I turn that way as well, and I’m not surprised in the least to find two of the most handsome men in all of Vermont heading our way.
Noah and Everett.
Noah and Everett would be my aforementioned two husbands, as Carlotta would have the world to believe. Technically, I’m only married to Everett.
And Everett just so happens to be radiating judicial displeasure in a way that suggests he’d rather be presiding over a murder trial than attending a 1950s garden party.
Noah is scanning the crowd like he’s already cataloging potential crime scenes.
And with my track record, he probably should.
Every woman in a fifty-foot radius suddenly finds a reason to adjust her hair, smooth her skirt, and casually angle herself toward my approaching husbands—current and accidental ex variety.
I should probably be used to this by now. After all, I’m not blind.
“Neither of them looks thrilled to be here.” I wince a little at the thought. “But they came because I asked—and because, let’s face it, they’d do anything for me.”
“Anything, you say?” Carlotta’s eyes light up with dangerous glee as they reach us. “Foxy, Sexy—I have a list of all the things you can do for Lot Lot. It’s laminated. I keep it in my bra for emergencies.”
Foxy and Sexy would be Noah’s and Everett’s nicknames. Carlotta likes to gift a nickname to just about everyone she meets. It’s sort of her superpower. That, and making every conversation somewhat inappropriate.
Noah and Everett exchange a look that silently askswhy isCarlotta like this, and honestly, after all these years, I’m still waiting on the official report myself.
“Carlotta,” Noah says flatly.
“Hello, ladies.” Everett’s voice carries that low warning growl as he looks toward the feral squirrel who gave birth to me.
I’m about to intervene when movement near the topiary garden catches my eye.
A peacock emerges from the manicured bushes—and not just any peacock. This one is absolutelymagnificent.
His plumage catches the May sunlight in an explosion of iridescent teals and emeralds and sapphire blues, and as I watch, he fans his tail feathers at least six feet in expanse, in a display so stunning it belongs in a nature documentary.
“Oh my goodness.” I grab Carlotta’s arm. “Look at him! He’s absolutely gorgeous!”
The creature struts across the lawn in full peacock glory, tail feathers shimmering as if he’s well aware he’s the most fabulous thing on the property.
“Lyla Nell is going to lose her mind when she sees this sweet thing,” I breathe.
Carlotta snorts. “Great. Just what Little Yippie needs—more plumage. The cats already look like Vegas showgirls. One more feather and they’re going to file a restraining order.”
I’m about to respond when I notice Noah and Everett exchanging a different kind of look. Not theCarlotta is insanelook, but the one that suggests that Lottie is insane, too.
“Lemon,” Everett says slowly, his blue eyes fixed on the empty lawn where the colorful bird is currently preening. “What peacock?”
My blood runs cold.
Noah offers a mournful smile my way. “Lottie. We don’t see a peacock.”
“But—” I point at the beautiful bird. He’s rightthere with his tail fanned, his feathers gleaming, and giving me what I can only describe as a knowing look.
I suck in a quick breath, and my stomach drops somewhere around my saddle shoes.
“You know what this means?” I whisper as the peacock ruffles his spectral feathers and a spray of tiny blue stars emits from them.
Everett nods. “This means murder.”
LOTTIE
