year. Some former employees have filed lawsuits claiming Duncan cut corners on safety standards at the factory. There was an incident where several workers got sick from chemical exposure, and Duncan allegedly tried to cover it up.”
“That doesn’t sound good for business,” I say.
“It wasn’t. And then there were the financial irregularities that Fairbanks discovered,” she continues, glancing around again to make sure we’re not being overheard. “Duncan had been... creative with the company books. Moving money around, hiding losses, that sort of thing.”
Lenny belts out a thunderous growl. “Embezzlement? The man was stealing from his own family business.”
Gina nods as if she heard. “Fairbanks was planning to confront Duncan about it after last Sunday’s festival,” Gina adds. “He’d been doing some digging. You wouldn’t believe how tech-savvy he is with all his computer investments and digital forensics hobbies. He found discrepancies going back almost two years.”
I suck in a breath, trying my darnedest not to look as giddy as I am to have all of this info hand-fed right to me. Gina has always been a gossip, and for once, it’s a trait of hers I can truly appreciate. “So it sounds as if Duncan was under pressure from multiple directions.”
“Exactly. Business lawsuits, family confrontations, divorceproceedings, financial scrutiny—the man was being squeezed from every possible angle.”
“And it sounds like a lot of people might have wanted him dead,” Lenny growls with a sigh.
I give a slight nod. Not that it helps my case. If an entire sea of people wanted him dead, then that means there might be more digging than I can ever hope to do. This case might take years to solve. On the bright side, Lyla Nell will get the pleasure of having a third cat live with us for the foreseeable future. A very big cat.
A loud crash echoes from the direction of the dessert tables, followed by Carlotta’s voice shouting, “Don’t worry, everyone! I’m fine! The chocolate fountain, however, might need medical attention!”
I turn just in time to spot Naomi Sawyer storming across the ballroom toward the commotion with the expression of someone who’s about to commit justifiable homicide. The crowd is so dense in Carlotta’s direction, there’s no hope of seeing her. I’m not sure if I want to.
“Aunt Carlotta!” Naomi’s voice cuts through the crowd like a knife through chocolate. “You’ve been nothing but disruptive to this sophisticated gathering! This isn’t one of your dive bars!”
“Sophisticated?” Carlotta gags as she gets the word out. “Honey, I’ve seen more personality in a morgue,” she barks at a red-faced Naomi. “And trust me, I’ve spent time in both places!”
Her time at the morgue has not been nearly long enough.
The crowd parts enough for Gina and me to see Carlotta balancing two dinner plates brimming with every chocolate treat imaginable.
“Oh no,” I mutter, realizing that my interrogation is about to be cut short by whatever chaos Carlotta is about to unleash.
“Is that your... other mother?” Gina asks with concern as we watch Naomi try to physically escort Carlotta away from the chocolate fountain.
“That would be her,” I’m loath to admit. “And I have a feeling she’s about to turn your elegant symposium into a bona fide wrestling match.”
Gina inches back at the sight. “She can’t possibly wrestle anyone with all that chocolate on her hands.”
“You haven’t met Carlotta,” I mutter.
“Nobody puts Carlotta in a corner!” Carlotta shouts, piling one brimming plate on top of another and grabbing what appears to be a chocolate-covered ladle and brandishing it like a medieval weapon. “Especially not Keelie’s evil twin!”
“Oh, good chocolate gravy,” I moan as I cover my eyes with my hand, splitting my fingers just enough to keep an eye on the chaos.
Naomi shouts for security as if a serial killer were about to mow her down. More like a serial troublemaker. “Remove this person immediately!”
What follows can only be described as organized chaos. Carlotta takes off between the dessert tables with Naomi and two security guards in pursuit, creating a trail of destruction that would make a hurricane proud. Chocolate-covered strawberries go flying, petit fours scatter like confetti, and someone’s designer handbag gets dunked in what used to be a pristine display of ganache-filled éclairs.
The plastic people are shrieking about their clothes, their hair, and their faces. Phones crop up from every direction, recording the mayhem, and I’m trying to simultaneously continue my conversation with Gina while keeping track of Carlotta’s trajectory across the ballroom.
“Where did she go?” Naomi demands, spinning in circles as Carlotta vanishes behind a display of chocolate sculptures.
“Up here, sweetheart!” Carlotta shouts from above.
We all look up to see her standing on the musician’s platform—the elevated stage where the string quartet had been performing. She’s grabbed one of the decorative curtain cords that runs parallel to the nearest chandelier.
“Get down from there this instant!” Naomi shouts.
