“Regulatory challenges?” Carlotta asks with interest. “Sounds fancy! What kind of regulations need that much help?”
“Just the usual international trade complications,” Muffin says vaguely. “Currency exchanges, customs documentation, shipping logistics. Very boring business stuff.”
It does sound boring. In fact, it’s so boring, I’m afraid she might be telling the truth.
“Duncan had been getting nervous about those arrangements lately,” she finally admits. “He thought Luke was getting too visible, drawing too much attention. They’ve been arguing about it.”
“Arguing? How seriously?” I have a feeling that arguments between chocolate empire heirs and mob bosses rarely end with handshakes and friendly farewells.
“Seriously enough that Duncan was talking about ending the partnership,” Muffin says just above a whisper. “He thought the risk was getting too high.”
“Risk of what?” Carlotta asks.
“Scrutiny,” Muffin replies. “Duncan always said the chocolate business was clean, legitimate. He didn’t want anything that might complicate that image.”
Lenny’s expression grows alarmed. “If Duncan threatened to expose whatever Luke was really doing with those import arrangements, that’s a serious motive for elimination.”
Oh, good gravy. The last person I want to add to this ever-growing suspect list is one of my favorite mobsters.
Someone clears their throat from behind, and I turn to find Noah standing there fully clothed, wearing an expression that suggests he’d like to pretend the last hour never happened.
“Ladies,” he says with an all too brief smile, “we should probably head back soon. It’s getting late, and some of us have jobs that require us to wake at ungodly hours.”
“Jobs that don’t involve removing clothing,” Everett adds dryly as he strides up, having recovered both his shirt and his sense of humor.
“Oh,please! The two of you were natural at removing your clothing,” Carlotta is quick to tell them. “In fact, you two are walking works of art. If Muffin hadn’t nabbed you, I’d have booked you for my own private photo shoot—the full moon edition.” She turns to Muffin. “No wonder you wanted to photograph them, cupcake. I would have asked them to pose nude.”
“Me, too,” I mutter, and both Noah and Everett shoot me a look of amusement as if suggesting that it can still be arranged. And I have no doubt it will be—with Everett at least.
“I’m just saying they’re both very photogenic,” Carlotta goes on, unwarranted. “Take Noah—he’s got that rugged detective thing going on. And Everett has those judge hands that look like they could rule in favor of all sorts of interesting things.”
I seriously consider whether it would be justifiable homicide to strangle her with camera equipment.
“You know,” Muffin says dreamily, as if she were getting distracted by Carlotta’s inappropriate musings, “they really are magnificent specimens. I might have to do a follow-up shoot.”
“NO,” both Noah and Everett say without hesitation.
“Spoilsports,” Carlotta mutters.
“One last question,” I say to Muffin quickly, before this conversation can deteriorate further into discussions about handsome lawmen and where Carlotta would like them posed next. “Who do you think could have done this to Duncan?”
“Honestly?” she says. “Everyone knew he was at the festival. And everyone had access to the cakewalk table. That knife wasn’t exactly under lock and key. It really could’ve been anyone.”
“So basically everyone,” Carlotta summarizes, and I shoot her a look.
“Be careful, Lottie.” Lenny belts out a roar. “The killer might know you’re getting closer to the truth. All these questions, all this investigating—word gets around in a small town, especially when organized crime is involved.”
A cold, sharp shiver races through me.
Because maybe this wasn’t personal.
Maybe it was professional.
Maybe Duncan Whitmore was murdered by someone with ties to Vermont’s criminal underbelly—someone who’s already spilled blood and won’t think twice about spilling mine next.
LOTTIE
As soon as things wrap up at the raunchy ranch, the four of us head over to Mangia’s.
