“All right, folks, the show is over,” Noah says firmly, taking Duncan by one arm while Everett takes the other. They escort him off the stage with the kind of professional courtesy that doesn’t leave room for argument.
And just like that, Muffin has disappeared into the crowd, although her sobs are still audible over the uncomfortable murmur of festivalgoers.
“Well then!” Mayor Nash grabs the microphone, his mayoral smile working overtime. He’s tall and stout, and has light hair that’s already mostly gray, if not bald, and a wily smile that I see in the mirror every now and again. Even though he’s my biological father, I just found out a few years back, and I can’t seem to break the habit of calling him Mayor Nash. “How about we get back to our bunny hop?” he continues with a nervous laugh. “I believe the egg and spoon race isstarting in five minutes, and there are prizes to be won! Easter is just a week away, and there’s still lots of celebrating to do. Come on, everyone. Let’s focus on the joy of the season!”
The festival atmosphere shifts from celebratory to uncomfortable faster than you can say public humiliation, but people slowly begin to disperse, though the whispered conversations and sideways glances suggest that little stunt Duncan pulled will be the talk of Honey Hollow for months to come.
Duncan steps down from the stage, looking pleased with himself, and the crowd slowly begins to disperse with the awkward energy of people who’ve witnessed something they wish they hadn’t.
Carlotta appears at my elbow, shaking her head. “Well, that was like watching someone set their own house on fire and then stand in the flames complaining about the heat.”
I nod. “I’ve seen you do it a time or two.”
“Darn tootin’,” she says with a touch of pride.
Lainey shakes her head. “Nothing says festive family fun quite like a public marital execution.”
Carlotta nods as she bites the ear off the chocolate bunny in her hand. “That man just nuked his own marriage in front of half of Vermont. I’ve seen some spectacular relationship explosions in my day, but that takes the cake.”
“Poor Muffin,” I mutter, still processing the nightmare that just unfolded for her. “Nobody deserves that kind of public humiliation.”
“Honey, if Harry ever pulled a stunt like that on me, he’d find himself sleeping in the doghouse until Christmas,” Carlotta declares. “And we don’t even have a dog. That is, if I let him live.”
“Agreed,” Lainey says, shaking her head. “If Forest tried something like that, he’d be living in his beloved woods permanently—as fertilizer for the maple trees.”
“You two are terrifying,” I say, though I can’t help but smile. “Though if Everett or Noah ever publicly humiliated me like that, I’d probably just bake them into a pie. Waste not, want not.”
The three of us share a wicked laugh.
The rest of the festival blooms back to life all around us as if whatwe just witnessed was forgotten like last night’s bad dream. My sweet nieces start to fuss, and Lainey takes off.
I finish up with the cakewalk, and Carlotta and I roam from booth to booth, her on the lookout for potential beefcakes to line that calendar with and me on the lookout for my mother and a stroller full of cutie pies that happen to belong to me.
Twenty minutes later, I see Bunny and Duncan in a heated argument near her wellness booth. Even from a distance, I can tell it’s not a friendly family discussion. Bunny’s gestures are sharp and angry, while Duncan’s posture radiates condescension. It seems to be his specialty.
“You destroy everything you touch!” Bunny’s voice carries across the space between us before she storms off.
Instead of storming off himself, Duncan makes his way to my booth, and I follow along to see what his next diabolical move might be.
But he simply approaches as if he hadn’t just publicly eviscerated his wife in front of half of Vermont.
“I’ll take one of those coconut cupcakes,” he says pleasantly, as if humiliating your spouse were just another festival activity. “It looks delicious.”
I hand him the cupcake with professional politeness, though every fiber of my being wants to suggest he use it as a peace offering to his wife. Either that or I can shove it into his face.
“Enjoy,” I manage, taking a twenty for it.
“Keep the change,” he says with a wink, and everyone manning my booth watches him walk away with his purchase.
If only every customer paid twenty bucks for one of my cupcakes. I’d be rich enough to move somewhere tropical where the only spirits are the kind you drink with little umbrellas. Not that Everett isn’t loaded, but still.
The festival winds down as the afternoon stretches toward evening. I’m packing up the cakewalk supplies when I realize I’m missing my good serving knife—the one with the pearl handle that belonged to my Grandma Nell.
I retrace my steps, checking behind booths and around tables, until I end up behind Bunny’s wellness display. The area is secluded, hidden from the main festival crowd by strategically placed Easter banners. I’m about to head toward the booth when my foot hitches on something hard, and I trip, tap dancing to my left, then to my right, before hovering over something horrific.
An all too familiar sandy-haired devil lies on his back on the grass, his eyes staring vacantly toward the sky while my Grandma Nell’s pearl-handled knife protrudes from his chest. And squished in his hand just so happens to be one of my coconut bunny cupcakes.
Duncan won’t have to worry about apologizing to his wife any time soon.
