Suze crosses her arms, and her blazer, which I’m ninety percent sure is a man’s blazer she probably ripped off a corpse herself, bunches at the shoulders. “I’m just saying, every time there’s a body in this town?—”
“The only people who are safe are Lot Lot’s men!” Carlotta interrupts with an enthusiasm usually reserved for bingo wins or surprise male strippers. “The rest of Honey Hollow should sleep with one eye open! That includes you, Randy Mirandy, and you, too, Suzie Q.”
Both women jump as if Carlotta just announced she’s hiding a bomb in her bra—which, given Carlotta’s history, isn’t entirely outside the realm of possibility.
As if on cue, her bra rings, and the entire lot of us jumps.
Mom clutches her chest. “Carlotta!”
Suze sputters, “Now you listen here?—”
“It’s true.” Carlotta doubles down on her matricide fantasies. “You’ll both be on the chopping block next if you don’t play nice with the princess of pies here. In fact, it might be prudent for each of you to deposit ten grand into my savings account by midnight. I have my ways of pointing her Grim Reaper tendencies in other directions.”
I swat Carlotta’s arm. “Would you stop?”
“What?” she shrinks back. “I’m being supportive!”
The sharp click of heels against hardwood silences both of us, and we turn to find Ivy Fairbanks striding into the room as if she’s walking a runway instead of a crime scene. Noah’s partner in crime is all legs and attitude, her auburn hair scraped back into a bun tight enough to give me a sympathy headache. Her narrow green eyes sweep the room as she takes in the deceased, the evidence, the witnesses, and me in under three seconds. Her tailored blazer looks sensible yet expensive, and somehow she makes a murder scene look like a business meeting.
She nods my way. “Adding to the body count, I see.” Her voice is dry as October leaves. “And at such a sacred event. How very on-brand for you.”
“Ivy, I didn’t?—”
Everett materializes in the doorway behind her, and I’ve never been more grateful for his impeccable timing.
“Detective Fairbanks.” His voice could freeze vodka. “My wifefoundthe body. She’s a witness, not a suspect.”
Ivy offers a short-lived smile, so very short-lived. “Funny how often those two categories overlap in her case.”
Everett’s jaw tightens. “Lemon, I suggest we retrieve the children and leave. Now.” His words are slightly laced with a threat, but only because he knows I’m slow to leave a decent crime scene.
“My mother can handle the kids,” I say, even though Mom is currently glaring at me as if I’ve personally ruined her friendship with a corpse. “There’s a killer running loose on the grounds, and?—”
As if on cue, screams erupt from somewhere outside, and sirens wail in the distance, growing closer by the second.
I’m about to continue building my defense and my case for remaining on the grounds when a shower of tiny blue stars sparkle to my right, followed by an ethereal glow that has nothing to do with Vivienne’s expensivelighting.
Blue-tinged feathers shimmer in the air, and then—because my life has fully departed from any semblance of normal—the ghost of a peacock materializes in full glorious plumage.
The bird is both magnificent and impossible as its tail feathers spread in an iridescent fan of blues and greens that shouldn’t exist outside of a fever dream. It hops toward the sofa with surprising delicacy for a dead bird, stops just shy of the butcher knife, and offers me a knowing glance.
The knife!
My breath catches as I fumble for my phone and snap a quick picture of the knife’s position before I lose my nerve.
“Are you insane?” Ivy’s hand clamps around my upper arm. “This is a crime scene, not your Insta-Pictures feed!”
She practically hauls me toward the door, and Carlotta stumbles after us.
“Easy there, Detective Long Legs,” Carlotta shouts. “We’re cooperating! No need to get handsy! Or leggy!”
Ivy shoves us both into the swelling crowd outside, where half of Honey Hollow has apparently gathered to gawk at Vivienne Pemberton-Clarke’s front lawn as if it’s the main event at a county fair.
Noah appears beside me and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Lottie, Everett is right. Get the kids and get home. The sun is starting to set. I’ve got it from here.”
The concern bleeding through his face pains me, so I do the only thing I can—concede.
“I will,” I say just below a whisper.
