“I’m afraid I don’t have a clue.” Percy fans his tail, and his feathers shimmer with ethereal light. “But I’m guessing the truth is complicated. Mother Vivi kept many secrets. Some were hers. Some belonged to others. She had a particular talent for collecting information and using it as—what some might call leverage.”
“Blackmail!” Carlotta belts out a whoop. “Old Viv had a side hustle. Knew it.”
“I prefer to think of it as strategic information management,” Percy sniffs. “Though, yes, if we’re being crude about it, blackmail.”
I nod. “Carlotta is crude about most things.”
Corbin makes a sound that’s half-coo, half-chortle, like he appreciates Percy’s creative euphemism. This kid is definitely going to be a lawyer.
“She trusted the wrong casserole,” Percy adds cryptically.
I blink. “I’m sorry, what?”
“The proof is in the pudding, dear. Or in this case, the banana pudding.” He examines one of his talons as if he were looking for his reflection in it, and I couldn’t blame him if he was. “Pay attention to who brings what to the table.”
“That’s about as clear as mud,” Carlotta says.
“I’m a peacock, honey, not a detective. I provide eye candy and cryptic hints. It’s up to you to do the actual investigating.”
“Who should we talk to first?” I ask before his brain unravels any more than it already has.
Percy’s feathers ripple with what might be amusement or irritation. Hard to tell with the dead. “Start with Margot Thornbury,” he suggests. “Everyone calls her Midge. Sweet as pie on the surface, but Mother Vivi had quite the file on her.” He pauses. “Also, that woman’s banana pudding is legendary. Eighteen consecutive wins at the county fair. Mother Vivi was planning to—shall we say, level the playing field this year.”
“Wait.” I sit up straighter. “Vivienne was going to expose something about Midge?”
“Mother Vivi was planning to expose something about everyone, dear. She had something called a retrospective planned—a greatest hits compilation of Honey Hollow’s darkest secrets.” Percy’s feathers ruffle and flutter. “She was going to burn it all down on Mother’s Day. Unfortunately, someone decided to burn her down first.”
A chill runs through me despite the warm sunshine.
Carlotta grunts at the thought. “Sounds like half the town had motive.”
“And that they did,” Percy squawks. “Though I must say, the real tragedy is the cheese balls. Orange as a traffic cone and twice as suspicious. Mark my words, dear—never trust a cheese ball.” And no sooner does he get the last word out than he explodes in a shower of stars and feathers.
“Oh, good gravy,” I mutter under my breath. This case is going to be a bigger challenge than I ever thought possible.
Whoever killed Vivienne underestimated small-town justice, a pleasantly cryptic peacock, and a sleep-deprived baker with a grudge.
Ozzy begins to fuss, and I rock the stroller as I stand. “Come on, Carlotta. We’ve got a casserole to make and a suspect to grill.”
“Who’s firston the list, Lot?”
“My banana pudding nemesis, Margot ‘Midge’ Thornbury.”
“Perfect.” Carlotta grins. “Let’s go ruin her day. I’ve been needing a pick-me-up.”
Someone murdered Vivienne in her own home, and I’m going to make sure they regret it—preferably before I run out of ingredients for my banana pudding.
LOTTIE
“Idon’t know why I don’t make casseroles more often,” I say to Carlotta as we head toward the community center, me pushing the double stroller with both twins miraculously asleep. We made a quick pit stop at home to change into proper 1950s attire—I’m now in a baby-blue shirtwaist dress with a Peter Pan collar, and Carlotta’s sporting a fitted pencil skirt that she claims makes her backside look aerodynamic. It also makes her waddle like a mermaid. Which, honestly, anytime you can slow Carlotta down, it’s probably a good thing.
“That casserole was relatively easy, and with all that cheese and potatoes, it looks like a carb-loaded dream come true. I’ll be the first to help myself to a giant spoonful once the judges give their verdict.”
Carlotta snorts. “You mean once you lose to the Pudding Princess and console yourself with emotional eating?”
“That’s exactly what I mean, yes.”
I hopped over to the Honey Pot and used their industrial oven to bake what I’m calling my cheesy hashbrown heaven casserole—shredded hashbrowns mixed with sour cream, cheddar cheese, and a stick of butter that can cover a multitude of culinary sins.
